Sometimes I feel like I get so caught up in beauty that I need a little respite in other types of frivolity, or something completely unrelated. So, I'm making Sunday a day to talk about something a little different, a day where I can talk about myself, the things that have been bothering me, a completely trivial outpouring of thoughts. Whatever it may be, if you're only here for the beauty then feel free to skip over.
But for now, I'd like to talk about a boy whose mention crops up a lot in my videos: Kiwi.
Kiwi's real name is Kieran, and he still doesn't know how he came about getting the nickname 'Kiwi'. I met him by accident on the internet whilst cruising Myspace (account since deleted, happy to report) for pretty boys on a slow Friday night in my first year of university.
... Yes. We met on Myspace.
It's probably one of the more awful things I have admitted (armed robbery and conspiracy to steal kittens come close joint second), and even my parents don't know about it...yet.
So, 3 months after my initial friend request, a message arrived. It developed into a string of messages, late-night MSN conversations about not much at all, and one night at about 2am, a message popped up saying 'I'm coming over to yours with stolen champagne, text me on this number to tell me where I'm going.'
A boy I'd never met had decided to impose himself on me at 2am.
After 20 minutes, I'd begun to wonder. It turned out he'd got lost... on a 5-minute walk in a straight line. But then, he showed up, grinning and triumphant in a terrible green parka. He presented me the bottle of stolen champagne (which turned out to be sparkling wine purloined from his flatmate's fridge), took off his clothes and climbed into my bed. 5 minutes later, he was fast asleep.
Now, I have to say, at this juncture... I don't normally invite strange men into my room, nor do I invite them to get into my bed. But what can you do when there's a 6'3" inebriated deadweight?
I slept in my jeans and t-shirt, awkwardly and incredibly unsure.
He woke up the next morning, completely unabashed that he'd fallen asleep completely starkers in someone else's bed, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and left (clothed, this time).
Unfortunately for me, he'd left his wallet in my room. I had to return it to him, the naked boy who'd fallen asleep in my bed with no prior invitation. Not 12 hours after I'd blushingly handed him back his wallet, he turned up at my door. This time, he was sober, and unapologetic. He told me my taste in music was shit, and then kissed me. And then we went to sleep.
These kinds of bizarre (and completely innocent, I hasten to add!) meetings carried on for a while, until he asked me out on a date. I wore too-small vintage shoes (and I have really small feet, so it's a feat (ha!) for them to be too small for me) and we went to various craptastic bars. We played pool and held hands and ate pizza at 2am.
Within ten days, he'd told me he loved me, like a ridiculously trite fairy-tale.
Photo posed by actors (not really, but we were a lot younger and slimmer then!)
And nearly 4 years on... he's still awesome. He's just as skinny, and his eyelashes are much longer and more fluttery than mine. He's much less shy and consequently much more annoying. He thinks fart jokes are hilarious and talks about computers 90% of the time. But he's a good boyfriend really, and indulges my small obsession with dinosaurs and my large obsession with makeup.
Sorry for all the silly slush, but allow me self-indulgence once a week.
Over and out.