Pleased to meet you-I am Jenny.

This phrase is one of those phrases that when I hear it, or think it or even just write it, I will burst in to laughter.

My friend Amanda, an American from Boston, not the Bible belt, was in the UK to visit her boyfriends parents over Chistmas. On the very eve of Christmas, she was taken along to midnight mass. As is (apparently) custom at the end of mass, the congregation turns to each other, shakes hands and wishes “peace be with you”. Amanda, unfamiliar with this behaviour, accepts the hand of the woman next to her and replies with a big smile on her face-Pleased to meet you too-I am Amanda!

This story has not really got anything to do with me, except that Amanda is the name of one of my best friends, but I am pleased to meet you-I am Jenny, your bitching blogger  in LA. I moved here three years ago, in the middle of my studies at St. Martins in London, thinking I would stay for a year. I did a short internship at Jeremy Scott before being offered the position of studio manager but left after two years as I decided it would be silly not to finish my degree. So I went back to rain and public transport and finished what I had started, but am now back in the sunshine and traffic fines, blogging for B&J, writing on a book and working on my own designs.

It has taken me a while to introduce myself, and this is not because I did not want to meet you or because I am shy, quite the opposite, but like Izzy (although I saw her picture and find it hard to believe her..) as soon as I am face to face with a camera I turn in to a bad version of myself. So conscious of trying to turn my good side and finally nail that one great shot that I will bring out, when my hair has turned grey and my ass have gone the same way as Newtons apples, to remember my days of youth and beauty. Unfortunatelly this have so far failed to happen.

I have just looked through 9026 items on my iPhoto which, although a very pleasant hour long journey down memory lane, only confirmed what I have been trying to tell you. I have been blessed with many many things in life, but photogenicism was not one of them. Only when I am really drunk, or in fancy dress (which I guess goes hand in hand with drunk) will I relax my face, stop my pout and not become crosseyed. Therefor, the pictures of me where I look most normal are either in costume or passed out.

At a Halloween party in a parking garage in Brentwood. Bloody brilliant idea if you live in a one bedroom flat and is planning a party for a couple of hundred people.

At Jeremy Scott/Colette's Thriller party.

If we ever get to meet I can assure you that the blond colour is natural, the smile genuine but the freckles are fake.

That’s about it folks. Peace be with you.

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