Tag Archives: Bridget Jones

Silver Lining

4 Nov

Image* Don’t let no one in who’s not on the list ’cause this mess is gonna get raw like sushi, so haters to the left. *

This is the sort of introduction that can be found at the beginning of most teenage girls’ diaries. The sort of introduction that weighs heavy with emotional instability, delusions of grandeur, hormones and the pain of budding breasts.

*Why are my arms so weak? It’s like I did that push up last year for nothing! *

Actually, I suppose that’s more like Winona Ryder at the beginning of Girl, Interrupted but you get the picture; shit got real and I slept funny on my boob.

* You see a lot, Doctor. But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? Why don’t you—why don’t you look at yourself and write down what you see? Maybe you’re afraid to. *

It’s been several months since I stopped writing partly because I felt like I had nothing to say. I wasn’t enjoying what I wrote. I was over the relationship that drove me online in the first place and I saw little point in continuing using it as a billboard for my new, amazing and happy single life. I was done with being mean for fun. I was done using the blog as motivation for things that I was too afraid to do for myself. I didn’t know what I wanted or where I wanted to go. I was creatively and emotionally barren.

* Stick a fork in my Jerry. I’m done! *

What with the breakdown of my fathers marriage and the emergence of my own mental health issues in the intervening months, it became readily apparent that something was wrong.

* It’s the truth universally acknowledged that the moment one area of your life starts going OK another part of it falls spectacularly to pieces. *

I thought that if I could turn my sadness and loneliness into jokes and humourous situations for long enough I’d eventually break through to genuine happiness. What happened was I started to confuse the two. They both lost meaning and I became totally disoriented. The world seemed dull and lifeless.

* I have a problem? You say more inappropriate things than appropriate things. *

I’ve always smiled or put on a brave face when I say something bad because it’s easier. It’s always easier to pretend that everything’s OK. To joke about the fact I’m a spinster rather than to come to terms with an almost year long bout of celibacy due to my own insecurities. It’s important to feel things. Good and bad. So when you keep pushing away the bad, the good things don’t feel the same and you get tired. So very tired. And then the bad starts to win.

* Oh, Mrs. Dalloway… Always giving parties to cover the silence. *

That’s where I’ve been for the past four months. Trying to make some serious changes in my life to be a better person.

* And so if the government could just get to the kitchen, rearrange some things, we could certainly party with the Haitians.*

In doing so I’ve managed to gain a lot of insight into how I think. A pedagogical approach has given me the necessary drive to do what I want for me and not for what I think people want me to do. I can learn from the good as well as the bad and accept them both equally.

* I’ll show you how valuable Elle Woods can be! *

So I’m on the mend and ready to divulge details of my (l)awful existence and bring a little more reality into my life as Mister Spinster. Break out the brie and slankets it’s time to party…as soon as I finish these exams.

* I don’t think that I’ve ever been stressed out. Why would I be? I’ve got practically no responsibilities, my job’s a breeze and I’ve got a KILLER rack. Good morning. *

Paranoia, Pessimism & Prescription Medication

28 Jul

ImageI have returned from a full-blown mid week mini break vacation (by myself) to the sad reality that I start the post-graduate law program tomorrow. My subsequent state of disarray finds me lacking previous paralegal employment (having quit a week and a half ago), in possession of no relevant textbooks (see aforementioned unemployment) and no boyfriend (read current position: bath with wine, soon to be: bed with wine and sleeping tablet).

* No, I’m no one’s wife, but oh, I love my life! *

My delightfully named “suicide holiday” in the mountains consisted of me watching movies, ordering room service and reading J.K Rowling’s rather expensive new book (expensive insofar as I had to buy a Kindle to read it as it was sold out in print). I did manage to get out for a nice walk with some tourists past some rocks and a missing person sign only to return a couple of hours later with cheese, crackers, olives and wine for a little indoor picnic. Not satisfied with eating a wheel of brie I cooked some noodles in the kettle and watched Seinfeld. Cut to me being woken by housekeeping at 8.30am with food scattered everywhere and the TV still on. I asked her to come back later and quickly got up and packed. It turned out I hadn’t finished the wine from the night before so I decided rather than let it sit in my bag and sweat or leave it at the hotel I’d just polish it off (all part of a balanced breakfast). Then I checked out and came home. A solid two days of masquerading as a shut in.

* There’s always going to be a part of me that’s sloppy and dirty, but I like that. With all the other parts of myself. *

At least I wasn’t the couple in the next room having furious coitus to Somebody That I Used To Know.

