Joanna Bolouri's Blog, page 6

Waiting.

It’s the same routine every night: check rooms, lock windows, lock doors.  Then she’ll prop her favourite chair against her bedroom door handle and try to sleep.  The familiar safe sounds of the old, creaky house become something else when it gets dark. They become the sounds of his footsteps, of his hatred, of his determination… because he swore that one day, he’d come back.

She still sleeps in the bed she used to share with him, only now she shares the bed with a kitchen knife or some sharp scissors, carefully tucked under her pillow. Easy to reach in case he comes back. She knows she needs to be careful; one moment’s hesitation, one sign of weakness and her knife becomes his knife.

She’ll tell herself that it’s been five years. Five years and nothing.

But she knows he’ll come back.

And she’ll be ready.

The Photograph

The photograph in the frame keeps changing.

The photo I put there; the one I found in the thrift shop, with the girl wearing the yellow sun hat, smiling on the swing.  Something isn’t right.

Something is very, very wrong.

It started on Monday.  I looked at the photo as I always do and it took me a moment to realise that something was different. It was her yellow hat.

It wasn’t there anymore.

On Tuesday it reappeared but this time it wasn’t yellow. It was red and almost torn in half, clinging to her scalp and hanging down over her face.

On Wednesday her pretty smile changed to a frown and for three nights she frowned at me while I slept. On Saturday her face vanished. The rest of her remained, sitting on the swing but her face was gone.

Just. Gone.

I know what you’re thinking. I did get rid of the picture, I swear. The moment I lifted it out of the black frame, my flesh began to creep like a million invisible icy fingers walking slowly up my back and I put that photo in the trash but by Monday she was back.

Only I didn’t bring her back. She did it all by herself.

I held it tight with my eyes closed. I didn’t want to look at the photo but I did. She had gotten off the swing.

She stood close to the edge of the frame, smiling. But not the pretty smile I’d once known, now it was a grimace, so wide and unsettling that even now as I think of it, I want to scream. In the photo she stood completely still but behind her, I swear that swing swayed back and forth like she’d just that second jumped off to greet me.

Yesterday, Wednesday, the swing was still. But she wasn’t there to greet me.

She was gone.

This evening I got into bed and my feet touched something under the covers.  It was the red hat.

I’m frightened. Oh god, I’m frightened.

Review of The List #1

Amazing review from Heather McDaid  (28/11/13)

Joanna Bolouri’s The List is the modern lady’s Bridget Jones’s Diary, but with the sexual tenacity of Sex and the City. Picture the end goal being sexual liberation in 2013 and not a boyfriend in the 1990s and you’re on track.

This follows Phoebe, a 30-something singleton whose ex-boyfriend Alex has left her heartbroken. Not content with a year of being sad, she wants a new year’s resolution that actually means something, not a string of promises that are foregone by January 3rd. So, she compiles ‘the list’: 10 things she’d like to try sexually, from sex to a stranger to mastering the art of dirty talk. Recruiting her friend (with benefits) Oliver to the cause, she explores and pushes her sexual boundaries, with some going easier than they often would in real life, but others passed off as an ‘I’ll never do that again’.

Following her sexual exploits, Phoebe not only discovers a lot about herself and why past relationships failed, but encounters a number of men she wouldn’t previously have. From the dynamics with her boss Frank changing to the idea of Vince Vaughn lookalikes being lusted after, the mix of male characters makes a refreshing change of pace. No, they’re not all sexy lotharios, no they’re not all well endowed sex gods. Bolouri isn’t afraid to give her character a little disappointment.

It’s genuinely funny, and it’s fearless about sexual encounters. It’s not detailed in the way that would put some people off, but it’s told through the diary of someone who has the right balance of humour and seriousness when it comes to their problems. Friends don’t sugar coat their criticism, and this may be the first book where the line “Did you eat my twix?” has you laughing out loud on a train.

It’s witty, on point humour, and it has a healthy attitude to sex, body image and relationships. The references are relevant too, like deleting Twitter with the thought, “Stephen Fry was never going to follow me back anyway” to weird sex dreams, including “that pair off Masterchef”. It explores how it can impact friendships, time with strangers and exes, and it does it with the Jones-esque ‘because she swallowed the evidence’ humour. One of my favourite books this year, and most certainly my new favourite singleton hitting the town. Recommend!

*Additional note: As an Ann Summers worker I feel the need to respond to this part:The sales assistants in these sorts of shops are brilliant. They’re all mellow and thinking, Yeah, you’ve just bought enough lube to fit a truck in there you big PERVERT! but they never raise a pierced eyebrow, or look like they give a shit that you have £150 worth of anal beads in your basket.

We don’t care! Seriously. Good on you people for buying whatever you feel like. And that’s another reason I love this book. It has a healthy attitude to the use of companies like Ann Summers. It’s not a taboo to buy sex toys, or to use sex toys alone or with a partner. More books need to be this positive to a woman’s sexuality, especially when single! A lot of books promote themselves as being liberating, etc, but still slam things like Ann Summers.

[★★★★★]

WIN A PREVIEW COPY OF ‘THE LIST’

You could win a copy of my  book by clicking here 

 

Twitter Shaming.

Twitter really bothered me today. Actually, bothered isn’t the right word, enraged is closer to how I feel.

