When Harry Met a Rebel Without a Princess Bride

Someone asked me what my favourite videos were yesterday.

Before I could even think of the answers, I was struck by the word “Video”.

 Such a broad term now… as in a VHS tape? Or a music video?

I went with the former, mainly because I don’t really watch a lot of music related things (one of the side effects of having a television with an aerial that doesn't work.) If you ask me if I have seen a new TV show, the answer is incredibly likely to be no, as we haven’t had a “working tv” for about two years now. (There is a theory among my friends that I essentially live in a bomb shelter. I can’t tell you who Kim Kardashian or Nicki Minaj are, but I can give you an extensive run-down on who was in M*A*S*H in the 80’s. Anything post 2000 and I am more than a little vague)

Not that I really miss having a working television - we have a myriad of DVDs and videos (ah-ha, see the call-back to the original point? Let’s return to it before I digress any further.)

Favourite movies are hard for me to pick. I tend to have a handful of movies that I can watch, over and over - honestly, I can almost watch my favourite movie as soon as it is finished.

That movie is The Princess Bride.

To anyone, of any age that hasn’t seen this movie, I implore you - go watch it, right now. RIGHT NOW. (Also read the book - William Goldman, go now, read, watch, love it.)

To praise this movie, in its own words, “it has Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles… “

The Princess Bride came out in 1987 and was directed by Rob Reiner (who directed one of my other favourite movies…) I would have been about 8 when I first saw this movie and since then, it remains a classic in Katy World.

I was talking about it earlier this year with The Boy, and he hadn't seen it. I immediately dug out my video (yes, actually a video) and made him watch “my movie” and he of course loved it and bought me the deluxe edition DVD for Christmas. Good guy.

Second movie… that one is actually harder to narrow down because as I have stated, I have a myriad of movies that I adore…

But I think it’s a draw between the following :

Rebel Without a Cause and When Harry Met Sally.

Rebel was directed by Nicholas Ray and starred James Dean, Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo.

I suppose I came late to this movie - I think I was about 14 or 15 when I first saw it, (after my James Dean obsession began, obviously) but as soon as it was over. I rewound the video (yes, again, a video) and pressed play again.

There is so much in this movie, so many amazing and poignant moments. Natalie Wood in her first “grown up” role and Sal Mineo staring, acting or not, in absolute adoration at James Dean. And Dean, so uncertain and heart-breaking, that I forget he isn't a teenager in this movie. (I have an issue with “Dawson’s Casting” but it goes unnoticed for me in this film)

Which brings us to When Harry Met Sally (which is the movie previously mentioned as being directed by Mr Reiner.)

I can already hear the groans and any respect you had for me going way down.

Yes, it’s a romcom, yes it’s predictable, and yes it’s a trite story. Blah blah blah, whatever.

 I love it. I love the dialogue. I love the characters.

The soundtrack is wonderful, Harry Connick Jr singing wonderful old jazz songs, like ‘I Could Write a Book’, ‘It Had to Be You’ and many other fabulous songs.

I know most of the movie by heart, and quotes from Harry and Sally frequently come up at my house.

It’s not even a guilty pleasure movie for me – I don’t watch it ashamedly with all the doors locked, in the dark. It’s legitimately a movie I really enjoy and I have been known to make people watch it, just to prove that it’s actually a clever and well put-together (and one of the most quoted romcoms) movie from 1989.

Come back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean

When I was about 14 we went on a family holiday. I forget exactly where we were, but it was near a quiet little town… near a lake I think, where is immaterial, the point is we went into the town one day and there was a fifties themed store, selling cds, movies, posters, statuettes, magazines and other random retro memorabilia.

I bought a James Dean biography for five dollars simply for the fact that I had finished all the books I’d brought with me. (I was very much a sit-and-read-until-the-holiday-was-over kind of kid.)

At this point, all James Dean was to me was the guy who was mentioned in songs I liked - We Didn't Start the Fire by Billy Joel, Rock On - David Essex,  Jack and Diane - John Cougar Mellencamp and American Pie - Don McLean.

In Grease, Rizzo had a picture of him on her wall - so he MUST be cool, right?

He was the man featured in the massive print of Gottfried Helnwein’s James Dean: Boulevard of Broken Dreams that my mum had for years.

I knew he was a movie star and I associated him with Elvis, Marilyn and Bogart, because in my fourteen year old head, they were mates and hung out together or something.

So honestly, I don’t remember what possessed me to buy an autobiography of this guy (other than the aforementioned fact that I had exhausted the books I had brought along on the holiday).

The book was a small, old and beat-up paperback and I read it in three days.