* That’s all I have to say about that. *

About a week prior I realized it had been far too long since I’d been intoxicated in a social setting. So, when I was a few bottles deep in slut juice I decided it was time to make like Beyoncé’s shoulders and Emma Watson’s eyebrows and get fierce. My friend hid our bags in a locked cubicle like they were Jaden and Will Smith and we partied till 5am. As it turns out I may or may not have met someone (who we shall call Josh Duhamel) and we have been texting him on the regular ever since.

* You know how it is. New school, new babe pool. *

I’ve noticed that I’m the type of person that likes to play games with other people. Not just because I’m manipulative and enjoy feeling superior but also because I like to feel as though there is some set of rules governing the awkwardness that dominates the majority of my attempts at general human interaction and by extension my recent endeavor to woo Mr. Duhamel.

* I’m gonna go talk to some food about this. *

I’m not, by way of association, proclaiming a love of sports. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. You’d think I’d share the plebian fascination with meatheads and a large variety of balls, but alas, those two things are only amusing in a metaphorical sense. Perhaps this dislike stems from the time my father heckled me when I accidentally landed, posterior first, on a soccer ball shooting it into the air like some horrible parody of a Ping-Pong show. Or more than likely it’s because the people who play professional sports seem to be only a couple of evolutionary steps away from flinging poo at each other.

* Hammer-throw. Definitely. *

Either way, I suppose what I’m trying to say is I don’t enjoy playing games unless they’re on my terms. Going from texts that make Yao Ming look short to absolutely nothing is making me worry. As my friend succinctly put it “we’re smart and therefore impatient  – we don’t want our time wasted because we’re busy gals!”

* Is there some reason that my coffee isn’t here? Has she died or something? *

He’s still pretty cute though.

* One time, she met John Stamos on a plane and he told her she was pretty. *

I also had a very satisfactory encounter with my ex a couple of evenings after meeting Mr. Duhamel. Emilio Estevez (formerly knows as “the ex”) literally threw himself at me yelling “you’re my favorite person!” and “I miss you!” He even went so far as to text me (in a ham-handed attempt at making me jealous) later in the evening, telling me that the guy he was there with is “100% the biggest straighty 180. I would never flaunt. Or be a big fucker.” To which I replied with a picture of a takeaway restaurant and a happy emoji.

* Farewell, mortal bus-boy! *

Seeing him realize what a huge mistake he made dumping me in the first place is almost as satisfying as mixing prescription medication and alcohol. I do feel a bit bad for him. I mean he does have a lot of emotions. They’re just bottled up with the issues surrounding his parent’s divorce and his ability to talk without shattering glass.

* Big mistake. Big. Huge. I have to go shopping now. *

Really though, emotions are just like a big crying baby vying for your attention. They wail and wail until you pick them up to find they have carefully concealed a diaper full of poop and you’re stuck with the thankless task of cleaning them up – having all of your senses violated in the process.

* Smells like Bigfoot’s dick! *

Whatever, I don’t need emotions or a boyfriend anyhow. As Aristotle said “The law is reason free from passion.”

* Wish me luck, Bruiser. *

Sourdough And Celibacy

10 Jun

ImageKnowing someone has a thing for you has its upsides; you get to pretend like you’re not in the least bit flattered yet secretly you enjoy the attention. You answer their overly personal game of twenty questions with nonchalance and shrugs. You drop subtle hints of things you want and/or need then they magically appear. You act aloof and disinterested even though on some level the potential of human contact is the greatest thing to happen to you since that time you decided to eat soup in bed and kept the spill on your pillow for a midnight snack. Minestrone, you old devil!

* Thanks, it’s my own recipe. I use cheddar cheese instead of water. *

But when you know it will never, ever, in a million years be a thing. Every tactless wink, every attempt at gratuitous body contact, every moment of plutonic banter and every time you catch them raping your unprotected body with their eyeballs makes you want to shrink them down, stuff them in a glass bottle, hide them in a HIVy gash and beat that shit like it’s a piñata on Cinco de Mayo. Especially when it’s at work.

*Never dip your nib in the office ink. *

In light of that particularly unfortunate situation I have been toying with the idea of celibacy. It makes sense. The thought of touching anything remotely phallic fills me with a mixture of anger and fear reserved for the Furby that I hid in my sock drawer at night in order to muffle its demonic phrases before I threw it out the window – not sure if actual childhood memory or plot to The Exorcist.

