Blah Blah Writing

There's a reason I haven't been blogging much lately. It's also the reason why I can't sleep at night, waking up in the wee hours with a cold sweat and fast-beating heart; it's why I can't speak to another human without muttering unintelligibly about fox hunts and clockwork, and it's the reason I don't do or think about anything anymore except this one thing. You probably already know -- it's this damn novel I'm writing. 

I always used to dream of getting so immersed in my writing that I became one of those irritable, unwashed, upsettingly eccentric people whose only drive in life was their art. I always wondered, "Why do I feel okay taking breaks from writing? Why aren't I obsessing over my characters 24/7 and waking up in the night, sobbing because I hate myself and everything I've ever written? Why can't I be one of those horrible anti-social people who does nothing but babble about their stupid novel that nobody cares about?" It sounded so exciting, so bohemian, so cool. I'd never have guessed that I would actually become the smelly, unhinged writer that I dreamed about. But now I have! And it's everything I wanted and more! More self-loathing, lost sleep, and malnourishment, anyway. (For instance, today I'm eating a Mars Bar for dinner because I don't have the time or energy to boil water for pasta. I already made coffee; what more do you want from me?)

It's actually kind of stupid how much I enjoy doing nothing but eating terribly and staying up until the sun rises, writing and hating what I've written and then liking it again, and then writing some more. Making up worlds and characters and ball gowns and cheese-eating viscounts is like crack to me. It's like eating a stack of chocolate chip pancakes covered in whipped cream and strawberries without throwing up afterwards. It's like a hundred pug puppies, rolling all over me in a field of daisies. It's like Tom Hiddleston reading me a story every night before bed. It's pretty much the best. The only things that would make it better were if my room was fully catered, and if Greg were in the corner somewhere playing video games, so I could occasionally throw things at him or demand kisses. Even so, it's pretty great.

People have asked me about the novel itself, and I'm hesitant to talk about it in great detail, because it's my beautiful child and I don't want anyone on the internet to steal it. I've already talked about it on here, but in case you can't be bothered to scroll back and find that post (who has the energy?), here's the run-down: It's about a girl who plays the harp and lives in a fantasy land that's in a state of perpetual winter. There are clockwork things. There is a fox hunt in the snow. There is an anti-social duke who can't tie a cravat to save his soul. There are ball gowns. Tea. Hummingbirds! The end. 

Suffice it to say, I'm busy writing a piece of literary genius so if I don't update here very often THAT'S WHY. Busy living the dream and all that. I'll let you know when I'm the next Stephanie Meyer.

Haircut Yay

SO I GOT A HAIRCUT. I was gonna wait until I could get some not-godawful photos to post here, but it's almost been a week and clearly I'm not making any kind of effort to take better ones, so here you go. If you follow me on twitter, instagram, facebook, or really anywhere else in addition to this blog, you'll already know I cut my hair. So this post is really boring for you. 

I got it cut last Monday, a day after Greg flew back home to the States. I'd been growing out my hair partly because I missed my long hair, but mostly because Greg is super into long hair. So I kept it long for him while he visited, and as soon as he was in the air, I chopped it the hell off! I'd been fantasizing about a long bob for months, something like Kimbra's, but according to Marco at Headmasters Victoria, above the shoulder was better. He also poo-pooed my Zooey bangs and said that a straight-across fringe would open up my face more. I basically just let Marco do whatever he wanted, since clearly I don't understand hair or how different haircuts look good on different people, so I said, "You're the expert," and let him do his thang. 

Luckily Marco really is an expert, because I love what he did with my hair! Absolutely fucking ridiculously love it. I don't think I've ever been this excited or pleased with a haircut, even after I got that mod pixie/bob hybrid years ago. This one is just perfect. I think it has something to do with the fact that I've been lusting after this hairstyle since I was but a youth. The protagonist in one of my first attempted novels, Silver City (worst novel ever), had this haircut. Most of my blood elf and human 'toons in WoW have it. I just always wanted a black bob with blunt bangs and other alliterated Bs! Pulp Fiction style! I'm so glad I went ahead with it and let Marco have his way with my locks, because I'm in complete and utter love with my own hair. 

