I’m roasting a chicken. I don’t really want a chicken, but I have all these vintage pyrexes now and a cute apron and what else am I going to do? Yes, well. It’s in the oven now and it smells delicious.
There were a couple of eventful weekends. Several bottles of tequila disappeared inside a rabbit and I visited some bars and made some very fast friends. Entertaining, but brief. It’s cute when drunk people tell you they want to keep in touch with you. Even if you tell them to their face that you know this is not going to happen, they’re so damned sure… so sure. I made a date, too. But it fell through. There are flowers in a vase on a little table with some birds on it. The pub around the corner houses a robin’s nest now, they’ve placed some old menus against a wall to protect the brooding birdy from hungry fox and kitty cats. The table with the flowers on it, I found that in the street. It’s got robins and tits and metal legs. It looks like something my grandmother would have had.
It’s getting to be time to have a picnic. I’d love a good reason to buy a cute picnic basket and blanket from Selfridge’s. Also a good reason to spend days corning beefs, and boiling eggs and making cucumber sandwiches.
Well I’d better go baste. Good luck.
it appears it’s now possible to purchase and watch Lodge 49 seasons 1 and 2 through Apple TV/iTunes, and i recommend that you do so.
i just made a lasagne in my pink daisies vintage pyrex, it’s so cute. it’s delicious. it’s so cute. it looks so cute in its little pink outfit.
i drank several bottles of tequila and text several unexpected characters from my former lives. several exes. currently deep in some chats with some people i honestly never thought i’d speak to again. i’ve learned that a lot of the things that are interesting about me are symptoms of borderline personality disorder. the week was good. it was fine. i’ve still been having a hard time actually getting out of the house. part of it is because i remain having very bad skin. at the moment i’m going through a whole thing where my body hair is darker than normal, and my facial skin is thinner and paler than normal. this combines in an unexpected way where i find some dark hair above my lip, try to remove it, and the removal process cuts and bleed and then leaves a moustache made of blood. that’s been going on for weeks now. today i tried to even-up my eyebrows and ended up maknig them less symmetrical. I used the wrong tools. i really need a haircut.
i got a couple of new dresses. they are adorable. i look so cute. it would be so fun if i could go outside and look cute outside. a picnic. maybe a picnic would be good.
um… so what do you want to know? i want my money back.
i’m actually very normal and happy.
thanks. love u. bye
The first time I came to London by myself it was one week after my 19th birthday. I’d made the trip see Otway and Barrett live. It was the 19th of March. The opportunity arose for me to meet up with a girl whose diet consisted, seemingly in its entirety, of Wotsits and milk. I was charmed by this. We’d been speaking on-line, on MSN messenger. We’d met on MySpace when I’d made the effort to send her a very long message explaining that I liked her straw hat and we’d hit it off. We met up at Victoria train station and she sprayed my greasy hair with coconut Batiste on a concrete staircase. We never made it to the show, never made it out of hotel. She was kind to me. I met her parents. I met her dog, who was dying of cancer. That’s when i learned dogs could get cancer. I met her friends, I was awkward around her friends. We saw each other a few more times. In train stations, bus stations, hotel rooms, and bread and breakfasts, toilet cubicles, a field of daffodils beside Three Bridges I’ve never seen again, and Croydon and Carlisle and Regent’s Park where I lay my head on her lap and she squeezed blackheads on my forehead til they popped. Later on we broke each other’s hearts.
Wow. I completely forgot to write a post yesterday. That’s wild.
What happened last week? I started making a corned beef brisket. It will be ready to start cooking tomorrow. It’s been brining in the refrigerator since Thursday. I’ve been having a bad skin day for about a month now. My testosterone appears to be high. I don’t know why, my medication hasn’t changed. I see some studies that say keto boosts testosterone. Maybe I need to up my anti-androgens or eat a pizza. There’s not much else to report really. I’ve been shopping for vintage pyrex. I got a bowl in the pattern my grandmother had when I was growing up. A pattern from which I ate my weight in Irish stew many times over. I’ve also sourced a couple of casseroles and lasagne dishes in the milk-on-rose gooseberry and daisies patterns. They haven’t arrived yet but they’re on their way. My outfit today is a pink shirt dress dress that looks like an old floral hand-me-down quilt sewn patch-by-patch over generations by midwestern mothers and grandmothers. I’m also wearing pink velour sweatpants and a pink sweatshirt with cherries on it. This will go together with my pyrex when it arrives. Then I will never go outside again except to the market to pick up ingredients to bring home to my pyrex to put in the oven. There were some things that were meant to happen last week but they all fell through. Spring is becoming more assertive in its threats to break through the dark and the cold. There’s a beautiful cherry blossom tree visible from my window and I find myself staring at it longingly while japanese orchestral music plays in my mind and everything else fades to black and white like schindler’s list. Stress is unusual. It can present in such unexpected ways. Mine is currently presenting as a fantasy that i’m a red head goy girl who grew up in 60s Manhattan and married a jewish jazz musician called Leonard Katz and my name is Kathleen, named after my grandmother, and everybody calls me Kitty Katz and i’d better go because Leo will be expecting something on the table when he gets back from the schvitz. I need to take a break. Maybe in April I will take a break. A taco bell has opened nearby, maybe the solution to my high testosterone is to eat taco bell three times a day. My yearly tarot told me April would be a particularly hard month when i’d have to resist falling back into my bad old ways. I didn’t believe it at the time but that was back during the optimistic high living days of Avatar 2. Now my skin is disgusting, my hair is ugly and there’s a taco bell next door and I’m stressed and John Wick 4 is out. It’s okay, though. Everything is actually very chill. I’m very chill and well-adjusted.