On the plus side, I must at least be looking better than I did last year, because it has been at least six months since anyone has shouted "AMY WINE'OUSE!" in the street or made an original and side-splitting crack about me going to Rehab. Go Team Me, I guess.
Monday, 24 November 2008
You know, I get bored of my hair every few fucking months and I am pretty sure I'm going to go into Macks' salon on a thursday and get my hair changed from black to the colour of this girl from a Jeurgen Teller editorial in Purple Fashion. I mean sure, you may call me a "firecrotch", but you know what? My crotch is pretty fiery. I mean, not in a questionable herpes kind of way, but in the way that Juliette Lewis' crotch was fiery in Natural Born Killers, and anyway, I am pretty sick of people coming up to me and saying things like "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that Daisy girl who's always in the London Lite?" or (I shit you not) "I really liked you in that Agent Provocateur campaign", because it's all very flattering, but seriously, who are you kidding? I am hella short and you are hella, hella drunk and I could never wear a leotard as outerwear because, as I recall, there is a lyric in Baby Got Back which outlines that 34/24/34 is big-bottomed "only if she's five foot three" which I am. I am probably nothing but the vague, blurry outline of a black hipster fringe to you right now and frankly, I happen to be very sensitive about the fact that I have never actually dated Mark Ronson so this whole conversation is just twisting the knife.