Someone decided to take a photo of a girl at a concert and display it online for the world to see. I’m not going to get into the whole story but below you will see how certain Tweeters decided to publicly shame a young girl.

A girl still in high school.  

A girl with friends and family.  

A girl with feelings.

Another human being.

Slane girl it's your own fault!

Songs I listen to when I’m all alone.

Being alone is brilliant.  Not only do you get to shout abuse at your laptop and pee with the toilet door open, you also get to listen to music you’d never normally admit to.  I’m not just talking about guilty pleasures, I’m talking about music that turns you into a happy faced, running man made entirely from jazz hands.  These are mine.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH (No more tears) – Donna Summer & Barbra Streisand. 

This is my disco fix. When this comes on, I suddenly remember that I sound exactly like both Donna and Barbra and get angry at a man who wears a raincoat.

BOP GUN – Ice Cube

This song makes me the rap queen of Glasgow.

EVERYBODY  - Backstreet Boys

I do the dance and ask myself in the mirror if I’m sex-u-aaalll’ The answer is always no.

The Bad Touch- Bloodhound Gang

This song makes me remember that I once had sex and it was quite good.

ANYTHING FROM EVITA

I love musicals and this is my favourite. Plus Jimmy Nail is in this version and fuck you, it’s great.

DON’T RAIN ON MY PARADE – Barbra Streisand

Babs again. This is where I put on a hat and run through my house, telling no-one that they can’t piss all over my chips.

Things I’ve promised my daughter.

I promise I will not make my body issues yours.
I will tell you every day how important you are, even when you’re not listening.
I will listen when you have something to say. Even when it’s about Moshi Monsters for the 400th  time.
I will not say no for no reason: there will always be a reason and I’ll tell you why.
I will answer your questions truthfully, unless it’s about Santa, the Tooth Fairy or magical horses. Then I will lie to you.
I will get involved if I see you struggling and I’ll support you until you stop.
I promise I will make you laugh loudly at least once a day.
I will help you understand that everyone is equal, even when people try to convince you otherwise.
I will never ask you to be anything other than yourself.

Answers to 8 questions asked by my daughter.

1. Yes you can marry that boy from school and I’m very glad I can come to the wedding for free.  No you can’t live in my house when you’re married, I need your room for my breakdown.

2. Babies get out of your stomach through a hole in your vagina. Which only appears after you’re at least 28. No babies until then.  No, David is wrong, a man with scissors won’t just cut it out.  Your friend David is an idiot.

3. You will get big boobs when you’re grown up. No, not mine, your own – these aren’t heirlooms.

4. Yes, it probably will still be funny to say ‘booby booby’ when you touch them but best not to do it in public.

5. Daddy and I won’t get married because we like each other enough to not ruin your life.

6. No, you can’t sleep in my bed; you sleep like you’re on fire.

7. Some people believe in God, some people don’t and some people aren’t sure. You’re free to choose whichever one you want.

8. Yes unicorns are real, because you’re 7 and I’m not shitting all over your childhood.

The Shimmy Club’s actual statement. Probably.

For those who haven’t read the original statement you can here - https://www.facebook.com/ShimmyClubGlasgow

STATEMENT

Here at The Shimmy Club, we thought spying on women through two-way mirrors while they were in the bathroom was a really fun idea.  Chicks love that kinda thing and the lads get to make misogynistic comments without hurting their feelings.  And they pay for this. WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE??

We hoped it would be a talking point, y’know, like a really seedy centrepiece at a pervert’s dinner party but what we didn’t bank on were people who weren’t pissed, noticing what we were up to. Bastards.

They even went so far as to complain all over our Facebook page.

And on Twitter.

And in the press.

And on blogs.

But we’re just misunderstood. The monsters who have complained are probably too ugly to get in to our club anyway but we thought we’d appease them because on a good guy/wank scale, we’re definitely the good guys.  If Mario and Luigi ran a really awesome nightclub, that’d be us.

If you’d been attractive enough to get in then you’d have seen the area and you’d have realised how fucking genius it is. You’d be like, ‘Is it a mirror? Can they see us? Is this even legal?’ and then you’d stop whining on our Facebook page because our social media guy is getting bored censoring all of the negativity. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Anyhoo, it’s really interesting that other bars have this amazing award worthy feature and no one has complained which indeed proves that you are all making a mountain out of a sneaky as fuck two-way mirror molehill.  So to shut you up, we’ve kindly put some signs up ensuring that women who use the mirror in future will know that there may be a dirty great rat-bag staring back and they’ll be fine with this. For realz.

Regardless of the fact our Facebook page lost around 2k likes in one evening, our customers are totally happy with this but if you’re not, tell us and we’ll probably delete your comments again if we feel like it. Maybe block you. MAYBE BLOCK YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY.  Dunno.

In closing, we haven’t said sorry for our actions because we’re not. But we do understand that angry punters will boycott our venues and talk shit about us in better clubs. SO WAIT! LET’S BE FRIENDS and end on a lighter note shall we?

God help us when they find out that we have buried vibrators into sections of the dancefloor.

LOLZ!! BANTER!!!!

Better now? Good. Shh.

I got a book deal!

So after months of boring everyone senseless I finally got a book deal with Quercus! My debut novel ‘The List‘ will be published in April 2014 and I’m doing a lot of this at the moment

and this….