* I’m going to speak to some food about this. *

I don’t think I could really commit to celibacy though. Considering the pleasure I get from consuming a whole loaf of sourdough is tantamount to orgasm. It would just be wrong. I have been secretly hoping that a coeliac bites me and I become afflicted with gluten intolerance. Both celibacy and bread related abstinence seem somewhat unlikely after the cute sales assistant at the bakery correctly identified my Salvador Dali print jumper, smiled and made my tummy feel funny. Or maybe that was the couple of glasses of wine I had at 2:00pm. Either way, I’m back on the wagon.

* But I already have a drink. Do you think he’d buy me mozzarella sticks? *

So now that it’s well and truly wintertime down under. I can’t for the life of me understand why women continue to dress as though it’s the height of summer. It’s extremely frustrating. I understand that you have daddy issues and an overwhelming desire to parade around like a common whore. But can you please just wear some pants or a garment larger than your fake breasts instead of an outfit comprised predominately of bras and underwear. To those delightful women who scorn the latter please remember to carry a “slippery when wet” sign with you. Your trailing flaps have managed to make the sidewalk “slicker than cat shit on linoleum floor.”

* Mr. Gravity’s been very unkind to that woman. *

I realized that I’ve invested more time in this blog than into any one of my actual relationships. Probably because most of them acted like they were doing a fuck by numbers in the bedroom. And after reading that one in twenty five people are sociopaths I’m concerned that these last five months spent laying out my particular brand of crazy might not stand me in good stead for any sort of relationship; on the wagon or no. Oh well, what can you do? Lawyers are also the second most likely profession to harbor sociopaths. So what with my graduation looming and classes commencing in August at least I know I’m heading in the right direction. Now is a good a time as any time to watch The Pelican Brief and align my career once again with a role played by Julia Roberts. The former was finding a rich husband to take me to polo and curb my whimsical, slutty ways.

*Ugh, as if! *

I can do both.

One of the Top Thirty Books of Our Time

2 Jun

Image74kg (up from last week, despite diet), alcohol units 6 (fathers birthday and depressing insight into what I’ll look like at 55), cigarettes 0 (v.g.), calories N/A as cheat day and yum-cha was involved, sexts sent 2, sexts received 0, hours spend contemplating life alone 3.

V. big news. The spinster bible has a new chapter and it’s about boys and madness. Two things I am a well versed in. Singletons rejoice. For with a new bible come revelations and most importantly, commandments: “Thou shalt not commit fuckwittage.”

I was initially concerned about Bridget’s return to the fore of the social consciousness. I mean she’s been out of the game for seven years and a whole lot has happened: Beyoncé is queen, Tina Fey is still funny and cats rule the Internet. O.K so not that much has happened. So then where would this thirty-something park her now continent-sized bottom and how could Helen Fielding possibly make her relevant again?

Here are my suggestions:

  1. There are GIFs of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy emerging from a lake that Bridget needs to see.
  2. With Masterchef on the up and up blue is now an acceptable colour for food.
  3. There are so many faster, louder and quicker ways to embarrass oneself than misusing the fireman’s pole at Lewisham Fire Station.
  4. Spanx are not just popular with grannies the world over; now everyone hates their body shape.
  5. I forgot what real new years resolutions look like.
  6. I want to see Bridget turn into Natalie Portman in Black Swan
  7. There are lots of famous dead authors to invite to parties like whoever writes Amanda Bynes’ tweets.
  8. Journalists now say fuck-all.
  9. Tom would have to have done a duet with Sophia Grace & Rosie or simillar to get him laid for all of the noughties.
  10. Bridget is verging on “cougar” territory – she should fight Madonna for Brahim Zaibat.
  11. See through tops are commonplace. No tops/pants is the new way to go.
  12. Isn’t it terrible about first world problems?
  13. Google Maps will always show you where the toilets are.
  14. Knitted sweaters of any kind are fashionable.
  15. Titspervert is better known as Snapchat.
  16. ATTN Facebook: “How interesting. What a gripping life you do lead.”
  17. There once were two women who needed some food from a mans nether region. He showed them his back and opened his crack and defecated all over them kneeling.
  18. She needs cats. Lots of cats.
  19. Latin music is not a blip. J-Lo is here to stay.
  20. There are more alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts than there ever were before. They can be found primarily on dating websites.

Mostly though it’s her struggles with life. The things we face day in day out that she takes on the chin. Her ability to see things from the outside. For solidarity and cellulite. For fuckwittage and failure. For hopeless romantics and just the plain old hopeless. Bridget will be there. Shining like a wobbly inimitable beacon in the proverbial darkness.

* Feeling sentimental? *

Winter Dryness

27 May

Image

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[1].
  • 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[2].

