It’s been over two months since I’ve written anything of substance. The only form of writing I’ve done as of late is texting my best friend to ask her when she would be returning home to give me attention. Just like Justin Bieber, I’m a shell of my former self. I even had to google the word ‘Bieber’ to check I’d spelt it correctly, which might actually be an indication that I’ve not lost the plot quite yet. Like bingo calling or riding a bike, it’s been so long since I’ve done it, I can barely remember how.
On multiple occasions I’ve torn myself away from my beloved Gilmore Girls boxset and bag of doritos to try and document my thought processes and interesting events that have happened to me in recent weeks. I sit at my laptop, fingers poised to write something quirky and relatable with just the faintest hint of indignation when I have the terrible realisation that I have nothing interesting to write about: fascinating tales about spending a Saturday morning with toothpaste in my eye isn’t going to make J.K Rowling start quaking in her boots.
As the self-indulgent fear of leading a mundane life, which can’t be documented in a humorous tone over the internet clouds any desire to blog, I’ve decided to make a change in my life. I’m going to become a better person so that karma helps me win the lottery and attend yacht parties with Taylor Swift. Also, doing good deeds is rewarding, as there’s no greater pleasure in life than being able to help other people, obviously.
First port of call: giving up my seat on public transport. Not to worry, I’m not a complete monster, I already make sure that no elderly people are left clutching their walking stick whilst I stare at the floor and ignore any pangs of guilt. Rather, I plan to broaden my horizons and become the Florence Nightingale of public transport, ready to give up my seat at a moments notice to anyone in need! Not only do I burn extra calories per minute but I also gain a full view of any attractive men on the train that I might accidentally bump into whilst struggling with my tights and cape. Everyone’s a winner!
For now though, I’m so exhausted from all of the thinking about becoming a more fully-functioning human I’ve been doing, that I simply must put myself to bed with a cup of tea and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It’s good to be back!
It’s June, also known as the beginning of the end. On Saturday I had a half an hour debate with myself over whether I should put on tights: if I wear them I look like a Wednesday Addams wannabe, and if I don’t I have to show the world my less than supermodel legs. In the end I decided to go for the lesser of two evils and try to give off the image that I’m wearing 120 denier control tights to push the boundaries of what’s accepted by society. Summer just isn’t my forte, but instead of writing yet another post about how I miss the pleasure that a mild, cloudy, day brings me, I’ve decided to be more positive and mention all the things I’ve been loving as of late.
- Actors from my favourite television shows tweeting each other. It’s been 7 years since The OC ended, and 7 years since I said goodbye to the small glimmer of hope that Seth Cohen might move to England and fall in love with me. However, seeing Kelly Rowan and Melinda Clarke at dinner together, and Peter Gallagher tweeting about it afterwards only solidifies my love for the show and gives me hope that Kirsten and Julie might one day be back on our screens, bitching about the Newpsies. It also cements my theory that I care more about fictional characters than real people.
- Spending time with my family. This past weekend I saw my Nana, and after an hour of chatting about biscuits and seeing her new M&S skirts, I informed her that I’d be home in a week and would pop round to see her. Her response? “I’ve seen you now, you don’t need to bother with that!” She’s a gem.
- Animal interspecies friendships. Dogs kissing cats, cats hugging bunnies – you name it, I’ve seen it – I can’t think of anything better than endlessly clicking on YouTube videos of animal BFF’s. I’ve always been a soft touch, but I might as well settle in with a tub of ice-cream, The Notebook and a box of tissues now because I’ve officially lost all ability to pretend I’m secretly hard as nails. If a cat can cuddle a bunny then surely there’s hope for the rest of humanity too.
- New hair. Now my life can also be a poorly made romantic comedy, complete with makeover montage where I fall down the stairs wearing my new heels afterwards! Quick question – if there’s no-one around to like my selfie, did it ever really happen?
Of course, I still hate passive aggressive tweeters and people eating on public transport, so at heart I’m still the same miserable cow that I’ve always been.
It’s a week before payday so naturally I’ve Googled ‘how to make easy money’ four times over the last couple of days. Unfortunately, as I scan my cupboards for anything other than paprika or pickled onions I’ve come to realise that my only hope is winning the lottery or selling my organs on the black market.
As I’m incredibly bitter and love nothing more than complaining about those who are better off than me, hearing that someone I know spent £67, 000 on wallpapering their house today was a crushing blow – I don’t even have £67 to last me the rest of this week. I can’t help but think that I’m going wrong somewhere if I struggle to justify spending more than a tenner on my weekly shop when certain people can splash so much cash on home décor.
It got me thinking about how I should spend my last £13 – the last supper. The money-conscious side of me would usually spend a couple of pounds on bread and the rest on wine, but perhaps I’ve been doing this all wrong. In a normal week I’ll usually purchase shampoo and deodorant, whereas Kim Kardashian has a 24/7 beauty squad to tend to her every need for a cool $250K. Perhaps I’ll spend the last of my cash on a cute top or half a pair of shoes – who needs food and running water when you have wallpaper and a fabulous butt?
When I was younger I always thought that by the time I was 24 I’d have my shit together and have become the perfect hybrid of Elle Woods and Florence Nightingale: a saint with a sassy attitude and a pink business suit to match. After all I left my mother’s womb when she was 24 and Emma Watson’s younger than me and she’s already achieved world domination. By the age of 24 it becomes much harder to convince people that you’re doing well just by quoting Oscar Wilde or claiming you do things for the ‘experience.’ By the age of 24 you’re an adult and there’s nothing you can do about it.
This weekend I turned 24, and as many of my friends regaled me with various tales of their success I realised that I haven’t achieved anything I set out to do as a teenager. Not only am I poor, single and a couple of pounds overweight but I still haven’t received any tweets from Anna Kendrick or Taylor Swift which makes my dream of us becoming the new Destiny’s Child seem even further away.
In an attempt to be more Emma Stone meets Jennifer Lawrence and less Stig of the Dump chic I’ve decided to make a few adjustments to my life such as reading ‘The Times’ and watching documentaries about saving the penguins. Combine that with switching from white to red wine and I’m basically the modern day Audrey Hepburn. As long I seem like I’ve got it together surely there’s no harm in spending my alone time watching reruns of Cupcake Wars and eating an entire bag of Doritos?