I like to think of blogging like Fight Club.
The first rule of The Blog is, you do not talk about The Blog.
The second rule of The Blog is, you DO NOT talk about The Blog.
This is why you won’t see me mention it in passing conversation. Ever. I would rather die. False. I would not rather die. But nonetheless some of you silent and not-so-silent readers are super sweet and encourage me to quit my day job and/or publish something, against all insurmountable odds of a significant talent shortage and crippling student loan debt. (Shout out from yesterday: Zoe! She knows why. Long time reader, first time caller. x) Or, if last night’s raucous dinner at Les Trois Garcons is any indication, some people like to talk about The Blog openly. Forgive my demurring. We all know how shy and humble I am.
Back to the business at hand. There is one exception to the rule: sometimes I am imploring you to comment. And then, natch, the result is a foregone conclusion. Radio silence. Yesterday Jeremy saved the day with some good honest suggestions for ‘Mira aka Friend On The Couch’. If I may add one more for Couchy Friend: if you haven’t seen the Worst Movie of All Time, a movie so bad it is amazing, a terrible movie with suspect origins, a huge Hollywood following, a viral cornucopia, a movie with never-ending YouTube possibilities, a movie you and your friends and loved ones will never stop quoting until the end of time, well then what are you waiting for?
This is my haircut (Bonus is how hot I look in the photo)
I have friends, they know who they are, that are giving me sh*t for this haircut. And that’s the thing about envy: it hurts so good. Shout out to all the lesbians and Justin Bieber who rock hot short hair-dos.
London, I am guessing like many cities, is filled with these small Asian joints where you can get acupuncture, reflexology, massages and a number of other treatments for a multitude of health and well-being issues.
Let’s revisit the menu of treatable ailments, shall we?
and most other problems
I love the crap out of these places. Their advertisements are so intriguing. “Women’s problems”… so much potential… I mean, will they treat a husband’s inability to fully shut a cabinet door or dresser drawer? Will my Excel spreadsheet magically even out the row heights? How about blocking that annoying SAHM on Facebook? You know the one.
Mens problems. Oh, boo, effing hoo.
Children’s complaints. By far my favorite. I can totally see Jonah walking in and being all My mom won’t quit it with the vegetables and her voice is a little high-pitched for my taste. While I’m here, do you have a slide I can go down? I don’t have a slide at home. Our flat sucks, if I’m really honest.
And just so all bases are covered, they do also address “most other problems”. Give them a call today!
I do have one Women’s Complaint today actually, and it’s this: why does the whole of the British population love the show Frasier so much? WHY?
P.S. Melissa, I totally mentioned Google and youtube today. Welcome to London (again)!