Fall/Winter Collection: Mobile Edition

Posted: March 1, 2013 in Photography
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The latter half of 2012 (and beginning of 2013), as viewed through my phone.

New hair, reflected in our new mirror. Not pictured: John & I ferrying this bastard home on the subway.

(Yes, it’s on its side. Much like those shelves we got in St Andrews, we bought it irrespective of our ability to actually attach it to a wall.)

We have enough diet coke in the fridge to feed Luisel Ramos for a month.

I think God of War III has broken the record for the number of times I can make this face over the course of a single game.

That is some damned patriotic graffiti. Because nothing says “I love my country” quite like defacing its buildings.

Spotted while I was out running one day. Further headline gold courtesy of the British tabloids.

John claims he can always tell when I’ve done the shopping. I’m not sure what he’s getting at? (Diabetes, I choose you!)

Tiananmen Square had Tank Man. Glasgow has a junkie standing in front of the buses on Argyle Street.

It’s a good thing my new lenses came with an instruction guide, otherwise I’d just be sticking them to my forehead and hoping for the best.

Making sweet, Skype-y love to Lindsay.

I finally got round to redeeming the Disney Reward Points from all the movies we own and had apparently earned enough points to get these two absolutely free! I regret nothing.

By far the most exciting thing to come through my door today, however, is these handsome fellows! Meet Sam and Max.

(To clarify: we don’t actually have two new cats – I was just catsitting for John’s family. Not that I’m adverse to the idea of another two. Or twenty.)

“And lo, they took Jesus, and wheeling his own cross he went out to Golgotha.”

I don’t know about you, but the crucifixion-on-wheels was always my favourite Bible story.

People were handing out free ice teas on Buchanan St. We may have abused the promotion somewhat…

John and I just stood in the rain for 40 minutes waiting for animal rescue to pick up an injured baby seagull. We named him Lawrence.

“GET TO DA CHOPPA!” (Name that movie!)

I really wish people would stop setting the building next to ours on fire. During July, it became a bi-weekly occurrence.

I was so enraptured by Spiderman (read: Andrew Garfield‘s ass) that I saw it twice in the space of a week. I’m assuming they renamed it The Amazing Spiderman after seeing him in the suit.

I recently found Lindsay’s and my tickets for the Ghibli Museum! Mine was actually kind of lame – I love Spirited Away but the bouquet of flowers from the opening scene isn’t the most inspiring of film cels.

I met John after work for milkshakes in the remaining sunlight. His was Turkish Delight and mine was fruit salad – in the packet-of-sweets sense rather than the healthy one.

RELEASE ^

My brief but beautiful interaction with Lisa Madden of this year’s Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model (tragically doomed to fall in the quarter finals). I actually had no idea it had started up again and, accordingly, had a mini-marathon of 8 episodes back to back. They kept telling Anita she looked like a young Penelope Cruz…

…but all I see is Rebecca Black.

Tonight, I went to a gym for the first time in my adult life!

Also, the night I swallowed pride and let John teach me how to swim. I technically learned when I was primary school but – contrary to the adage – it is decidedly not like riding a bicycle (…which, come to think of it, is another thing I only learned how to do as an adult). I eventually mastered the doggy paddle which means I’m no longer at risk of drowning in a 2-metre pool of water. (For the record, I’m actually a relatively tall person – just not when I’m standing next to the fucking jolly giant.)

In the Turkish Bath, approaching Slave 4 U levels of sweat.

A week later: swimming lessons part 2, featuring “Mark can’t operate a treadmill”. (I got there eventually.) Pictured, however, was the rather more enjoyable portion of the evenin. (The walls of the Turkish Bath were also very pretty – like looking up into a trippy night sky.)

White girl wasted.

This was the night I dusted off my French for dîner d’anniversaire d’Anais dans le West End. Spending the evening with a French friend only confirmed that mon français est devenu terrible.

I finally discovered what was eating all my hard drive space – not a virus, just Premiere Pro hoarding temp files!

Drunk and dishevelled. I don’t think anything says class like mojito in a can. (Also the culprit for the following morning’s misery.)

Guess what I bought today?

You know it’s time to shave when your beard hair is longer than your head hair.

That’s better.

We had to turn the central heating back on last week which means, I guess, that Glasgow’s approximation of a summer is officially over. John was, however, kind enough to run a bath for me so that I could spend the next hour defrosting.

I really need to get up and pack an overnight bag but I’m currently surrounded by a solid wall of cat.

Next stop: Dundee. I see the weather is just as shit on the east coast as it is back in Glasgow.

Crazy cat lady on tour.

