I'm not apologizing for how sporadic this blog is anymore, that's just how the blog is, everyone be cool. But don't cool down TOO much, because today's story is about a HOT topic. How hot? Blazing hot! Flaming hot! Firey hot! ... It's about fire. (And safety. It's about fire safety.)
If you're not into a long and detailed narrative of spew, turn back now. I mean it, this will be a tale of vom, a ton of vom, and nothing but the vom, so help me Vom. Strap in if you're ready for it, yak-afficionadoes. All of this happened to me yesterday.
I can't say for sure if it was Air Canada's pasta, or the Thai food I ate with my family before I got on the plane, or the Starbucks sandwich I had somewhere in between, or some kind of unrelated virus entirely, but whatever it was, good work to it, it definitely won Britain's Next Biggest Life Ruiner. BECAUSE:
I really don't want to make this all about HCIMYLM Man, but today on my way home from work, I discovered he now has a full sized guitar, a giant gold pig-shaped piggy bank on a table, and Sperry topsiders. So, he's great, we all know he's great, the end, just picture an absurdity curve that goes upwards infinitely, and that is him.
Now, I promise that is the last mention of him for a while. I have heard the fans shouting in the streets ("But what has your mom been texting?!" "Have you abandoned embarrassing hats? WINTER IS COMING! Also how do you feel about Game of Thrones?!") and I am responding with a thrilling post about the job that I have now. It is a bartending job and it is great for a number of reasons. I have put the reasons in a list below:
HOW CAN I MAKE YOU LOVE ME Man has a full-sized guitar now with a case for collecting money. Yesterday he was just laughing to himself and playing one string over and over. More blogs (unrelated to that man) tomorrow.
Okay, so, err'body be trippin' about how I haven't updated this blog in a million years, and I get it, we all love to procrastinate. Except here is the thing: I don't need to procrastinate anymore! I'm officially all finished with school! I have a Master's degree now, which is probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life, but here we are, it's happened, that's just a thing that is true about me now.
This is what I've been doing with my time guys.
I'm obviously really busy, too busy to blog (2B2B), definitely.
THAT BEING SAID, I really enjoyed the ol' blog and I think maybe my legions of adoring fan (singular, hey mom, how's it going) have a point. So, once a week I will try to do a blog on you guys. This week's topic is near and dear to my heart because I see him every day and his story is ever-changing and he is so mysterious. I'm getting ahead of myself.
This week is all about the man my flatmates and I refer to as The HOW CAN I MAKE YOU LOVE ME Guy:
Shakespeare, buddy. Everyone was really impressed by Macbeth. See also: Romeo and Juliet, King Lear... great work! Dramatic and captivating. Poetry coming alive onstage. Timeless masterpieces that resonate as truly today as they surely did hundreds of years ago at the original Globe. But for the next like, two weeks, maybe just can it? Maybe just consider not being a part of my life for a month or more? Maybe get out of here and shut your pentametric mouth? Yes? Good yes okay yes thank you. Great talk. Really appreciate it. Forsooth, and all that.
This is a list of words and/or phrases people have searched that lead them to my blog. Each one is a beautiful treasure, and, I think, a wonderful reflection on me as a person. Behold:
Attended a very lovely comedy evening featuring a character called "Party Bee" and a review of all Disney's straight-to-DVD sequels. Guys. Cinderella 3: A Twist in Time is a real thing. But really, the truth of the matter is, I'm never going to have a bad time at a show where a be-stubbled man sings "Part of Your World" and accompanies himself on the ukulele.
Wandered around London like an impoverished pilgrim, peering in cafe windows like a Dec. 23 Tiny Tim. Went home and discovered my flatmates enjoy eating spinach like it is chips, raw and straight out of the bag.
Gave up on Google+ at almost the EXACT MOMENT I accepted my invitation. (Related: Shut up Google, "invitation." This is the internet, and if it was invite-only there would be no lonely weirdos making mash ups of cats and Star Wars or whatever it is that I look at all day.)
Had a lot of pictures of my friends having a good time in Toronto sent to me over bbm. It was kind of delightful and kind of agonizing, and Ava, if you are reading this, your boobs are looking great.
And lastly, instead of writing my dissertation I ... drew things like this...? for some reason? This is also only one of a number of cartoons I drew where the joke is just a pun drawn out as a literal thing?
Shut up brain. Go back to reading that play you are reading that one literary critic has called "sensational even by Elizabethan standards", and "almost preposterously violent".
What I like most about having started a humour-oriented blog upon moving to England [professional tip: probably if that is how you describe your blog it is not very humourous. However, my mom reads this thing and laaaaughs and laaaaaughs so here we are.] is that England is SO SILLY I barely have to do anything. What follows is a description of the British television show Take Me Out. It is just a real show that exists here and is fairly widely watched.
A love match in the making, I'm sure. Paddy is a modern-day Cupid.
Lights up. Thirty or so ladies stand at illuminated podiums with their names written on them. They are very dolled up and wearing shiny party dresses, corsets, fascinators, etc. The host, a cheeky Irishman named Paddy, appears and gives them a hard time about being "singletons", prompting some of them to get VERY cheeky in return, while others look kind of sad in the heavily made-up face.
THEN. A series of male suitors descends from a pod in the middle of the stage. The technical term for this pod is "The Love Lift." They descend one at a time after Paddy shrieks "Single Man, reveal yourself!". Usually they dance.
7:21 pm DJPete: hey sweetie hope you're having a good day!
7:25 pm monica.heisey: great day. very good day.