* 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[3]. 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. *


[1] Note to self: credit cards are important.

[2] 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. *

[3] I’ve even paid my phone bill. Two and a half months later.

PC

17 May

ImageIt’s official. Sex has become a chore and I don’t even care.

* I just wish I could start a relationship about twelve years in, when you really don’t have to try anymore, and you can just sit around together and goof on TV shows, and then go to bed without anybody trying any funny business. *

It all started when I had an adult sleepover with Mitch Buchannan.

Despite it ending on a high note where I thanked him walked him to the door and told him that he’s a high-end stripper for governors or athletes. The beginning, middle and the weird part in between where we showered in an extremely well lit hotel bathroom were not so great.

I think perhaps there had been too much build-up or maybe I was too drunk. Either way, checking out half way through so you can decide on tomorrow mornings room service selection is never a good sign.

It’s not that it was bad I suppose. I just didn’t care. I even found myself staring at his face and thinking. You have dimples. I don’t like dimples. Dimples are only acceptable for babies and Vicki Valentine.

* Tapa Tapa Tapa *

And now sex kind of seems like a game of Monopoly: Nobody knows the rules, it’s takes too long to set up and no one ever seems to win. So you put it away on a dark shelf and don’t touch it again until some dickhead who thinks he’s good at playing games whips it out. In a word: unsatisfying. In two: very unsatisfying.

* Do you feel the way you feel after the Risotto? *

I’ve subsequently come up with some general post-coital rules:

1) If I’m lying on my stomach please take the hint. I don’t want to spoon.

2) Please stay on your side of the bed.

3) Don’t steal my air with your loud mouth breathing and blow it back in my face all warm and devoid of oxygen.

4) Don’t stroke me with your feet.

5) Don’t cut off circulation to my limbs with your inconveniently placed ones.

6) Don’t sweat on me. Just stop all perspiration upon “completion”.

7) Please let me get at least 8 hours sleep.

8) Wake me up before you proceed with penetration, lest I press charges.

9) Don’t watch me while I sleep. If anything, do what I do and stare determinately at the ceiling until you pass out.

10) If I want to re-clothe prior to sleep, let me. Otherwise I will be making a lounge pant out of your skin.

11) Please refrain from touching my hair; I know where your hands have been.

12) Don’t try to Simba me.

13) Don’t tell me you love me. I heard you mid-coit; I just chose to ignore it.

14) Don’t ask if you can film or photograph me. As far as I’m concerned this is the equivalent of the nocturnal section at the zoo.

15) In fact, don’t talk at all.

16) Do clean up after yourself.

17) And feel free to leave. At any time.

* Did you ever wake up sober after a one night stand, and the person you’re next to is laying’ on your arm, and they’re so ugly, you’d rather chew off your arm then risk waking ’em? That’s coyote ugly *

Anyway I suppose it’s not all bad. I have lost 4kgs[1].

I also went for a job interview this week. It’s just for some office position where I can waltz around in a see-through top and fanny about with the press releases but being very inexperienced in an office environment I had a bit of a nervy-b. I spent half the time while I waited keeping my right hand dry for the imminent, firm, but not too strong, multiple pump handshake with eye contact. And the other half trying to think about what I was actually going to say to make me sound vaguely employable. Of course, my prospective employer arrives while I’m trying to subtly blow on my right hand to keep it dry while I attempt to check the time on my mobile phone which I’d stowed under my thigh, with my left; Yet another excellent first impression.

I honestly don’t know how I’m going to top it when I start on Tuesday.

* Neville, what the fuck is going on? She’s supposed to be sliding down the pole not climbing up it. *

Since downloading and watching the majority of The Wild Thornberrys I have noticed a couple of things:

1) Darwin is pretty much Eliza’s gay best friend. He gets dragged around everywhere, makes bitchy comments, supports her emotionally, keeps her secrets, wears a tank top and has a tumultuous relationship with food.

2) Donnie isn’t an adorable wild boy; he has a serious pervasive developmental disorder. He is on the autistic spectrum.

3) Drunken Reese Witherspoon and her husband would do a better job of dressing and raising those kids than Nigel and Marianne.

4) Eliza would be overhearing so much animal sex and death that Darwin should really have been named Freud.

5) To be honest Debbie is the only well rounded, and level headed individual. Her cynical and jaded outlook on life mirrors my own at 15.

6) Oh and Lacey Chabert who voices Eliza Thornberry is probably better known as Gretchen Wieners.

* They say you’re a homeschooled jungle freak who’s a less hot version of me. *

Yeah, that happened.

