Handmade jewellery

Some of my most-worn handmade jewellery. Some by me, some by friends, some bought from ebay and etsy... I think I am a bit of a hoarder...

Me Me Me!!!

Don't be nosey!!!



Me and my hero in Hollywood, 2002.



Beth, myself and Gareth outside Hustler Hollywood.



Gareth, me, and Gina, Pasadena, California (somewhere by Fair Oaks/Colorado to be precise).



Kathryn and me in Huntington Beach, California. I had the third worst sunburn of my life. I suffered through a twelve hour flight to Germany three days later. Never again.

*****

For the last few years, I have kept myself hidden on the internet (see my previous Phil Campbell post for an insight into why). I'll be 29 in a few weeks and I am a strong woman so the hiding is getting a bit silly. Follows my story...

Let's start with the boring stuff. I was born in North Wales in March 1981 on a farm. We had very little money (no matter what anyone says, farming is tough). I loved our collie and the baby goats and the "miracle" of growing my own lettuce.

I hated school.

I went to a Welsh-speaking school and, although I understood, I didn't want to speak Welsh. In fact, I didn't want to speak English either. I was cripplingly shy and used to feel violently ill if I was expected to speak to strangers or authority figures. This lasted until I was 18 when I became more confident but then returned after the whole Phil business. I talk to people for a living now, though.

I had two (much) older sisters, the younger of which regularly beat the crap out of me and told me how I had been unwanted and even blamed me for our dad's death at the age of 45 from a heart attack. And people wonder why we don't get along now...

Life in North Wales was relatively uneventful. The neighbours were racist and a local farmer eventually shot my dog so we moved to Birmingham, England, just before I turned 5.

A new (English-speaking) school. Hated it.

The new house was nice, though. It was warm and close to a park. I missed the fields and the goats but we still grew our own vegetables in the garden.

Just after I turned 10, my dad died. I was bullied so badly in school that I had to move to a new one. At the new school, they realised I was much more intelligent than I let on and I was head of the class in everything (except sport but who gives a shit about that). I played the cello and wrote short stories. Yeah, a geek. Still hated school, though. I wanted to stay at home and watch TV.

A year later I had to head off to high school. Now, my hatred for education REALLY began. I excelled at art, German, and music, though. I also began to develop more interests outside of school. I would draw and paint and I started getting into bands like Queen, Rush, Aerosmith, and (after seeing the Brian May band) Rainbow. As I got older, this progressed to heavier stuff like Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, and eventually Motorhead.

I tried to drop out of school but was not allowed. After completing high school at 16 with 10 GCSEs, I took a job at the local supermarket (awful) and then returned to do my A levels. I got four of those and then moved to Swansea to start uni. Why stay in education when I hated it so much? I was forced to. My mother said I had to go to university as it would help me get a good job later on (it didn't).

I loved Swansea. I lived over the road from the beach and relished my independence. I also loved academic life. I was finally doing what I wanted to and was using my brain. And then I started to drink. Not much to begin with but enough. I also started getting tattooed (I now have 18). I would get into unhealthy relationships and it greatly affected my college work. The problem with having an IQ of 165 is you tend to be incredibly self-destructive if you are not constantly challenged...

I became a vegan as I didn't like meat any more and dairy made me throw up. I dyed my hair blonde and then red and then back to its natural brown. Silly experimenting.

At the age of 20, I moved to Los Angeles on an exchange programme and attended Cal State LA. I met lovely friends and experienced a side of life that few others have the opportunity to. I went to porn industry parties with my college buddies, got offered a role in a movie (I turned it down), got more tattoos, and didn't drink for 6 months.

9/11 traumatised me. As did my psychotic room mate who regularly threatened me so I never stayed at my apartment. I would sneak in late, grab a few hours sleep, then shower, dress, and get out again early.

For my 21st birthday, my friends hosted a wonderful party. Yvonne said I looked beautiful (OK, I did but she was stunning). I had a few drinks, a nice meal, played pool for a while, just generally hung out. Late into the evening, my friends headed off home and a friend of a friend said he would drive me home after a few more drinks. I woke up some time later with him on top of me. I never thought I would get roofied. I occasionally get flashbacks now but it is fair to say I have only 5% recollection of the night's events.

I had gone home for Christmas 2001 and returned to LA in early January. I had only been back a few days when I caught the 485 from Cal State to Downtown LA. The bus driver was a hottie.

Never mind.

A few days later, I saw him again. For the next few weeks, I would catch his bus a couple of times a week. I wasn't stalking him; my classes ended at the same time, you see. He got wise, of course, and started flirting with me. He was handsome and strong and funny and intelligent. He was Mike.

