Random ramblings from the Texan in London.

Once upon a time, there was a creative, impulsive, free spirited (and let's be honest, slightly unhinged) girl called Gabs. She grew up in an environment where she was actively encouraged to be creative, and was taught to sew and crochet, was given all the art supplies a girl could dream of, and was enrolled in classes where she could sing and act to her heart's content. She grew happy and confident in herself over the years, despite (or possibly because of) a string of increasingly awful jobs. She was asked to lie for employers, she was passed over for promotion due to other members of her team being thinner or girlier, she made endless cups of tea and took minutes until her fingers could barely hold a pen. Then one day she was offered a role in a company where she could honestly see a future for herself (let's call it SPEX) with a manager (who for the purposes of this blog we'll call Saul) who seemed too good to be true. The team was friendly and sociable, she beg...

It's official, it's been a whole year of this blog as of today. I've had a look back over the first posts I wrote, and it's fascinating. My memory is notoriously rubbish, so it's actually kind of great to be able to read my own perspective on life as I know it. Because it's all about me, you see. I've been an EA, a nanny, a PA, and now, a Craftsmistress. I've been happy, sad, furious, confused, tired... you name it, I've felt it this year. There have been extreme lows, bad work experiences, fights with Himself, finding out Sister 1 has Huntington's. There have been extreme highs, making new friends, having family visits, getting yet another gorgeous tattoo, and buying our first home. I know that this isn't one of those blogs that attracts thousands of followers all over the world (like a few that I read on a regular basis) but those of you that do read it are the ones that count for me. Thanks for sticking with me through the drama of t...

I've done it. I've told them where they can put their job. *grin* At first, my reasoning was "I'll just temp for a while, surely I can find enough temp jobs to work every week, or I could get a six month maternity cover or something..." Now, the more I think about it, the more I realise that I want to really give my crafting thing a proper go. I have no idea if I'll be successful, and The Fear is rearing its ugly head, but I get so excited even thinking about it that I just have to try. I think I'll be happy. I'm already happier, knowing I'll only have to enter those doors ten more times. I know Himself enjoyed when I was home early enough to have made dinner before he got in, and it was great having time to do laundry during the week, but the main draw is the thought of pottering around in my sewing room, being creative for a living. Etsy has proven itself to be a warm, vital place where once you find a crafter whose wares you like, you ke...

Here we go again. That's all I can think at the moment. I'm sure all of you are sick to death of me complaining about my job(s), so I'm not going to go into detail. I'll just say, here we go again. My friends are all quitting. The way the company is treating its staff doesn't exactly inspire confidence or a sense of security. One managed to find a new role at BAA (lucky cow). One was made redundant through dodgy circumstances and left yesterday. One resigned today. Who's next? I wouldn't put money on it taking longer than a week for the next person to throw in the towel. I can't decide if the string of crappy jobs I've had in the last seven or eight years is because I'm a bad judge of character, or if the universe is trying to tell me something. I know I'm not cut out for office work in the long term scheme of things. I'm creative, I love to cook and bake, I sew, I garden, I doodle, I craft. If I could make a living from doing ...

I got a message on facebook this week with some sad news. My oldest friend in the world has passed away. Rather than dwell on the guilt that immediately kicked in from having lost touch with him and with his family since I moved to the UK, I've decided to write about my memories of Josh. We met when I was five. My mother and I had moved in with her new husband, and down the street was a hellion of a little boy to whom I was immediately drawn. He was barely contained chaos. Sweet chaos, but chaos nonetheless. We ran up and down the street, played fairly regularly, and then... it happened. The infamous Beer Bottle Incident. He... relieved himself... into a beer bottle and poured the resulting liquid over my brand new scooter. Can I remember why he did it? Not a chance. I gingerly wheeled the tainted scooter home and vowed never to speak to that... that BOY... ever again. The joy of being a kid is that "never ever" can sometimes just mean "for about a year...