For those wondering how I style it (nobody), I NEED to give a shout-out to Aussie products right now. I'm kind of overwhelmed by how soft, smooth, and un-frizzy my hair is, even after blow-drying and straightening it. In the shower I use some random Dove shampoo for dyed hair, and 3 Minute Miracle Frizz Remedy. Then when I'm styling my hair, I use Anti-Frizz Conditioning Milk. You only use a tiny dollop of it but christ, it works so well! And finally I spray in some Heat Protection Leave-in Spray, before wreaking all sorts of havoc on my poor hair with a blow dryer and flatiron. It should be illegal how soft and shiny my hair is afterwards, though. Illegal. Aussie, stop being so amazing and... like, okay actually keep being so amazing because my hair needs you. 

Anyway wow, this post got a BIT out of hand, considering I was just gonna be like "Wow I cut my hair okay yay," but I figure it's important to share hair tips with one another because I'm always at a complete loss and need as much help from people as I can get when it comes to ~beauty regimes~, whatever that means. Thanks to everyone on twitter who recommended Aussie, you guys are stars!

Again, sorry for these horrendous photos in which I look angry and yellow.

This Is Mostly For My Mom I Guess

Sorry I've been absent of late. It's due to a combination of things, but in the past week and a half at least, I've been busy spending as much time as possible with Greg, who came to visit me in London (finally)! He got here on the 9th, and we spent most of the time hanging out, watching The Apprentice UK, eating takeaway, and walking to the ice cream shop down the road for late-night cones. 

We also spent my birthday weekend in the countryside, exploring Chatsworth House and eating pasties and tarts in the Peak District. It was so awesome to spend my 26th birthday with my favorite boy. I can't believe I'm already 26. How has this happened?! Aren't I still 23? Ugh, aging is the worst! I'm pushing 30 now! At least I still get carded on a regular basis. It's becoming a good thing in my wizened years, especially here in the UK, where if you look over 25 or if you're ordering food they don't really seem to bother.

Photos of touristy things soon to come, especially Hampton Court Palace, home of sex god Henry VIII, but first I wanted to make a (SUPER LONG, SORRY) post about my ~future~ or whatever, since I have a hard time putting things into words when I'm talking to people one on one, and it's much easier for me to form coherent thoughts in a blog-type setting. So if you don't really care about this sort of thing, the future plans of an expat writer with a boyfriend in Salt Lake, then read no further. 

Mostly I want to say, to everyone who's asked and with whom I've been super wishy-washy: I'm not going to be staying in London permanently, or even indefinitely. I'm not moving back to Portland (sadface). I'll be moving back to be with Greg, in Salt Lake City, for now. I know some of you (you know who you are!) are probably cringing now, and that's partly why I'm writing this here, to avoid having to "face" you over the internet and be subjected to your judgment. 

But wait, I'm not done. I'm not just throwing myself headlong into the world of Mormons, 3% beer, and conservative blandness (SLC hipsters? do you exist?). Greg and I talked about it over the course of his stay, and what we stumbled upon was this: What I really want to pursue, right now, is my writing. Perhaps I found my 9-5 Monday-Friday career calling in publishing, but what I really want to do, ideally, right now, is to write novels. That's what I want to focus on in my old-ass 26-year-old life. 

Greg, amazing man that he is, has offered to basically support my artist butt in Salt Lake for a while (6 months to a year, tentatively), while I do that. We did the math and it's feasible for me to work part-time, while writing the rest of the time. Greg is willing to do this so I can pursue my dream, and so he can stay in Salt Lake a little longer to look for a better job and hopefully build up his resume a bit before we move somewhere else. 

And we will move somewhere else. Greg knows I don't want to put down any roots in Salt Lake, and neither does he. So we won't be there forever, and when we do move, it will be beneficial to both of us, and hopefully I'll have a finished novel or even an agent, or a published novel if I'm super lucky, who knows; and Greg will have more professional experience under his belt. I'll be doing what I love to do, and Greg will be kicking ass and taking names in the professional world. I don't feel like I'll be stagnating, or waiting, or putting off my dream this way. I'll have enough time to write, and Greg will be getting super valuable work experience. 

I was afraid of Salt Lake because I didn't want to get apathetic, to get stuck, and because it sounds like a boring as hell city. But, that said, I'm really happy with this compromise. It means I can focus on writing, stay with Greg, and know that pretty soon we'll be getting out of Salt Lake and going somewhere more exciting with more opportunities for us. It's like a pit-stop on the road to Awesome. Let's see if this post can be more cliche and cheesy!! 