Finally I’m really looking forward to the day when we achieve complete marriage equality. Mostly so I can marry Daniel Radcliffe and make basilisk and wand jokes but also so that we can have TV shows like The Real Gay Housewives of San Francisco and show all those other bitches what real drama looks like.

* In case I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening, and good night. *


[1] No I didn’t get a double mastectomy. But I did have miso soup, a handful of dark chocolate covered goji berries and a diet coke for dinner one night.

Bitch Bitch Bitch

9 May

ImageIt was only the day after a friend of mine was concerned I might be using this platform as motivation for unsavoury behaviour when a casual dinner turned into an evening of getting baked, listening to Primal Scream and wishing I were Eliza Thornberry.

* All adventurous women do. *

In amongst thinking I had permanently widened my brains synaptic gaps to the point where my neurons ended up like Thelma and Louise I jotted down a couple of observations:

  • I decided Adele looked like a giant lamp.
  • I imagined what it would be like to have udders for feet.
  • During a conversation I was convinced a friend was saying “haus” instead of “house”.
  • I spent about 4 minutes stroking my front teeth and purring.
  • I forgot how to swallow.
  • I came up with what I thought was a hilarious insult; “You smile like a toilet flushes. Full of shit.”
  • I kept repeating the word for credit card in Spanish; bare in mind I don’t speak Spanish.

And then I got the munchies and ruined my diet.

* I’m so hungry I could eat a whole zebra. *

It’s OK though because a couple of days later I got accepted into postgrad law, lined up an interview for a legal assistant position and seriously considered buying an eBay listing for the “Bruiser’s Bill” notebook used in Legally Blonde 2.

* Life is happening! *

I think I must have some underlying masochistic tendencies because I had brunch with the ex today of my own volition. I figured it was an acceptable meal to meet for because it isn’t really breakfast or lunch just like our friendship isn’t really fun or enjoyable. The thought that he’s probably the last person I’ll see naked is kind of depressing. It’s not so much that I dislike him it’s more that he reminds me of a time that I was really happy.  The fact that he was the source of that emotion and its subsequent overwhelming lack kinda pisses me off.

*Be quiet Tiffany. Be quiet! *

Since I’ve come this far I feel like I should try and persevere with the friendship and hope that in the end it will be worth it. I have a feeling it’ll be the emotional equivalent of blue balls but I might be genuinely surprised like that time the girls vagina spat out some dudes dismembered penis in Teeth.

* She needs to sort out her priorities! *

I get pretty annoyed when I’m hanging out with people who used to be fat and they get compliments on how skinny they’ve become. I feel like I deserve just as many compliments for staying slim. Just once I’d like someone to say, “wow you look fantastic! Not eating your body weight in brie is doing wonders for you!” Celebrate my sporadic exercise regime and average metabolic rate goddamnit!

* You’re so insecure you get jealous at babies for their soft skin! And for all the attention they get! *

Oh and to those people who volunteer for charities in their spare time: I’m really impressed you think about someone other than yourself for a couple of hours a week but please don’t rub it in my face at every social occasion. Seriously, get down off the cross bitch somebody could use the wood.

* Why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me. *

In other news I still haven’t paid my phone bill but I did manage to purchase a Mean Girls inspired sweatshirt and a ridiculously overpriced exercise tee. It’s not as though I need any special exercise equipment like a cup or a sports bra. I imagine the latter is a necessary item. Nobody wants to get a black eye while exerting themselves unless you’re in a relationship with Chris Brown or Ike Turner. Besides, it totally matched my shoes.

* Daddy, some people lost all their belongings. Don’t you think that includes athletic equipment? *

On a rather dubious side note I found out this week that women’s clothes button from left to right rather than right to left. Don’t worry; I’m not moonlighting as a drag queen, although if I did my drag name would have to be Queen Laqueefah. I just wanted to see if my mums 80’s knitted cardigan was a viable fashion choice. In the end I decided I’m probably better off wearing a vest made out of radioactive ovaries.

* My first day as a woman and I’m getting hot flashes. *

I have a theory about women and the wind. I believe there is a positive correlation between the levels of crazy that women exhibit on days where it is overly windy. Their behavior is erratic and their demeanor is curt at best. I put it down to the wind ruining their hair and getting all up in their nooks and crannies.

* Oh! My period! You’re all fired! *

Finally I have lost 1kg, which in the scheme of things is incidental so I shall continue with the diet but with one change: on my fasting days I have decided that the only calories I will consume will come from a wine glass.

* It’s your window to weight gain. *