I saw him before my 21st birthday party and the following day he casually said the dress I had worn had looked good on me. It was a black lace mini dress. I mean mini. It was petite so for women under 5'4". I'm just under 5'10". It barely covered my ass. It did look good...

Mike was central to my life for so long. It nearly killed me when my visa expired and I had to move back to the UK. I still remember vividly him pulling me towards him and kissing me goodbye in front of everyone on the bus. So many bitchy comments were made. He was stunning, after all.

Back to Wales. This is when the drinking really became serious. I've covered what was going on in my personal life previously so I wont dwell on that again. I finished my degree and flew back to LA for a fortnight just before I received my results. I saw Mike who was still handsome but now distant with me. I arrived back in the UK and my room mate (a nice one) walked to college with me to get my results (I hadn't even got changed or washed). I told him if I passed my course, I would do a Masters, if I failed I would move back to LA. I passed.

My Criminology Masters took just under two years and I largely did no work but still passed. Then things got bad with Phil, my current collie (Dino) died, and the depression kicked in.

One day I woke up and knew I had had enough. I cut my hair short and stopped drinking. I eventually took my current job and after a couple of years of thinking my life was wasted, I applied to do my second Masters degree (in Forensic Psychology). Kay and I hit LA (her first time in the US). I did look for Mike but not too hard. If we see each other again, great. If not, oh well. I have wonderful memories. I will always feel strongly for him.

I live in South Wales with my two collies, Boomer and Gino (who are naughty boys that woke me up fighting this morning at 6am) and Miko the cat (Delilah and Ming both left us in the last year). I'm partially deaf from all of the gigs I have attended over the years. It was worth it. After years of suffering, I was diagnosed with Familial Mediterranean Fever (FMF). It hurts today.

I'm currently listening to Queen and considering buying a dress two sizes too small to give me something to work towards. Sober for nearly two months now.

LA in August.

Maybe I'll get another tattoo.

200!

As I said, I had something good planned for number 200. I am a bit of a collector of things... Obviously there is my Betsey Johnson, Tarina Tarantino, Red Or Dead, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Zandra Rhodes stuff... There's also my autograph collection, my OPI collection (although I am being good and giving a lot of it away), my Japanese movie programmes, and my WWII memorabilia (I should really get round to photographing my Russian and Japanese phrase cards). One of my more valuable sets, though, is my photo collection. Some are AP, some just fan photos but a few date back to the 1920s (Auntie Glo and Rudy by the fountain - there are press clippings taped all over the back). I love the one of Vyacheslav with Peter Fonda; again covered in clippings - it was taken in the early 1960s in San Francisco. I still miss Slava.

I will one day share my crime scene photo collection but I know some people are sensitive and I don't want to upset anyone...

Meet Auntie Glo

Absolutely ages ago, I mentioned an exciting ebay purchase and said I would share more later. Well now is later...

I purchased this framed photo of Gloria Swanson on ebay for a tenner. Bargain. It was collection only from Swansea and I guess there are not that many Gloria fans in Wales... She's sat on my dining room sideboard ever since (do you think I have time to pull out a drill and actually hang it?). She's a part of the family now. I don't know if the autograph is genuine or not and frankly I don't care. I love it anyway.

Also making an appearance is one of my many Lolita martini glasses, my Sailor Jerry that has sat untouched since before Christmas (yay me!) and my vegan vodka that loses one single measure once a month. Not bad for a fall-down drunk, eh? :)

So...

My car is totally broken. Not easy to find another one. Ford are quoting stupid prices for 03 plate Focuses but I can actually get a 53 plate Mercedes for less... My settee is also broken, as is my fridge. A lot of expenses all at once.

Essay due week after next. I ought to be working on it but instead I am planning the jewellery making party I am hosting for my birthday next month. The idea was I would buy a few tasteful pieces to build up my current rather large collection of beads and charms... £100 later...

My job is rather stressful right now and everything Kay does is pissing me off. In a not-unrelated development, my FMF is pretty bad. Like nearly as bad as when I was in my early twenties and couldn't get out of bed.

On a funny note, I ran into a man at the train station the other night who used to be a big part of my life but I now have no interest in. Evidently he still has an interest in me because he has taken offense at my blog and ordered me to delete it (what's wrong with Betsey Johnson bags and restaurant reviews?). I am so good at making scenes... I screamed and yelled until security had to drag me away. It was rather ticklesome... Don't fuck with me unless you want to be publicly humiliated.