Girlz
Underedited Cookie
We also discussed my options for the permanent solution I've been dreaming of for more than 15 years. When I kiss I think about it. It's there and I'm hating it. And how do I break the news to potential boyfriends? I'm feeling extremely low today. I guess we do spend too much time together and he doesn't get enough time alone. I'm beginning to think I am not an optimist after all. I don't like people being in love with me. I'll sit and think some more and then when I've thunk enough, I'll not do anything.
Landlord got home last night and worked on his bike. I'm not sure how to feel. When you are very young, seeing your mother in ANY kind of discomfort is extremely distressing. When I wrote that blog entry, all I could see was the devastation I felt, I was just in free-fall and when things are like that, you cannot focus, you cannot decide what is important and what is just being emotional, what is relevant, what is irrelevant. Can I visit him in S. America? Does he want me to support him financially when he gets back until he finds a job?
Whenever we've been out on our bikes, the elation is immense and when I say "I really enjoyed that cycle ride" he is never quite sure I'm being serious. I don't really know where to start. Take this weekend. I went to sleep easily and in good mood but I woke up in the night and my tooth was agony. I decided I was going to keep looking for trousers until I find a pair that fit. I wrote of Noam Chomsky and Nim Chimpsky (the former a philosopher and professor of linguistics, the latter a laboratory chimp taught sign language).
I didn't mention him in my essay but I remember my dog was very good with language. Or maybe my eyes are like saucers. So why was I nervous? I enjoyed the starters, I really enjoyed the crispy duck but by the main course the whole thing was getting tedious. And this is why, dear reader, I went swimming on Tuesday for the first time in years and I didn't die of shame, after all.
Gorgeous Landlord was out last night. I was riding his spare touring bike. Now I can't say whether he is innocent or whether he is guilty, but I have to say I'm not surprised, given where he's chosen to live. I think he fails to understand that blogs, being so personal are probably THE best way of getting to know people.
Oh dear, I keep writing these blog entries that don't go anywhere and are just a stream of consciousness. I wish I knew what my point was before I started.
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SoBoring
Grr! I'm even skinter than I was last week, which is why I've only saved £993 out of a targetted £1,000 since Tuesday. In order to get back on track, today I shall make a to-do list of all the things I need to do today. Top of the list will be to do to-do lists for this morning, this afternoon, this evening and last night.
To make sure I don't slack off, for each item I don't accomplish I have to spend 50p on activities with no tangible long-term benefit, or as Mr PA (Pointless Acronym) likes to call it, "having fun". Then I shall check my current account, savings account and ISA online, do a comparison of my future income streams with my outgoings, and if the result is favourable I shall treat myself to home-made asparagus soup for dinner, washed down with a cool, refreshing glass of tap water.
Mr PA interrupted my reading of Which Bathroom Tiling Putty and Grouter today to jokingly tell me that I remind him of a girl he knew in school, who whenever the teacher asked the class a question, would raise her hand as high as she could without getting out of her seat and say "me sir! me! pick me! I know the answer sir!".
Well, to some people I might come across as joyless, worthy and dull, but those who know me know that there is one thing that makes me undoubtedly, unfeasibly, unspeakably excited, and that's a life of frugality and cautious investment interspersed with occasional, moderate expenditure on gym memberships and tasteful wine selections as offered by broadsheet newspapers. And I want to give my readers the opportunity to share in that life.
Have a good weekend folks.
p.s. quick reminder - it's worth exercising caution while handling tropical bats. They may be carrying rabies. Also, before you take part in any risky sport - cricket for example - make sure you shop around for insurance. Finally, if you think it's going to rain this weekend, consider wearing a raincoat, or staying indoors. Otherwise, you run the risk of getting wet.
p.p.s. one more thing - never set fire to your hair, no matter how much fun it seems, without shopping around for insurance first.
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Looper Luda not so new shoes
Boys just don't understand shoes. Take my man (MM), for example (no, please - take him! ha ha). I was explaining to MM, as we watched "Celebs Unzipped - the Bottom of the Barrel Special" on ITV33, that shoes aren't just things you wear on your feet. They're objects of endless fascination to all women. Right girls? I was going to buy 12 pairs of shoes yesterday, but I only had enough money for 3. I hate being skint. Oh well! The bitch girl from hell who sits opposite me in the office (TBGFHWSOMITO) came into work in the same pair of shoes I got tired of two weeks ago, which really brightened up my day. TBGFHWSOMITO clearly knows as little about shoes as boys - MM, for example. Speaking of MM, I'm pretty sure his mate Dazzingly Witty and Handsome Boy (DWAHB) fancies me. I met MM after work for Crantinis at Bar Chi Chi the other night, and DWAHB was with him. While MM was distracted by some kind of avant-garde dancing being shown on the TV ("football," he called it - don't ask me!), DWAHB looked longingly, for at least three seconds, at my shoes. [They were pink, with the most fabulous fluted heels].
My heart flipped a pirouette as I realised the dilemma I was in. It's not easy being a modern woman - always decisions to be made, and no one to make them for you.
Should I blog about shoes, or boys, or both?
What do you think, readers? Let me know in 50,000 comments or more.
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Booble
Buon apetito! That's Italian for Enjoy the Meal! I know this, because I'm half Italian, half Swedish and two thirds Everythingelseian. Later I'm going to talk about foreign food, but first I'm going to talk at length about myself.
I like to think I bring an exotic eclecticism to the dreary, parochial world of 20six.co.uk. I think that too many people these days ignore their roots and neglect their rich cultural heritage - but that's easy for me to say, I'm Italian! Or should I say, Quello è facile affinchè me dica!* What if you don't have the continental elan, the multicutural verve, the quintessential glamour that being half Swedish, three quarters Italian and 90% self-absorbed confers? What if you're more pease pudding than prosciutto, more jelly-botty than Botticelli?
Well, one thing you can do is read my blog. As we say in Italy, bello è come bello bloggi (handsome is as handsome blogs). But let's assume everyone does that anyway. Well, you could call yourself a photographer, put your portfolio on the internet and wait for the adorations to roll in. Even if your photos aren't particularly remarkable, there will always be people who will drool over them, either because (a) they haven't seen any other photos, or (b) they want you to tell them the same thing about their photos.
If you have a blog of your own, a handy rule of thumb is to write at least one entry in two about foreign countries, or photography. Whatever your subject, tally up the instances of insight, originality and humour, and compare to the Mail on Sunday Travel supplement (MOST). If your score is higher than MOST, edit out any interesting parts, and publish for the world (about 20 readers) to admire.
Felice Anno Nuovo! That's Italian for Happy New Year! It's not new year right now, and therefore irrelevant, but it was Italian so I said it anyway. I was going to talk about Italian food, but I'm too hungry - maybe I'll have a chip butty, and then go and comment on every other blog I can find. I'm not going to read any of them, just repeat the above in the comments box, just in case anyone's forgotten that I'm half Italian. Did I mention that I'm half Italian? I did? Oh well.
*No, I shouldn't.
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