Royally Screwed

The English like to refer to pervy weirdos as "sexual perverts", as if there were some other kind of pervert running around that wasn't into sex whatsoever, but was reaaaaally into watching people grocery shop or exposing their musical tastes to unsuspecting fellow passengers on the subway. Regardless, I don't think you have to be a complete seeeeexu-al peeeerveeeeehrt to find these ROYAL WEDDING-THEMED CONDOMS hilarious/intriguing/brilliant. They come in a "timeless souvenir heirlooms box", which is good because you for sure want to display these prominently in your home. They mostly refer to the condoms as LOVE SHEATHS which is just tooooo much for me to handle or even really consider, but the company assures me that "England boasts some of the best lovemaking in the world," so at least there's that.

wherefore art thou work ethic

Sometimes I worry that I don't try hard enough with anything that is actually important. Case in point: I try preeeeeetty hard to make it clear that I know selfies are embarrassing, but also something medium necessary to convey certain instances in my life that I'd like to tell the internet about. I do not try pretty hard to find the appropriate readings for each week. Or to say things in class that make sense. My initials are M.E.H.... My NAME ITSELF expresses ambivalence. Doomed! I had hoped that entering an MA program would have magically flicked the 'on' switch on my work-ethic-o-meter, and the 'off' on my bullshit-all-the-time-capacitor. Not the case. And so we get situations like my class notes from a little while ago:

Please note the valiant effort made at the top with the date and course-title. I was SO close. Also, this was at least moderately productive as an exercise in that it made me 100% aware that a future career as an artist is not something I can aspire to...

Two households, both a huge indignity...

 ...No.

Puns and Shakespeare are two of my favourite things (puns IN Shakespeare, natch, drive me wiiiiild), so theoretically I should LOVE the upcoming film Gnomeo and Juliet. And yet, it offends me deeply. I think this is a bulletpoint situation... wherein I picture the points as actual bullets shattering the piece of crap porcelain lawn figurines they are using to bastardize one of the greatest love stories of our time.

In that spirit, I give you a list of reasons this movie is an abomination:

gettin' blitzed

I've done all the available readings for this week, I've gone for a run (?!?!), I've bought ridiculous amounts of produce, and have been back in London for over a week. I've done some minor ukulele playing, even. And yet, my suitcase remains unpacked. Well, it's been opened, the ukulele retrieved, and the clothes sort of strewn about everywhere as if I was an Important Person and spies had rummaged through my personal effects looking for secret documents and hoping to Send A Message. There is nothing left to do now except unpack it, probably.

Careless Whiskers

Monica 22:14:
I had the WEIRDEST sleeping hours today.
Like, asleep from 4 am last night to 7:30 this morning, then wide awake til 11:00, back to sleep til 2:00. Then awake til 4:00, and napped til 5:00.

Melissa 22:14:
What even is that?

Monica 22:16:
Basically those are a cat's sleeping hours. Which helps me achieve my goal of being more cat-like in everyday life, but also more or less ensured that I did nothing today.
Cats don't have jobs for a reason.

Melissa 22:18:
Mmmm this is true.
Wouldn't life be great if you were a cat??
SO GREAT.

Running Wild

Sometimes you feel great about the Master's Programme (the extra 'm' and 'e' mean it's a big deal) you are in, and sometimes you are in class while the director of a theatre company asks you to stand "relaxed, with your feet shoulder width apart, but your hips slightly backwards, like you're holding a penny between your bum cheeks, and with your chest out, and stomach inwards as though someone's putting a needle through it. Calmly." Sure.

In other news, I brought a ukulele back to London with me, basically 100% because of this:

Someone hook me up with some butt fringe and we are in business.

The Girl Kant Help It

I think there is so much comedy about airplanes because flying is actually kind of terrifying and horrible if you think about it, and laughter is a good way of dealing with things that are difficult or scary (she said, exposing a world of neuroses to the internet). But really, about once every flight that I take, I have a moment where I realize that I have NO idea how what is happening is happening. I could just google how planes work, but I suspect technically getting it would be of little help towards actually knowing what the eff is going on. I know it is something to do with wings and wind and maybe something called aerials or vectors, but realistically I am about as clueless as the 1800sy people who were around when planes first became a thing.

"Well, Marple, I'm getting into this big metal bird, and with some luck and help from the sweet lord who is for sure real and governs all of our movements, eventually I will be back in the warm, colonial arms of mother europe. God save the King, right?" - Me, basically.

Marple = incredibly common 19th century name, obviously.

Other things that I don't know how they work and which you could tell me were magic and I would proooobably just be alright with it: