How can it only be Wednesday?!? Already this week is sucking my will to live. It's sick how much I look forward to going to the same damned bar and drinking too much and dancing like an idiot to the few songs I actually like and eating a middle-of-the-night tubesteak and having inane conversations and stumbling home by foot or by taxi, by hook or by crook, by camel or rickshaw.
I live for the weekends. One thing I love is brunch. There's a restaurant here, the oyster bar (which has so much more than oysters), which I could happily brunch at every weekend without fail. More food should involve pesto hollandaise, no?
Lately I have been wanting a dog (either a French bulldog or a Boston terrier in particular) like crazy. Don't get me wrong, my tango-cat (a neurotic, eleven-year old Devon Rex with allergies that manifest in him being covered in lumps, leaking from the eyes and nose and constantly scratching) is still the love of my life, but I want a dog, too. I think a small, funny snorting dog would get along famously with old Tango, and we could go on walks and it could fetch tiny sticks--or ignore them in favour of smelling its own crotch, or eating cat poo.
Mm, maybe not. At least not while I live in the condo and work full-time. Bleah. Score one more for the corporate whore (wow, that was practically lyrical).
I am getting my hair cut on Saturday! I live in fear that it will turn out terribly. I have had fairly long hair for quite some time now, but am sick of the fucker, frankly, and am paying a student (SUPERVISED) at Aveda to hack it, shape it, and dye it a darker, brighter red than my natural red. Wish me luck....I live in fear.
(I love reading about both food and sex in great detail, and since I am not getting any of the romp-action at the moment...)
Dinner tonight: three devilled eggs, two salmon mousse-and red pepper on toast points and one butter tart at the silly networking dinner I went to *schmoozey schmoozey*
one enormous bowl of ice cream--banana ice cream with chocolate and peanut butter in it (mother of GOD)
one cheese and pickle sandwich, made with my mother's homemade pickles.
Lord, deliver me from tasty, convenient and entirely nutritionless food.
The good news is that I have not had a sober or daytime cigarette since September 16th. Out drinking at the bar does not count--what am I, made of stone? But still--4 per week instead of 10 per day? Leaps and bounds, kids. Leaps and bounds!
I live for the weekends. One thing I love is brunch. There's a restaurant here, the oyster bar (which has so much more than oysters), which I could happily brunch at every weekend without fail. More food should involve pesto hollandaise, no?
Lately I have been wanting a dog (either a French bulldog or a Boston terrier in particular) like crazy. Don't get me wrong, my tango-cat (a neurotic, eleven-year old Devon Rex with allergies that manifest in him being covered in lumps, leaking from the eyes and nose and constantly scratching) is still the love of my life, but I want a dog, too. I think a small, funny snorting dog would get along famously with old Tango, and we could go on walks and it could fetch tiny sticks--or ignore them in favour of smelling its own crotch, or eating cat poo.
Mm, maybe not. At least not while I live in the condo and work full-time. Bleah. Score one more for the corporate whore (wow, that was practically lyrical).
I am getting my hair cut on Saturday! I live in fear that it will turn out terribly. I have had fairly long hair for quite some time now, but am sick of the fucker, frankly, and am paying a student (SUPERVISED) at Aveda to hack it, shape it, and dye it a darker, brighter red than my natural red. Wish me luck....I live in fear.
(I love reading about both food and sex in great detail, and since I am not getting any of the romp-action at the moment...)
Dinner tonight: three devilled eggs, two salmon mousse-and red pepper on toast points and one butter tart at the silly networking dinner I went to *schmoozey schmoozey*
one enormous bowl of ice cream--banana ice cream with chocolate and peanut butter in it (mother of GOD)
one cheese and pickle sandwich, made with my mother's homemade pickles.
Lord, deliver me from tasty, convenient and entirely nutritionless food.
The good news is that I have not had a sober or daytime cigarette since September 16th. Out drinking at the bar does not count--what am I, made of stone? But still--4 per week instead of 10 per day? Leaps and bounds, kids. Leaps and bounds!