And then I become a hard-core Dean fan. I collected pictures, biographies, movies, stickers, badges, anything James Dean related.

 For my 18th birthday my mum bought me a James Dean - American Legend Barbie.

It is, of course, no longer in its original box because I can’t leave toys trapped in boxes as I imagine they get depressed when they see all the other toys that I have that are out of their boxes (I don’t want a Stinky Pete from Toy Story 2 situation here…).

I now have about sixteen biographical and pictorial books on James Dean and any time I go to a bookstore, I hunt for James Dean things.

What can I say, I was, and continue to be a somewhat eccentric girl.

Oh Christmas Tree

The  One That Started It All.

The Christmas Treesel

I'm a Deadbeat With Style

Well, the last post is now semi-redundant, but let's not dwell on that.

This week is just so not my friend at all! I feel like I have been pretty distant with the little handful of friends I have here, because I am unhappy that I failed in my own little quest, but I am working my way back to me, I guess.
I had a pretty huge anxiety/stress/emotional crash last week and this week is not faring much better. Not that hugely bad things are happening this week, just really random little things to trip me up when I am not at my best.

• Yesterday I ran into a door (yes - I legitimately got hit in the face with a door, it is not a bad excuse. I slapstick-comedy-ed myself - I pulled the lounge door open and hit myself in the head with it). I still don't know exactly how I did it, but I saw stars and cried and giggled at the ridiculousness of me-running-into-a-door. 

Brendan thought maybe I was trying to give myself a Harry Potter scar, as it hit right on my temple leaving a big red mark crossing the scar I already have on my forehead - but now there is not even a little bruise - it just hurts when I touch it.

• Last week I banged my elbow on the corner of the mantle piece and I think I bruised the bone or something because that still really hurts too. 

• Our front door has decided that it doesn't want to lock or close (unless you slam it a lot of times and sort of jam it shut which means that we have to leave the house via the back door, until we can get the front door fixed.

 Lainey (who is very much an inside cat) is the one that first discovered that the front door wouldn't shut late last night and gleefully ran through the yard, jingling her little bell and calling for Brendan - we eventually got her back inside but it seemed to take forever and I was freaking out at losing the cat.

• The space between the door frame and the actual door of the back door (remember - the door that we now have to use) has apparently become the cubby house/secret lair/headquarters to about a gazillion earwigs. Whenever I open the door, earwigs seemingly fall from the sky - which, I have to say, terrifies me to my core. 

  Quick note about me and bugs/creepy things that creepeth (more specifically, earwigs, but more on that anon): 

I don’t like spiders a great deal, but they don’t disturb me too badly. The ones that look nasty or are great big are allowed to lurk in corners, but if they hit the bedroom, ceiling over my head or walls at face height or below, then they are out. Daddy long legs spiders are allowed to stay. Cochroaches make me feel slightly ill and must be destroyed instantly.But on the whole, I can deal with them, generally well.


Now, back to earwigs.


 Earwigs: - Earwigs make my heart race and I freeze up. They scare the bejesus outta me (wherever one keeps their bejesus...) 
If they are on the floor of the toilet, no matter how bad I need to go, I can’t go in there until Brendan gets rid of them. The other night there were some in the doorway of the lounge and on the kitchen floor - which cut off both my avenues to get to the bedroom - I sat up until about 4am because the earwigs were holding me captive.
In our old house I was sweeping up damp leaves in the little outdoor area, and when I looked down, there was a swarm of earwigs, writhing and creeping out of the pile of leaves. I screamed, literally screamed, dropped the broom and ran inside and locked the door until Brendan came home. My heart was thumping and I was terrified. Apparently it was very funny to anyone who was not me, however.



So, back to the point, what was that again? Oh yeh, EARWIGS FALLING FROM THE GODDAM SKY?!?! Forgot about the millions of locusts that are creepily all over the placeat the moment, earwigs are the sign of my apocalypse and they are EVERYWHERE!

In very random summary: My house is falling apart and trying to kill me; earwigs have been sent to terrify and kill me; my hair is long and thick and when it is hot and summery, becomes quite a nuisance; I am being eaten up by mosquitoes, who are clearly trying to suck all my blood out...to kill me; the internet keeps dropping out; my laptop keeps turning itself off; the tap in our kitchen keeps coming away from the wall whenever I try and do the dishes in scalding hot water - trying to burn and kill me?; my bathroom has no power points (which, of course, has not only occurred in the last week - no one came in and removed power points or anything, but it's still pissing me off) ;I am twenty six and should know better than I do and I feel very much like I am failing in every aspect of my life but I need to...empty the buckets? Internalise the triangles?


