Tag Archives: Emotions

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. *

Neurosis

26 Apr

ImageI am by no means mysophobic[1]; why just the other morning I ate a croissant that a previous patron nibbled and left on our table at a café. But what I cannot abide is the sharing of toiletries between members of a household, even if they are family.

* Oh no! Not in Big Momma’s house! *

Evidently my sister’s recent adoption of my razor is making me Amanda Bynes crazy. I don’t know what’s worse; the fact that I have used something on my face that has at one time or another high thighed my sister or that it seems to be strategically timed with visits from her boyfriend. I guess you could say she’s rubbing it in my face[2].

* Newman! *

I also got hit on this week by a beautician who took my friendly conversation during a state of undress as a go ahead to rest her hand on my bum for a rather protracted period of time. I didn’t mention it so she gave me a discount. I have subsequently added another job to my career path. It now reads:

1)    Get divorced (twice).

2)    Become a prostitute.

I had to remove “Be Maggie Smith” because I don’t have the cheekbones.

* Love you. Love everything about you. Thinking about being you for Halloween. *

Anyway without sounding like I have a thing for “damaged goods” or that I’m part of a self-fulfilling child of divorce prophecy where every relationship is doomed to fail. I have come to the realisation that bar one or two people I’ve dated, the rest have all had some serious underlying issues. Issues that I tried my hardest to help them deal with often at my own detriment. Then once they have achieved a state of normalcy they dump me[3]. I don’t want to be the one who brings people up to dateable level. I don’t want to be The Starter Boyfriend because Debra Messing terrifies me.

* Will find nice sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts. *

I don’t really like getting emotional; I don’t think anyone really does unless they’re on The Biggest Loser. It’s just so much easier to laugh and joke than address real issues. That’s why we have ice cream, retail therapy and anonymous blogs. Emotions are gross and I’m an even more unattractive crier than any of the vampires on True Blood.

* This is the first time I’ve ever seen you look ugly, and that makes me kinda happy. *

I have a couple of PostSecret style confessions to make:

1)    Sometimes I pour part of my wine into my bath because I think it will make me a youthful alcoholic.

2)    If I’m at home alone I’m in one of three outfits.

  1. Naked.
  2. Naked with bathrobe.
  3. Naked with cheese platter.

3)    I think cargo pants are the human equivalent of saddlebags. Saddlebags filled with the regret and rage that 35 years olds feel when they’re still living at home with their parents.

4)    I skip the first 10 minutes of Disney Pixar’s UP.

5)    My mother still cuts my hair.

6)    I narrate when I drive because I find it reassuring.

7)    I watch Embarrassing Bodies with my family.

8)    I once ran over a possum and didn’t stop.

9)    I will always tell people if they have lipstick on their snaggletooth.

10) I can’t touch cotton wool balls because they hurt my teeth.

11) I sometimes sit the other way round on the toilet for fun.

12) I only listen to “cool” music on the bus cause I’m worried people can hear through my headphones.

13) Urinals terrify me.

14) I have never kissed a guy while completely sober (except once we’re dating).

15) One of my exes tried to Simba me.

16) I think my cat understands me better than some people.

17) I own a replica of Snape’s wand from Harry Potter[4].

18) I believe in ghosts.

19) I’ve been cheated on twice.

20) When I was discussing a hypothetical situation where I have children with my friend, my offspring referred to me as “mummy”.

I guess I’m kind of weird…Oh well, I better get back to making my Snapchats into famous portraits and having a heart to heart with my good friend SavvyB (Sauvignon Blanc).

* Everybody loves me, and I intend to keep it that way. *


[1] Also known as germophobic or spermophobic. No joke. Sperm.

[2] Adding insult to injury tells she tells me out of the blue that she’s going on a holiday to the Whitsundays with her boyfriend and that I’m single and alone.

[3] I have never broken up with anyone I have always been the one who is broken up with. Half of which were over coffee in the morning while it’s raining so now I hesitate to combine those three things in any capacity of my life.

[4] Amongst other memorabilia including the Marauders Map, two Slytherin scarves, a Slytherin Beanie, a Deathly Hallows necklace, several Hogwarts badges and a signed copy of One Day in the Life of Daniel Radcliffe.