7:27 pm DJPete: And why not, it's Friday night, you are a single gal in London on Canada Day!
This girl knows what we're talkin' about.
I'm almost 100% certain that if I got my Mom on BBM I could do daily updates based entirely on text messages from my parents. Miss you guys. Happy Canada day from your SINGLE GAL* IN THE CITY!
*My boyfriend is very nice and you've all met him a few different times.
There is a little brick laneway between the courtyard where my flat is and the main street that runs in front of it. It is a very convenient way to get out to the main road and also to and from the grocery store at the end of the road.
Yesterday, in the throes of research, I went on an emergency Diet Coke run, and ended up picking up a few other groceries as well. With my arms full, I headed back home. As I walked through the little laneway area, I met a man halfway through. He had one arm and was really smiley. I'd never met anyone else in the alley before, so I didn't realize it was not big enough for two people to pass through comfortably until it was too late.
Google search complete wanted me to search for "Winklevoss twins". NOT PERVY ENOUGH.
And by "too late", I mean "the man with one arm slapped my butt with his stump, winked at me, and walked along."
Okay, Air Transat. Okay, people who take airplanes. We need to have a talk.
To Air Transat:
Your in-flight entertainment plan should definitely not have included Big Momma's House 3: Like Momma like Son, or whatever that nightmare was called. I did, however, greatly enjoy the periodic breaks for Spanish language lessons (me gusta los continental breakfast) and the Canadian trivia from 1991—which female singer had a mega-hit with the song "Black Velvet"? Now I know. It was Alannah Myles.
The main thing I wanted to talk about though, was the occasional cartoon you would put up that was just an airplane with a blinking light on the top of it, and a speech bubble saying "Who's driving this bird?". For one thing, it made me nervous about who, in fact, was driving said bird. For two, it made me really nervous that you guys also don't know how planes work. One of us should know that.
I am very committed to fully experiencing this year abroad. I want to do and see British things and learn British stuff and eat British food. It's why I'm getting fat (vegetables in England are illegal unless you put them in a pastry coating), it's why I snog gingers exclusively (Affirmative Snog Action), and it's why I try really hard to accumulate a brain-dictionary of British slang words.
My flatmates have been taking advantage of this interest in the British vernacular. They tried for an unreasonably long time last week to convince me that 'twinkledip' was Brit slang for vagina. Come on, guys. I know the English language is silly, but it is not THAT silly. Also, did we all take note of that seamless use of the word 'flatmates' in the above sentence? MAKIN' IT WORK.
Now, there are lots of funny and silly—and also real—words you can use if you want to sound wanky and British. 'Wanky' is one. 'Well' to mean 'very' is another. But the main one is 'nice.' Nice is the most important word in the British language, because it is basically their only adjective.
Consider this example. The quotation below indicates how a British person would describe these breakfasts:
Accidentally unplugged my headphones from my computer and blasted "Back to December" through the silent Rare Books Reading Room. I may have to leave.
For some context, "Back to December" is a heart-rending ballad about the age-old problem of what to do when you are careless with your TeenWolf boyfriend's heart. The answer is to invite him to your house, apologize for 'leaving his roses there to die', and ask about his family. Then tell him all you think about is that time you broke up with him. Romanz.
I'm in the British Library right now. I've been here since slightly before noon. Some equally disheveled/slightly smelly people are here with me, forming a League of the Truly Pathetic: people that are at the library until it the second it closes. "Committed to caffeinated drinks, developing hunchbacks, and forgetting what the outdoors look like!" - League Motto
Earlier today, a distinguished-looking professor (probably) in an actual tweed jacket with elbow patches was sitting beside me, writing in a leather-bound notebook about Romanticism in painting or something equally erudite. On the other side, a 'mature student'—every university-level English class has at least one Mom in it, this is a rule—researched the Cuban missile crisis.
Everyone around me is more or less oozing academia. I've been listening to Taylor Swift almost exclusively, all day long.
Well, shit guys. I didn't write a single thing on this blog for twenty days. Naturally, the press, blog-o-sphere and twittersphere were horrified and in a general uproar:
"Monic-ahh's blahh-g deserted: Five outraged" - The Guardian
"Has she not burnt her tongue on anything this month? Surely she's made a questionable fashion choice or seven. COME ON." -@stephenfry
"Why did she have to get a life and stop writing useless updates to fill the void??" - CNN.com
As you can see, compelling stuff. The good news is that two major papers are now handed in (have fun with those, King's academics!) and I am back on track and DTB. People are getting really excited about the reinvention of this blog. Some early critics have called it 'edgier than the first blog, but with about the same number of cat pictures.' The blog is going to dye its hair brown and sing about the ISSUES. It wants you to know it's all grown up, and it's not going to sugar-coat its identity just because the blog's managers want it to be a 'role model.' It's getting serious as an ARTIST.
First order of business:
Kate Middleton = Ursula the Sea-Witch in human form?
I mean, the resemblance is uncanny. Except for the fact that 'Vanessa' didn't have a fit sister in a slinky silk dress stealing her thunder as she sashayed down the aisle with adorable children on either side, this is pretty much how the royal wedding went, right? Related: as a child I used to just sing that Ariel tune to myself and others. Nobody liked it. I LOVED IT.
And now a photo-essay on what happened this month:
This is an actual transcript from an actual conversation that was just televised on Antiques Roadshow.
Evaluator: Well, given that this particular vase is from Lalique's opalescent line, I would venture you'd probably be able to fetch 3,000 pounds or so for it at auction.