On the day last week that was pretty bad - I channeled my energy into the house. I cleaned everything.
I cleaned so much, I changed things around, put up pictures and the Christmas Treesel (thats a Christmas tree on an easel, by the way). The day after that, I braved the slow cooker I got for my birthday and made, what is apparently a very excellent meaty stew.

Let's play a bastardised version of Five Things real quick:


1. I have new shampoo that smells like raspberries and I like it.


2. I am happy with the newest collage I am making  -  it's almost done, it just needs...something extra.


3. Last time I was in my hometown, people I haven't seen for quite a while told me I was very pretty/cute/gorgeous/hot. My ego was giant that day.


4. Cousous. I don't know how healthy it is or anything but rediscovered that I really like it.


5. Brendan. He is just... well, words in a lousy, poorly written blog can't do him justice. I am very obviously married to the best guy on the planet. He is phenomenal. He is wonderful and and just so supportive - he believes in me so much more than I do. He has been a godsend this week   - well, not just this week - since I first met him and he surprised me with Les Mis and Pirates references. I couldn't be, without him. 

On re-reading - there's no point here, just word vomit. But maybe that's what I need. Again, emptying the buckets, 'coz they are clearly overflowing with muck.

I like me for me

I am feeling amazing of late.

After at least ten years of being on and off anti-depressants, I have now gone a year medication free.

Any other time I have tried to wean myself off them, I have fallen, in a big bad way, but this time – I am doing amazingly.

That is not to say I don’t have my bad days, but they are, well, “regular folk” bad days and I have found that I can deal with them better now (even though there have been a number of occasions this year which would have had me running for my meds or worse.)

But this year, when things go wrong I am a lot less inclined to fall apart. Well, again, there may still be crying or spacing out a bit, but I think that is acceptable.

 The triangles seem to be, finally, falling into place for me.

 Instead of wallowing or binging and feeling guilty and thus wallowing (vicious circle, vicious circle), I sing at the top of my voice, or marathon watch Daria, or make collages, or look at my buttons, or bake Brendan cookies.

I don’t know if it’s because I am just a lot more comfortable and confident in Me, or if I am more comfortable because of this stuff, but either way,  even at my good points, previous to now, I haven’t been this comfortable in my own skin.

I feel SO  good about me – again, not every day – some days I have, nope, I am a giant whale moments, but then I pick myself up and sing trashy 80s songs, or belt out Ella Fitzgerald and dance around my whole house, singing into hairbrush-microphones to the audience that is my cat.

I have an hourglass figure – it’s just a bit more…zaftig…than that of other girls. He he.

To quote one of my many favourite fictional men (a few times)


After the female of the alpha couple in this book tries to prepare a meal without oil, flour or butter (because she’s trying to lose weight and is skimping on anything fatty or calorific) and ruins it completely.

“Here’s the truth. You’re never going to be thin. You’re a round woman. You have wipe hips and a round stomach […] the reason you can’t lose weight is that you’re not supposed to lose weight, you’re not built that way, and if you did manage through some stupid diet to take the weight off, you’d be like that chicken mess you just made. Some things are supposed to be made with butter. You’re one of them.”

“You have assets that skinny women will never have and you should be enjoying them and dressing like you enjoy them. Or at least dressing so others can enjoy them.”

“Sexy is in your head and [if] you don’t feel sexy […] you don’t look it.”

(Swoon. We love Charm Boy a fair bit.)

So instead of avoiding “skinny girl” stores, or clothes that I think are really pretty and thus meaning I do not deserve to wear them or saying to myself, oh that would look nice, if I were skinny, I try them on.

If they don’t fit, they don’t fit.

If they do and if they feel pretty, sexy, and comfortable, they become mine.

(Obviously there are some limitations – boob tubes/leggings as pants are never going to be my friend... but that may not be a bad thing at all.)

 But if I see a pale coloured shirt or dress, instead of, oh no, you can’t wear light colours, you’ll look massive, I look to the positive – the style is sexy and I am gorgeous in it!

And I think, to some extent, that I must exude that.

Several people have said in the past month or two that I am looking really good and I feel great about my...well,  my me – for example, a week ago J.Mac and I went out and spent the afternoon posing (and not posing) for a series of photos taken by Miss A, for a dear new friend.

She took about 300 photos and we used about half. And out of all of them, there was probably only about 10 percent that I didn’t like of myself.

Aren't we just a little rockstar here?

This is a really big deal for me as I am usually a, no-take-20-photos-and-pick-the-best-one-then-shop-it person, because I don’t like the way I look in them.

