Everyone who knows me, or who has ever read any of the shit I write, knows enjoyable negativity is my modus operandi. I prefer lifeless sarcasm over enthusiastic cheerfulness, and often wish I’d never started this thing called smiling, like Anna Wintour or Kanye West. Maybe they don’t even have teeth, but we will never know, and that’s glorious. When I smile, you can literally see every tooth in my mouth. It’s handy I guess, in the way that I never have to go to the dentist, I just send him pics of me laughing at one of my own jokes, but still.
On a day-to-day basis, I’d say my hobbies include staring lifelessly into the meaningless void (i.e. out of my bedroom window at the birds in our backyard), repeatedly counting down from 3 to 1 hoping that this time, the earth will explode right after the last syllable leaves my lips, and watching Derry Girls on Netflix. I also like reading, and puppies. However, a few months ago, great things started to happen, and now I actually feel quite happy? I mean, I still like chasing pigeons and screaming into nothingness, but now I do it with hot pink toenails and a smile? It’s like I only occasionally wish for the apocalypse now, and it’s unsettling.
Now, what great things, I can all hear you think – because obviously you’ve been desperately awaiting updates on my life as it is far more interesting than yours. Is it a boy?? A dog?? Your Grandmother has finally told you about the unknown though very real principality that awaits you somewhere in the Adriatic Sea?? I know I look like I should be royalty, but it’s none of the above. Also. Imagine. A boy. The princess-thing would be far more likely.
Actually, a boy is sort of included, but that didn’t really suit the men-are-shit-and-I’m-single-forever-paragraph I was just going for.
First things first however, in order of importance: I’ve got a (albeit temp) job that I LOVE. I know, fucking all caps love, it’s that bad. I now work for one of the coolest radio stations in the entire world, with the most talented and absolute best coworkers. Everybody is genuinely insanely nice and incredibly interesting, and I just can’t put into words how #blessed I am to get to be a part of this team. I didn’t even mean it ironically, I am truly #blessed. I’ll fucking say it again, in all caps again if you want: HASHTAG BLESSED. I wake up every day and I’m just happy to be alive? Honestly, I’m surprised, too.
And then, yes, the boy part. I actually don’t have a lot to say about it. I went on a date with a guy and he’s not a dick? I thought he was a really lovely person and I had a really nice time? In fact, it was such a fun night I wouldn’t even be able to bring myself to talk shit about him – if there even was anything to talk shit about, which there isn’t – because he wouldn’t deserve it. I know I’m being really friendly and it’s a bit out of character, but maybe not literally every single guy in the world is trash? Sounds fake, I know, but it is something I might have to look into. Anyway, it’s pretty great to meet non-dicks, but honestly, for the blog it’s quite shit, isn’t it? I’m not just going to sit here and write about him being a good guy – that’s not really my thing – so I might just have to say nothing at all, I’m sorry.
Truth is though, we haven’t really spoken since our date. He’s really great, and I’m sure he doesn’t think I’m a huge bitch (because he doesn’t know me well enough) but we haven’t kept in touch. Bad timing, busy schedules, my crippling incapability of letting people into my life, stuff like that. Plus, I can’t just go out and start dating pleasant and easygoing men, what the fuck am I going to write about then? The century-old clothes I wear or the make-up I so terribly and randomly apply to the face I hardly ever wash twice a day and never use tonics or those weird droppy things on? I don’t think so. There are people better-qualified to do that. Plus, they’ve always told me to stick to what you know; so, I’ll just stick to being an opinionated twat, thank you very much.