Tag Archives: Snapchat

The Summer of Gorge

10 Dec

ImageWith holidays now in full swing and my brothers recent engagement ringing in my ears I decided that the most productive way to spend the last two hours of my free time was by taking a Snapchat with my cat in manner of Kim and Kanye. Bound to be a spinster.

*Uh-huh, honey. *

After months of craving the freedom that comes with elasticated waistbands and a predominately topless existence, summer has well and truly arrived.

* I’ll just sit in the sun and crisp. You can’t get heatstroke twice in the same year. *

And after my little reality check back in November where I announced my celibacy and extolled the virtues of a pedagogical approach to my manstrual cycle. I have since managed to overcome a few issues that were weighing me down:

  1. I accepted some of my insecurities.
  2. I broke my drought.
  3. I was vulnerable.
  4. I am ready to be loved (vomit).
  5. I realized goats’ cheese is a gateway cheese.
  6. And I rediscovered my love of lists.

Let’s be honest, while most of the above were quite difficult to come to terms with and required a serious level of honesty and maturity read: boring. One did not.

Number 2 – The Drought & Mitch Buchannon:

Sleeping with new people is hard. I’ve tried using the Neverland method (second guy the right and straight on till morning) but it’s fraught with danger and pirates. Anyway ignoring the lengthy pre coitus ritual there are so many unknown factors involved with the act itself that are worth considering for e.g.

  1. Do they have a salivary problem?
  2. Will they leave their pet in the room?
  3. What if they have a murdering fetish?
  4. Are they Hannibal Lector?
  5. Is their penis weird?
  6. Correction; is their penis too weird?

* Yeah, but what about the stuff that get’s up around the sides of condoms? Okay, what about that stuff? Have you thought about that stuff? *

That is why when you’re looking to get back into the horizontal mambo you should always consider a previous dance partner. There are no unexpected surprises. It’s like doing your own Christmas shopping – you get exactly what you want and you don’t have to pretend to be excited about another “useful” gift that you’ll just throw away a couple of weeks into the new year.

* Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. And a Happy New Year. *

So I did exactly that when I bid farewell to my yearlong bout of celibacy over the weekend with thanks to an old favourite; Mitch Buchannon.

* It’s been 300 hundred years right down to the day. Now the witch is back and there’s hell to pay! *

I’m not going to lie we had a pretty excellent understanding. Apart from one minor detail: the implied intimacy of prolonged body contact whilst lying on your side in a post coitus state.

* Don’t talk to me! Don’t touch me! I have to go. We have to leave now. I have to leave! We have to leave now! I have to go! We’re going. *

OK, I’ll admit it. I like a cuddle as well as the next fat person but what I don’t enjoy is the body heat that comes with it. Honestly, unless one of those spoons is filled with heroine there is no need to heat it to such an unbearable temperature. Not to mention that the sound of one person peeling themselves away from another is enough to make me sick and refuse any forthcoming attempts at putting your parched morning after mouth on my mouth.

* I’d be careful. That pony had a lot of water. *

And as far as staying the night goes I have only a single piece of advice. If you do decide to spend the night then it is imperative that you leave before McDonalds stops serving breakfast. If not to get the most hours out of the day then at least so you have time to grab some hash browns and hot cakes to fill the space that shame usually occupies. Stride of pride baby.

* Okay, here’s a little bedroom tip. Put a bag of popcorn in the microwave beforehand. That way when you’re done you have a treat! *

All in all it’s shaping up to be a very interesting festive season.

* Grace! It’s Christmas, for goodness sake! Think about the baby Jesus, up in that tower, letting his hair down so that the three wise men can climb up and spin the dreidel and see if there’s six more weeks of winter. *

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.

Age of Enlightenment

19 Apr

ImageThe closest I’ve ever come to enlightenment was when I shut my eyes during The Blue Planet narrated by David Attenborough and imagined myself riding a dolphin naked with Matt Bomer.

* How interesting. What a gripping life you do lead. *

Which is why, in an effort to reach an Alex Pettyfer filled nirvana; I have taken up bed yoga. No, that’s not some code for my non-existent yet strangely gymnastic sex life. It is as it sounds. Doing yoga from the comfort and warmth of your own bed. It’s pretty amazing. I don’t even have to get out of my pajamas and the only persons flatulence issues I have to deal with are my own.

*What are you doing? Horizontal running. *

It truly is the most fun a boy could have lying down that doesn’t involve chocolate.

* Chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate! Aack! *

As a parenthesis to last week’s discussion of costume parties it turns out I didn’t go to “The Sound of Music” party after all. I ended up going out till 6am and requested Bette Davis Eyes at every club instead.

* Dance! Dance! Dance until you die! *

So short and punchy with my paragraphs this week! More like paralaughs aye, aye! And considering how well that pun went down I imagine it was paraplegic…and now I am feeling more judgment than the time I dressed as Walt Disney and the hosts’ parents thought I’d dressed as Hitler. I got a tiny slice of cake and no lolly bag. That, ladies and gentlemen, was the very last time I let my mother do my makeup.

* What on earth are you wearing? You look like a common prostitute. *

Come to think of it, that’s probably the root of my desire to please people for food-based rewards as well.

* Am enjoying a relationship with two men simultaneously. The first is called Ben, the other, Jerry. *

In other news I think I may have been struck down with a case of Slut Throat aka Glandular Fever. Perhaps it’s just my cyberchondria playing up but between Project Free TV, news searches for Kelly Clarkson and Facebook (I cant be bothered to type the Facebook URL into the address bar) medical symptoms seem to form the majority of my Google searches. And Google has pronounced me sick or already dead.

* I’m just one stomach flu away from my goal weight. *

To be fair I do have a slight tendency to overreact. I once called my friend who studies nursing in a complete panic complaining of chest pains and severe cramps. I had already decided I was having a heart attack and written a farewell note to my family and friends in my iPhone. He eventually managed to calm me down and asked me what I’d been doing and what I’d eaten that day. As it turns out eating 4 separate sandwiches then going for a run for the first time in 3 months is a good way to induce some pretty serious heartburn.

* I already feel like an idiot most of the time anyway – with or without a fireman’s pole. *

I suppose it’s just as well my phone got cut off today because I’ve just noticed a sinister looking mole that really should to be photographed and sent to all my friends studying medicine for evaluation. Maybe I’ll Snapchat it instead, give it some fangs or a sexy mohawk. Who knows, maybe even a little Hitler moustache.

* Welcome to Germany. Auf Wiedersehen, asshole. *