But I love these – it helps that the guy in the photos with me is an incredibly wonderful friend, who boosts my ego immensely and is just oodles of fun.

He is my late night, laugh-irriffic, sing-a-long glorious boy. A great number/most of my friends are guys, but Joely is probably my best guy friend, outside of Brendan.
But I digress.






Looking back on this, it is again very ranty and I just sound very self obsessed, but I think I am allowed.

After far too many years of being terribly wracked with guilt, self-loathing, doubt etc etc, I am finally in a really good place and I can be anything I want to be.

A good friend of mine went on a big shopping spree the other day that she put a skirt on layby, and that it was a Katy skirt.

I liked that.



Katy.

That is my style.

I’m no longer a little girl, a tomboy, a wannabe goth/metal/weirdo chick, a slob, or anything else.

I am me.

I am Katy.

I am bows and cardigans and skirts and dresses and stockings (and a decided lack of trousers) and stars and red lipstick and long hair and red shoes and bracelets.

I am funky, pretty, retro, flowy, stripey, feminine, kooky, kitsch, sexy, soft, shiny, bright.



I am Katy.

And I am absolutely fantastic.

It's all photos and triangles 'til someone gets a tattoo

I realised today that I have a love/hate relationship with my digital camera.

I have hundreds of photos, but only about six albums that I can hold in my hands and look through, but on my computer…well, there’s at least 30 folders of various photos.

I guess it is laziness on my part – I just haven’t been motivated to get them printed but some of them are at least five years old!

Today I looked through all the albums I had. A few of which are chronologically correct – mainly baby and primary school photos, but then I have two albums where everything is all jumbled together, baby photos, wedding, drunken parties and high school pictures - everything from everywhere all muddled together.

I removed every photo from these two particular albums and sorted through all the photos, making several stacks of photos all over my loungeroom floor – which vexed the cat a great deal.

It took me about two hours to organise everything and then I carefully put photos from 98-2005 in the older, slightly decrepit album.

I realised after I’d put all of those photos in the album that I had put them into the newer album, which was exactly the opposite of what I had planned.

The boy made me a big cup of coffee and some rye toast while I ranted at myself (feeling very foolish) and debated whether I should just put the newer photos in the old album or whether I should start all over again.

After my delicious toast, I switched all the photos and put them exactly where I wanted them.

It took me about four hours but it is done now and I have also made room for more pictures, which include new photos from the last few months, along with photos dating back to my 21^st, shows from as early as 2006 and our wedding, which I plan to get printed in the next few weeks.

This may all seem very trivial but it isn’t to me.

I have always been a photo person. I love looking at photos and I love to be surrounded by photos of my friends and loved ones.

Since I was about 14 my bedroom walls were always pretty much covered with photos and pictures, postcards, drawings, anything that meant something to me or intrigued me greatly. Handwritten quotes from favourite books, television shows, songs and movies on scraps of paper.

It was what was referred to in our house as a way to help “internalise the triangles” which was a way to always be aware of the people who cared about me and the ones I loved instead of focusing on one person or thing or aspect in my life.

I had a tendency to…well…not internalise the triangles…so if some part of my life went wrong or not the way I intended, I could only focus on that one thing or person and I would be unable to notice the things that were still constant or the people who cared for me.

That’s also what the tattoo I have refers to.

It was a symbol I devised when I was 16.

A star (because I loved stars too) with arrows pointing to its centre.

I used to draw it on the back of my right hand, almost every day in year 11 and 12 and after high school, if it wasn’t on my hand it was always the thing I doodled on notepads or letters or any surface I could find.

For my 20^th birthday, one of my best friends (and then housemate) bought me “my star” in the form of a tattoo.

My mother dislikes tattoos.

Greatly.

When I was about 16 she said if I were to ever to decide I wanted one, that I should wait to get it for at least two years, so there would be no doubt about it before I got it, so that it wouldn’t just some random thing forever imprinted on my skin.

My star.

Every time I drew my symbol, I planned that, someday it would be a permanent emblem, on my body.

A constant reminder to internalise my triangles.

Thus the giant photo organisation today.

I have lots of triangles.

My Biggest and Best Triange, the day we got married.

Such a Dazzling Case o' Many Colours

Two Lips

Spray paint and stencils - oodles o' fun

The Button-Tulip-Suitcase of Awesome.

So many hours. So very many buttons.
So many sticks of glue.
So many burns on my poor fingers.

So much fun.

I put funky/bizarre dark and lime green striped lining in the suitcase and now it houses the myriad of buttons in colour coded containers.

Also - it's really heavy...

There are a lot more photos, but they are all similiar... which makes sense... as it's all the one case...