The problem with sunny days in London is that there is a duty to enjoy them. I mean, I really don't want to complain because the winter here has massacred me, but I cower in the face of randomized meteorological glory because the obligation to carpe diem is too great that I am often left paralyzed. Today I got up and went for a walk and had a 99 Flake, but then came home and fell asleep from 2:45 to 5:45 and woke up in a sweaty pool of self loathing. Ian tried to placate me by assuring me that I clearly needed the rest, however I knew deep down that the real reason I passed out was because I ate a massive bowl of cereal and a piece of chocolate bread (?!) which lulled me into a deep coma. Not only did I wake up hating myself for having lost the day, but if you've ever fallen asleep after a carbohydrate overdose particularly on a hot day then you KNOW the sense of confusion and dry mouth and feeling of having been hit by a double decker. It's just not right.
To try my best to remediate I am now sitting in the backyard eating a glass of liquid bread Montepulciano d'Abruzzo alone for dinner and publicly crucifying myself. Somehow this works, even though I have a kamikaze fruit fly floating on the top layer of this nectar. I can't fish it out because my glass is too tall and narrow and the wine has reached the bottom of the vessel and my chubby fingers dangle in through the orifice but can't quite reach. Speaking of which, I have recently taken up the hobby of drinking alone! Not sure if this is socially acceptable once you reach a certain age, but anyway I likey! I would be happy for company but my man is at work bringing home the bacon and nobody has called me to hang out which begs the existential question- where are my friends? Do I have any friends?
I drank alone for the first time on the Queen's birthday a few weeks ago. I actually didn't know it was her birthday but saying so I feel justifies the nascency of my new hobby. It happened like this- Ian went to work early on a Saturday and it was another one of those glorious sporadic sunny days in London that hurled me into must-do panic. We had an open bottle of prosecco from a few days prior and because I am not a wasteful person, I made a mimosa. And then I made another one. And then another one. And then I finished the bottle. My mood improved with each glass! N E way, Queenie is a boss.
Last weekend was cold and shitty which made making plans less stressful. Rented out a hot tub with a motor and a rudder and sailed the seas of Islington. I highly recommend this to anyone trying to kickstart their social life. You will be the highlight of every instagram story and if you organize you may be able to convince some cool people to hang out with you finally!
Since recently shacking up with my Jesus look-alike beau, I have tried my best to become a born again domestic goddess. I had abandoned this whilst a single lass out on the lash. I do really enjoy cooking and hosting dinner parties, but these gender roles have also landed me on the floor of my kitchen coloring like a child , only the canvas is now a (?)poo-stained bed sheet and the crayon a giant Vanish stain remover stick. Tongue still out just the same to aid in concentration.
The other thing that has stood the test of time is my stupid-ass autocorrect that still after eight years of having an iphone corrects "Olivia" to "Okivia". This and the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Styrofoam. Which is remarkably similar in consistency to a prawn cracker whose true ingredients engineers and myself have yet to crack.
Anyway, talking of coloring, some six year old twat recently stole my identity. Over a period of about four days I received 67 emails from an electronic library of books checked out and returned in my name. I knew it wasn't me because first off I can barely read but also because (no offense to these authors) these books judging on their cover must be none other than incontestable shite:
Traveling with a Hamster
The Boy Who Swam with Piranhas
Gangsta Granny
Spy Dog
The 1000 Year Old Boy
What Not To Do if You Turn Invisible
Umm... just. NO.
OOOO! I just remembered something I wanted to say. Have you ever tried a nasal spray decongestant? Because this is the motha fuckin revolution people. You don't even realize how much better life can be until you snort some of that crap and suddenly your life has meaning and purpose again.
I digress.
Back to the original conversation about not having any friends, I have recently tried my hand with critters in lieu of persons. I had noticed a squirrel pouncing around the backyard now and then so one day I threw a piece of bread at it which it did not like. But then I threw a nut. And then I placed a nut near him. And then he took a nut from my hand. And now he thinks we're cohabiting:
He walks in like he owns the place and his entitlement has escalated so quickly and resolutely that even when we stomp and yell and try to chase him out of the house he just stands there and looks up at us like this:
I think I may love him but he is taking advantage and now I don't know what to do.
What I do know though is you should try to be passionate in everything you do.
Enjoy the sun folks, even if it takes a xanax
