When I’m feeling sad or a little out of sorts, I like to make things. I knit, crochet, take photos or bake.
Today, inspired by Emma at Sugarscape, I made Cookie Monster Cupcakes.
I am so ridiculously pleased with them!
Inspired by a string of sensational Sueisms in this weeks episode of Glee, I have been thinking about the characters from TV shows that I love the most… maybe not the nicest, funniest, or most popular by any means, but just ones that I would love to think were real, somewhere in the world.
Ranking them in order is impossible, so here they are, just as they came to mind:
I would totally love to know what other peoples favourite characters are, but if its anyone from Seinfeld, Friends or Everybody Loves Raymond, just keep it to yourself.
Dear Johns,
John Belushi
For the laughs and for the music. For raising the bar in entertainment. There was no one else like you. Rest in peace.
John Birmingham
For inspiring me to keep writing. For offering support and encouragement. For being my internet BFF.
Johnny Borrell
For the music. For the stupid hair. And for being such a twat.
John Candy
For making my childhood just that little bit more subversive than it might have been otherwise. Orange whip? Orange whip? Three orange whips! Rest in peace.
John Cusack
For showing the world that men can be as neurotic as women, and doing it with flair and charm. For providing the cinematic backdrop for my teenage years.
Johnny Depp
For being the thinking womans crumpet and a wonderful generous partner and father. For aging with grace and dignity. For being so damn good at what you do. For making me love brown eyes.
Elton John
For putting poetry to music. For creating so many of my all time favourite songs. For being mad as a cut snake, and twice as fashionable.
Jon Fratelli
For making me smile with music that lifts my mood effortlessly. For having such an adorable mass of curls. For looking dashing in a top hat.
John Goodman
For being a comedic chameleon and getting it right every time. For delivering lines that no one else could possibly have owned the way you did. For making simple phrases so damn quotable. Shut the fuck up Donny!
John Hughes
For helping a generation of teenagers own and embrace their most awkward years. For making us all believe that someone understood us. For being such a decent guy and keeping your word. Rest in peace.
John Linnell & John Flansburgh
For being two of wackiest bastards ever to form a band. For being smart and funny and almost too clever for your own good. For bringing me out of my teenage funk over and over again.
John Lithgow
For being a seriously cool dude. For being so utterly absurd yet totally believable at the same time. For being one of those people whose name alone gives a project credibility.
John Lydon
For doing something different, without fear or forethought. For taking over the world without having any discernable measure of talent. For selling out. For giving us all something to shake our heads at 40 years later.
John Malkovich
For having a great sense of humour and making a caricature of yourself in the name of art. For making sure the term “serious actor” isnt just attached to tools and wankers. For making bald sexy.
John C McGinley
For the ability to make any hair style awesome. For giving me some of the best laughs I’ve ever had in my life. For proving that acting is a job that even decent guys can do well.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers
For being so damn talented. For being honestly beautiful and unusually graceful. For getting clean and restoring my faith in good people.
John Steinbeck
For writing the book that can still bring me to tears so many years after I first read it. For helping me realise that simplicity can be a storytellers most powerful weapon. For making me read more, learn more, want more. Rest in peace.
Jon Voight
For being fearless and ensuring that even serious celebrated actors can poke fun at themselves. Damnit Derek, I’m a coal miner, not a professional film or television actor. Great stuff.
I love you all.
About 5 months ago I met this boy, a lovely cheeky Pommy boy, with spiky hair and chocolate eyes. We had a few drinks, talked for ages and seemed to get along really well. The one evening we spent in each others company ended with a kiss, a really really nice one.
This sounds like the beginning of some modern day fairy tale, but what happened next more closely followed the plot of a bad TV drama. Mixed messages, unrealistic expectations and a whole bunch of jumping to conclusions. All my fault, as usual.
Anyway, not only did nothing eventuate between us, worse than that, even though our last conversation ended with him indicating he would still like to see me some time, with my feeling hurt and my pride up, I stubbornly replied with “yeah fine whatever” type answers and didnt bother trying to contact him again.
Fast forward to the last week of November when Tottenham beat Wigan 9-1. I was talking to the resident Scotsman in the office about that match and the game in general and he said I really should go live in England for a while, to experience it all for myself. I laughed and said “Nah, I just need an English boyfriend!”. That was at about 10am. That same day, not a word of a lie, just before 5pm, guess who I got an email from, totally out of the blue? Yes, the very same Pommy boy who I hadnt heard a peep from in about 3 months.
We’ve conversed almost daily since then, and I’m back where I was in early September, with a crush the size of Texas and a stomach full of butterflies. The difference this time is that I have consolidated a lot of my baggage into a single metaphorical overnight bag, and gotten rid of the rest. Rather than desperately craving the company of anyone who could make me feel special for a few hours, I’m ready to give more of myself, and have come to expect more in return. This boy has also brought out a patience in me that I never knew I had. I’ve slowed down, I’ve stopped assuming things, I’ve realised the obvious fact that he is a real life human being with his own dreams, goals and agendas, and he’s carrying his own baggage.
While the petulant child in me is still throwing a tantrum on the floor, the almost-30 year old part of me is focusing more on the reality of the situation. And the reality is this: There is this boy I like, and while I suspect he might like me back I dont think he is ready to make the next move just yet. He’s shuffling along in baby steps while sorting through his own baggage.
And you know what? Thats OK. Its OK because I dont NEED the company of someone to make me feel special for a few hours anymore. I WANT the company of this boy, and will wait till he’s ready to give it.
Kisses that nice are worth waiting for.
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