Seriously though, I'm happy about this. I'm really happy that Greg is so willing to support me while I focus on writing for a while. I always used to think it would be amazing if Greg could just work and I could sit at home and write, but it was just a fantasy, so obviously I never brought it up. But Greg brought it up himself, and I'm just so blown away by his ridiculous support and generosity. I feel like I fell in love with Greg all over again while he was here in London, and I can't wait to continue our life together! But first I'm gonna enjoy the hell out of the UK while I still can. So watch out. 'Cause... Meg is comin' atcha, UK. To drink your tea. Actually mostly just to continue drinking coffee. And eating Mars Bars.

Team Loki

Since The Avengers (Avengers Assemble in the UK) hasn't come out yet in the States (el oh el), and I'm still on a fangirl high after seeing it twice, I thought now might be a good time to express my feels about one of my favorite fictional characters ever, Loki Laufeyson. If you haven't seen Thor and you want to do so at some point without getting spoiled, maybe now is the time to turn away. But seriously why haven't you see Thor; I'm not sure we can be friends.

I realize that my blog has become a sort of dumping-ground for my fangirling lately, and for that I apologize. (Not that it was really ever anything else.) But let's get past that, because you're about to be taken on a wild ride of shameless fangirling. 

Almost two weeks ago, Shaun and I went to the European premiere of Avengers Assemble, in London. To clarify, by "went to the premiere" I mean we stood along the red carpet waving cameras in the air and screaming, "Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom! TOM! TOM!" while snapping "accidental" photos of his ass. We didn't actually see the film that day; only cool people were allowed to do that. But here, let me show you the Hiddlebum.


Dat ass. My camera knew what it wanted even if I was far too short to see over anyone's head. People are really annoying when they're at events like these, by the way. Celebs make bitches crazy. To my right was a guy who'd brought his DVD covers for Ghost World and Lost in Translation, clearly hoping to get ScarJo's autograph on them. Sigh. And then to my left, always edging in front of me, was some dude who did nothing but stand there. He just stood there, you guys. He wasn't taking pictures, had nothing for anyone to sign; he was just standing there with his arms at his sides, watching. WHY WERE YOU THERE, dude? I wanted to be like, "Buddy, if you're not gonna scream like an asshole and take a billion blurry photos of the tops of people's heads, then you can fuck right off." But I didn't, because I pretend to be a nice person on the outside. Either way I wouldn't have been able to see anybody. I am really short. 

Wait, so what was I talking about? I totally lost my train of thought while recalling how traumatic the premiere was. Oh, yes. So basically we just screamed people's names and the best photo I got was of Tom Hiddleston's ass. We did have a ton of fun with the other fans before the premiere started, though! I took a billion photos of the hilarious/amazing cosplayers that were in our section, but this is the best of the bunch:


The point of this post is Loki, though. Loki. Loki Loki. Let's get back to Loki, Meg! Okay! So all of us (Loki's Army) were sitting there a little past noon, five hours before the whole thing started, putting together a sign to show our love for Tom Hiddleston/Loki. Then a woman sitting near me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Why do you guys love Loki so much? He's evil." To which I said something like, BUT HE IS SO ADORBS HOW CAN YOU HATE HIM TOM HIDDLESTON LOOK AT HIS FACE. I meant to be articulate and persuasive, but I vomited fangirlisms instead. Oh well; now I have the chance to explain in my very own blog why I, and probably so many other people, love Loki so much. 1. He's so very tortured. You would be too if you'd grown up all your life in the shadow of your cocky, loudmouth, d-bag older brother who probably gave you wedgies. And also if you found out that you were actually adopted (more like stolen) from a race of evil monsters who everyone hates. And if then your adopted father told you that he only took you away because he planned to basically put you on the throne of Jotunheim later on, not that he was gonna tell you any of this until you cried and had a fit in the hallway, after having pretty much figured it out yourself already. Not to mention the fact that your little ploy to delay your d-bag brother's coronation ended up in his being exiled from your home world. There's probably a lot of guilt going on, a lot of self-loathing, questioning whether your entire life is a lie, wondering whether everyone will loathe you now that your identity has come out. I think we would all be just a little tortured inside if this had all gone down in our lives. Loki just wanted to please his father, to feel himself an equal to his brother, and yet he finds himself feeling even further separated from them upon learning of his true birthright. He never wanted the throne, guys. He just wanted to be Thor's equal. :'( 2. He's so very weepy. I really, really love a villain who angry-weeps. I just find it so endearing and oddly sexy. Basically every scene with Loki, it looks like he's about to cry, or he's actually shedding tears. He's not a villain you immediately hate, nor does he ever really become that villain. He's always sympathetic; he's always Thor's little brother, trying to prove himself, trying to become the kind of man he thinks his father would be proud of, but it comes out all wrong. Unlike most baddies, when I first watched Thor I found myself enjoying the scenes with Loki just as much as, if not more so, than Thor's scenes on Earth. That doesn't happen often while watching superhero movies, not for me. Every time Loki sheds a tear, a little part of me dies inside. 3. He's so very pretty. I'll admit. The first time I saw Thor, I wasn't focused on Loki's ridiculously attractive face. In fact I thought he was kind of weird looking. I liked the vampiric hue of his skin, though. And his pretty gold horn helmet. After watching the film again and being gradually converted into a raving Tom Hiddleston fangirl, I realized that Loki is just a really, really attractive adopted Frost Giant. Look at his eyes, guys. Look at his weirdly slicked-back hair. He's like if an elf and a vampire mated, and created a demigod of Asgard. Yes good. 4. He's so very tragic. It might be that I just have way too many Fangirl Feels pent up inside me and they like to come streaming out all at once in intense droves, but I can't get over how sad Loki's story makes me. The last few moments you see him in Thor, he tells his adopted father Odin, "I could have done it, father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us." Odin could have forgiven his son; he could have said, "Yes, Loki, but you didn't, and it's okay, so come up here and get a big ol' hug from Dad." Instead he said, "No, Loki." And Loki let go. He'd been lied to, betrayed, and now dismissed by his own father. Odin was the only person he wanted to prove himself to, and here Odin was, telling him he couldn't. He never could. It's pretty much the most upsetting character arc of my life right now, and that's why I love Loki so much. What other superhero villain makes me weep shamelessly into my jelly beans at night, while simultaneously giving me a constant ladyboner? What other baddie could look so beautiful while crying and wearing a giant gold cow-horn helmet? Only Loki. Only Loki. 

And that's why I am on Team Loki. So shut up, random lady at the Avengers Assemble premiere! You don't know what you're talking about.

The Olivier Awards, or: How I Met Harry Lloyd (Again)

Okay! Let's talk about the Olivier Awards! I wasn't sure what I was going to write about for this post at first -- would I describe the performances? Recap the winners in each category? Review the red carpet gowns? But finally I've decided I'm just going to write like a crazy fangirl and try to share my favorite moments of the night, so you get my experience of it all instead of the same thing you could read at any news site. So yeah. Here we go. (Also please excuse some of these photos; most were taken on my awful phone, but the better ones were jacked from Shaun.)

As perhaps some of you know (again, I've been on and on about this on twitter), Shaun won two tickets to the 2012 Laurence Olivier Awards, which took place last night at the Royal Opera House. She won them on Friday, and when she sent me an email about it I was in a total state of shock. The email basically went, "Oh so I won these tickets on twitter for the Olivier Awards, it's a fancy theatre awards show, are you busy this Sunday? Sorry this email is ridiculous." I said, "UM YES PLEASE, NO I AM NOT BUSY ON SUNDAY, WHY IS THIS EMAIL SO CALM." After that we proceeded to panic about what to wear, what celebs would be there, etc. I bought a new dress and shoes for the event, since I destroyed my only heels at the office Christmas party by somehow caking them in mud. It was a very stressful weekend trying to put an outfit together, let me tell you.




At the end of it all, though, I think it turned out okay! Not the fanciest ever, but the dress was on sale for £15 at River Island so what are you gonna do. I fell in love at first sight with the shoes (from New Look), but by the end of the night I wanted to kill myself my feet were in so much pain. People who wear 6-inch heels every day: HOW.

Skip ahead to Sunday afternoon. The red carpet was supposed to open at 4:30pm, but we didn't want to be ridiculously early so Shaun and I went for a drink at the Nag's Head in Covent Garden to calm our frazzled nerves. We saw a couple other dressed up people there, probably having the same thought as us! What's an awards show without a drink beforehand?

My painful-as-hell shoes and our pre-show drinks: pint of Foster's for me and a rum & coke for Shaun.