Humphrey, by the way, has doubled in size since I last saw him. A puglet no more!

He’s even outgrown Lucy! Pugs are those rare beasts that just look cuter to me the bigger they get.

Spent most of the last 2 days travelling, so this morning (slash afternoon) I’m catching up on bed, cats and internet.

Alf has been sitting by the window looking for John for the past 2 hours. I think it’s clear where our cats’ loyalties lie.

Meet Mali…

..and Thunderpaws! (An hour later because my phone died.) They’re both korats.

Help! I can’t decide whether I love or hate these Zara blazers. Do I get both? Neither? I just don’t know.

The night John pointed out that we were riding a train with Showgirls’ Nomi Malone. YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT!

Adventures in cat-sitting. At least one of us is comfortable.

My clothes for the last few days might have been claw-proof, but sadly the same can’t be said of my skin…

There’s a guy outside with an Umbrella umbrella! WESKEEEERRRR!

Every alarm in the building is going off in unison. The cats are terrified and I’m developing tinnitus. Warning: LOUD.

Quick fix until the maintenance people get here.

Alf, in a demonstration of ragdoll survival instincts, is trying to find the source of the noise. Darwinism at work.

A panic-stricken Wilfred has wedged himself between a suitcase and the underside of the bed.

They did eventually shut it off (a fucking hour after it started) though not before sounding it one last time just when we thought it was over causing Alf to bolt into the bedroom and pee himself. I was about ready to stab myself in the eardrum with a knitting needle.

Glasgow When it Sizzles

Haircut and my first consummated order of a pumpkin spice latte. I declare this day a roaring success!

After all Alf’s complaining about being in the box yesterday, we now can’t seem to get him out of it! On that selfsame vet trip, by the way, I learned that Alf is clearly starved for female attention…by way of him biting and nuzzling the vet’s boobs the entire time he was there.

Stop trying to make Uggs happen. They’re not going to happen!

This is actually how Alf fell asleep between us last night. Ridiculous beast

Currently…

Three beautiful boys and my favourite toy waiting for me in bed right now…

Guys, someone leaked my sex tape with Lana Del Rey.

Ragdolls are basically living teddy bears.

Alf and Wilf are lying on the bed in a perfect facsimile of the The Creation of Adam, and I’ve been laughing for like 5 minutes.

Looks like winter crept up on us last night for a midnight snowkkake.

Where’s HM01 when you need it…

God dammit, it is too early to be Googling “How to get blood out of bed sheets”. I woke up with two gouges in my arm and blood on the opposite side of the bed. Theories?

Continuing today’s theme of finding random puncture wounds on my person, it appears my wellies are torn, too. Ungh.

Day 43: The humans still think I’m a shoe.

That awkward moment when you misread a store sign as the name of a porn star.

(…which is then retweeted by the porn star in question.)

Pussy magnet.

Absolutely miserable day outside, so I figure the only thing for it is to break out that copy of Wind Waker I’ve had lying around unplayed for about a decade.

It’s-a me, Mario!

Serving Mr. Monopoly realness. Lush-tache!

Starbucks: breakfast of champions. Or future diabetics.

Visited Kim (who we met at the Sharon Needles gig)’s place of employ today day to find John the perfect birthday present. Prolapse, I choose you!

Sometimes I forget that Wilfred is a cat and not some weird Jim Henson puppet.

Rethinking that run…

John learning the hard way not to leave clothes out while he’s planning outfits.

Clothes shopping with John. He just tried on a pair of “nude-coloured” trousers that would have got him arrested.

The one benefit of living in Scotland is that winterwear goes on sale even when it’s still Narnia outside.

Case in point: I went out for a run in perfectly reasonable weather and somehow ended up in a blizzard.

Wilf just jumped in the bin.

…aaand I guess he’s staying there.

Lazy Saturday.

Over at Victoria’s house and got slightly distracted playing with her 2-year-old daughter’s play-doh

Currently vajazzling a pair of ruby slippers. How’s your Saturday going?

Stage 2. And now the question of whether these will actually dry in an hour or less…

I’ll get you, my pretty…and your little dog, too!

Coconut ice!

So apparently Glasgow was consumed by Silent Hill in the space of time it took me to go to the bathroom and back.

And, to finish on a high note: I have rarely felt as stupid or unobservant as I do at this exact moment. I visited Kim at work today, and she gave me a free tube of “Wild Cherry”. I opened it a few minutes ago and applied it to my lips, whereupon I thought to myself, “That’s a weird texture for a lip balm…”

…which is around the time I finally decided to read the label.

(I think the worst part was that I knew it tasted familiar as soon as I used it.)

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