I decided to wait a little bit longer to post this week in the vain hope that something exciting might happen. It turns out all I did was turn champagne into champleasure, denounce sloths as tree pedophiles and then struggle through a hangover. No boys. No gossip. Nothing.
* You know, if I were as pathetic as you are, I would have killed myself ages ago. You should get on with it. *
However, I did manage some weird shit when I was drunk and walking home:
- I made it rain with my old bus tickets that were taking up too much space in my wallet.
- Not all of them were new.
- Not all of them were bus tickets.
- I burnt myself trying to smoke the wrong end of a cigarette.
- I stole a bottle of milk from a crate outside of a café to take Snapchat selfies with.
- I cut my arm while trying to pull leaves off a tree so I could use them as confetti on my walk home.
- I decided to take pictures lying in the middle of the road.
- I ate a box of crackers.
- O.K. two boxes.
- And I tried my hand at automatic writing.
* At least now I’m in my thirties I can hold my drink. *
Luckily sober me had left out some painkillers; vitamin c tablets and an electrolyte replacement drink on my bedside table.
* And injustice deliciously squared, Be prepared! *
Winter is coming and I couldn’t be more excited. The 3pm lie-ins, the scarves, the soups and the moment that pajamas becoming acceptable everyday wear; what’s not to love? What I can’t stand though is winter dryness. It’s just awful. My skin is drier than Susan Boyle’s snatch; you could literally use my elbows to carve a smile into Nicole Kidman’s wooden excuse for a face.
* This layout for the Winter Wonderland spread. Not wonderful yet. *
By some small miracle I’ve also managed to get out of my financial funk. So I celebrated by buying tickets to see my favorite all-American bitch next door: Taylor Swift. I really hope she sits on my face and immortalizes our exchange in song form with a catchy title like “I Knew You Were A Cunning Linguist” or “Fingers Too”. Red could’ve been a very different album.
* Why should I listen to you, anyway? You’re a virgin who can’t drive. *
I was out for dinner the other night when someone aimed their fork and my plate and paused expectantly. I didn’t realize what was happening till they’d raped my delicious meal with their pointy saliva covered prongs. I can’t stand sharing food. If I wanted some of your meal I would have ordered the same thing as you instead of what I got. You should do the same. No, no. Please don’t offer me a taste of yours. Because we both know I’ll refuse. I also won’t be returning the offer. This isn’t sex; I’m not giving you something for nothing.
* Would you like another lick of my flavor bar? *
I started my new job this week. It turns out I’m a cerulean jumper away from being Andrea Sachs in The Devil Wears Prada. I parked his car, opened his mail, made coffee and felt generally out of my depth. I did manage to note that the bathroom soap smells pleasantly of marshmallows though. I suppose my trial shift didn’t exactly prepare me for the ins and outs of office life: we spent 3 hours at a fully catered lunch alcohol included. I suppose second impressions count less when there’s wine involved. Here’s hoping I find some Jimmy Choo’s in my size and befriend Stanley Tucci by Wednesday.
* Can you please spell “Gabbana”? *
I also had to sit through a tedious interaction with my brother. I try to avoid doing so at all costs because he’s a total narcissist. He requires constant validation and will go about getting it any way he can. Be it through putting people down or talking up his mediocre achievements. I mean honestly, what else would a 25 year old be doing joining a health club whose primary patrons are wealthy lawyers with a median age of 65. He’s clearly desperate to be labeled as youthful and intelligent by comparison the stupid git…unless of course he enjoys sharing steam rooms with older men. But everyone knows those gene’s wouldn’t fit his child bearing hips in a million years.
* And when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is ug-lay. *
Lastly I’ve shed another couple of kilos but I think the diet is starting to mess with my brain. I’ve begun to see food everywhere and I’ve developed serious cravings for carbohydrates. If only I could feel as strongly for a human being as I do about carbs. Find me a human breadstick and I will eat them with love and regret nothing.
* It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live. *
 Note to self: credit cards are important.
 By “automatic writing” I mean I went on intoxicated rant and the only intelligible things were “lovely jubbly” “made out with a rhinoceros” and “spring break forever”. What a waste of two pages.
* Wine is bottled poetry. *
 I’ve even paid my phone bill. Two and a half months later.