After enduring a brief downpour and a bunch of contradictory instructions from people in reflective vests, we finally found the entrance to the red carpet. By this time our feet were killing us, so we hobbled onto the carpet... and lo and behold, it was super squishy! The red carpet is a legitimate carpet, you guys! It was like a cloud under my feet, and we didn't fall or trip while walking along it. There were fans gathered along the sides, and I felt bad that we weren't anyone famous, but it was so early that nobody cool was arriving yet anyway. Once we reached the end of the carpet we took a few cheeky photos, hovered for a moment hoping somebody hot would appear on the carpet (they didn't), and finally headed into the Opera House.

Looking like a goob on the red carpet, and free bubbly during the interval!

The red carpet, too early to be interesting to anyone.

Before the crowd really started gathering in the commoners' bar.

Once inside we were directed upstairs to a fancy bar area, at which point we immediately found a place to sit down. From there we could quite easily people-watch, but the real excitement was outside on the red carpet. Behind us were windows looking out on the red carpet, and every once in a while we'd crane our necks around to see if anyone interesting had arrived yet. I had my mind on one thing and one thing only, as expected: Harry Lloyd. I'd read earlier in the week that he was going to be presenting an award that night, so when I found out we were actually going to be there I about had a Harry Lloyd-induced coronary. Needless to say I had my beady eyes on the lookout for his creepy Duchess of Malfi facial hair, and what do you know, I peered over my shoulder at one point to see a faraway face on the red carpet... was that...? Yes it was! I said something articulate to Shaun like, "OHMYGOD IT'S HIM I THINK THAT'S HARRY IS THAT HIM? OHMYGOD YES IT IIISSSS," so we stood up and shuffled painfully to the window. It was indeed Harry Lloyd, being interviewed and looking very tall on the red carpet. We murmured fangirlisms to one another as we watched, but soon enough he was ushered inside by his PA.

After that there was a bit of a lull. We continued to stare eagerly out the window, while I glanced intermittently at the stairs leading up to the room in which we stood, hoping that somehow Harry Lloyd would make his way up to us so I could stand around feeling bad that I was too chicken to talk to him. We figured there must be a super cool, separate celebrity bar downstairs, and that we commoners weren't important enough to be allowed to mingle with them, so we were herded up here to the Olivier Awards equivalent of the third class decks on the Titanic. Soon, though, more famous people started showing up. We were way up on the 1st or 2nd floor, so it was rather hard to pick them out, but whenever somebody was being interviewed or photographed we knew it was someone we might recognize. I spotted Zach Braff first, and later we caught site of Dan Stevens (cousin Matthew from Downton Abbey!). I got so excited I took the shittiest phone photo known to man:

IT'S DAN STEVENS U GUIZE

Of course the whole time I kept a keen eye on the stairs, hoping against hope that Harry would get lost amongst the milling crowds and confusedly wander up to the lowly commoners' area and then be drawn to me like a moth to a flame, and ask, "Why are you staring at me?" I'd given up hope though, and reminded myself that I'd already met him outside the Old Vic after The Duchess of Malfi, so it wasn't a tragedy if I never spoke to him again. It didn't matter that I'd been reliving that moment in my head every night as I went to sleep, coming up with more interesting banter, remembering all the things I wish I'd said to him the first time, kicking myself for not thinking of them sooner. (I'd apologize for my insane fangirl behavior, but come on guys, who hasn't obsessively dwelt on this kind of thing before? Who? Yeah, nobody.) And then suddenly, as though I possessed a Harry Lloyd radar at full power, I turned to the stairs and there he was.

I poked Shaun and scream-whispered: "There he is ohmygod he's coming up the stairs!" Shaun, not really caring as much as me and probably tired by now of my constant Harry Lloyd ravings, indulged me by pretending to be super interested. She soon turned back to the window and the red carpet, but I stalker-watched Harry as he made his way through the crowd. He was clearly looking for someone, at one point pulling out his phone and making a call while standing all confused and alone in the middle of the now crowded room, so I stood my ground and stared like a sexual predator. A terrified, frozen sexual predator.

I was still gawking at him over my shoulder when Shaun punched me in the face. Okay fine, the arm; she hit me really hard on the arm. It would've been more badass if it was the face, though. Anyway, Shaun slapped my arm with the force of a thousand Spartans and said, pointing out the window, "IT'S JAMES MCAVOY!" And it was. That tiny Scottish actor with so much manly allure, pausing for photos and being generally Really Famous and Cool As Fuck. We each shed a single tear in the face of his overwhelming beauty.

Once that was over with, I jerked back around to look for Harry, only to find that he'd disappeared into the crowd. No! Then a bell sounded, and a woman's voice over the sound system told us all to fuck off to our seats because the ceremony was about to begin. Shaun and I stood unmoving, and I scanned the crowd in a panic. No sign of Harry. We weren't quite sure where we were meant to go in order to find our seats, so at last I led Shaun off through the now thinning crowd in the direction which I thought Harry had gone. We paused again near the bar on the other end of the room, and then I saw him. He was in conversation with two other people who were clearly Awesome and probably Actors, so I poked Shaun and started saying stupid things like, "There he is," "Should I go...?" "Will I regret it if I..." and "UGH OMG." Then a woman came up and tried to make us leave, so I said something like, "WE HAVE NO IDEA WHO WE ARE OR WHERE WE'RE GOING OR WHAT'S HAPPENING" and she showed us where to find our seats. We didn't move; we just kept standing there and I wrung my hands and tried to still my heart that was beating like a hummingbird's.

IT'S HARRY LLOYD Y'ALL. Look at that gross facial hair. (via)

I knew I'd regret it if I didn't go talk to him, though. I knew I'd forever be living that moment in my head as well, and not in a good way. So when the usher went up to Harry and his friends to tell them to get out of there and find their seats, I took the opportunity to hobble over to them. All I remember at that point is reaching out to touch his arm, because he'd turned back to the bar, and I noticed he had what looked like dog or cat hair on the elbow of his tux, and I thought, "Boy, you need a lint roller." When he turned around I kind of just went into autopilot. I said something like, "Excuse me, hi, I just wanted to let you know I'm a huge fan of your work!" I expected him to be a little annoyed that some random was accosting him at this safe zone of an awards show, but he broke into this bright grin and said, "Oh, thank you so much!" Encouraged, I proceeded to tell him everything I'd seen him in and how much I loved him in everything, which was probably super neurotic and weird of me, but whatever! He made a cute comment about how his character in Game of Thrones was "another creepy git" or something after I mentioned seeing him in Duchess of Malfi. I also told him that I'm writing a novel and that he's my ideal casting for the movie version of one of the characters. DORKIEST THING TO SAY EVER, but I'm really glad I did, because I told him this in my stupid fantasies and I had to do it. I had to. He was probably super weirded out but I don't care, he was so gracious and happy to talk to me, some random fangirl! Then he shook my hand and shook Shaun's hand, and we probably said something like, "Have fun tonight" or whatever you say in these situations, and then he walked off into the crowd again. And then I peed myself a little.

The rest of the night was incredible. It was funny, entertaining, overwhelming, and ridiculous (because they could not seem to get the tv screens on stage to work properly). There was free champagne at the interval, and a ton of musical performances from various London shows throughout. We were in literally the last row of audience members, but it hardly mattered! We saw Patrick Stewart present an award, for godsake! I breathed the same air as Captain Jean-Luc Picard! I was in heaven. The whole thing was like a dream; really, one of the most memorable events of my life. And needless to say I was basking in post-Harry Lloyd euphoria the entire time.

After the show I peed for about five minutes straight (pint + champagne + small bladder = so much peeing), we plodded down roughly one billion flights of stairs in our heels, and emerged into the freezing night air of London. There was a small crowd of fans outside waiting for celebs to emerge, and it reminded us just how lucky we were to have been able to attend. We may not have gotten up close and personal with James McAvoy or anything, but we saw him from afar, and being able to see so many people in person and to experience the event live was just... beyond words.

I'm so grateful that Shaun invited me along as her date, and I'm so grateful to live in a city that gives us these incredible opportunities, again and again! People keep telling us we're lucky, or that we lead "charmed" lives, but we did all of it ourselves. (Although Shaun does win tickets to awards shows occasionally.) We applied and were accepted to graduate programs in London, we bought plane tickets, we packed up all our stuff and we crossed an entire ocean to accomplish what we truly wanted to do in life. We may do a lot of really cool things, but that's because we're always on the lookout, and always making new experiences a priority. Anyone out there who wants to do something that makes them truly happy, something amazing and grand, just do it! Awesome things don't come to those who wait. You have to make life happen. And I'm just so happy that I've made all of this happen for myself. Thanks forever to Shaun for initially inspiring me. ♥

The New Black

So some of you probably already know (if you follow me on twitter) that I dyed my hair black yesterday! I've gone super dark brown before, but never this dark. I've always secretly wanted black hair, because vampires and goths are super hot, but was always too scared to do it. Not necessarily because I was worried I'd look bad, but because I was afraid of how people would react. That's the thing about changing your appearance noticeably -- people are bound to comment, and sometimes it can be nerve-wracking waiting for a response. It's particularly stressful when you're like me: I love expressing myself through my clothes, hair, and accessories (and my one lone tattoo), but I also have this kinda gross, constant need to be liked. So even if I think I'll look good with black hair, I have to ask friends ahead of time, "Will it look okay? I won't look like a teen goth will I?" Not that I'd even mind looking like a teen goth, but I live in terror of being judged by others.

I'm sure I'm not the only one! How many of you have changed something about your appearance, or not changed something (even as little as not wearing a certain outfit one day), because you were worried it would receive a negative reaction? As an ex style blogger, I'd be lying if I said I didn't love wearing weird things sometimes, and I definitely believe in expressing myself, no matter what other people think. But every once in a while I doubt myself, and this was one instance where I wasn't convinced. To go black, or stay safe with brown?

In the end, this piece of art that I found on tumblr made up my mind.

via candyacidart.tumblr.com

It hit me then -- what's so great about looking natural? Why should I be expected to love my mousey-brown natural hair color over a color that I choose, that I know I will love? And why should girls with curly hair need to "embrace their curls," or why shouldn't a girl with a flat chest get breast implants? If it's done out of joy, if a girl or a boy gets a tattoo and it makes them happier, then I am all for it. Of course nothing is wrong with embracing one's natural beauty! I think it's an amazing thing to be able to love every single thing about yourself, as is. But if there's something you can change, and you want to, and it's not done out of fear or insecurity or because it's what someone else wants, then by all means -- change it! To me, dying my hair or putting on a bunch of eyeliner or getting a tattoo is a way to express myself. I feel like the Real Meg when I do these things, and it makes me feel good.

So yes, I'm very glad I chose to dye my hair black! I don't regret it for a second. It's made me just that bit more confident now, because I look exactly the way I want to look.

Steampunk Soiree

I'd been meaning to read Gail Carriger's Soulless for ages, ever since I saw it as one of the staff recommendations at Powell's City of Books in Portland. Therefore, when someone from Orbit (the Sci Fi/Fantasy imprint at Little, Brown) recommended it to me during my work placement and provided me with a free copy, I was pretty darn excited. I read it on the tube and during my lunch breaks every day, and before my two-week placement ended, I'd already finished the book. The very next night I read the manga version of Soulless, vol 1. Then I ran out and bought the books I hadn't taken greedily from the Orbit shelves, and am well into book 2, Changeless. Needless to say I'm a little bit addicted! Gail Carriger's style is so very English, despite her being an American, and so steampunky! Really, these books are such fun, adorable, hilarious reads that I can't imagine life without them. Everyone go read them now.




As you can probably guess, when I found out about tonight's Steampunk Soiree at Foyles featuring Gail Carriger, I freaked out a little while reserving my tickets. A steampunk event? With my new favorite author? Yes please. I dragged Shaun along with me, and we were both so pleasantly surprised by how much fun the whole thing was. For some reason we were terrified that if we didn't show up in full steampunk attire, we'd be shunned and turned away by the rest of the proper steampunks. Obviously that didn't happen at all; in fact, it was super welcoming and low-key, with tea and cakes for all!










Lauren O'Farrell was a special guest there as well, to talk about her book Stitch London. I fell in complete love with her little London-centric knitted creations! That giant orange thing behind her in the photo is a knitted squid! I was gutted not to have won the raffle for her book, but I'm sorely tempted now to go out and buy a copy for myself -- why shouldn't I fill my room with tiny knitted urban vermin? So adorable!




Then Gail read a bit from Soulless, which was so charming, and answered a few questions for us. It was great to get a bit of insight into her writing process, how she got interested in steampunk, and what genres of Victorian literature her books are inspired by. I enjoyed myself immensely, and even had the courage to ask my own question! After that we all lined up to have our books signed, and I picked up another copy of Soulless for her to sign, the trade paperback to match the rest of my set. I acted like a complete idiot once it was my turn for her to sign, but I'm pretty sure I act like a complete idiot every time I meet any of my heroes (Mark Gatiss, anyone?), but oh well! It was just amazing to be there and tell her what an inspiration she is to me.

It was just a really great night, cozy and fun, and completely inspiring. I love geek meet-ups, so I hope there will be more of these Steampunk Soirees in the near future!