THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

Today, in "things I did instead of my readings for tomorrow," we have Home Haircut. Now, normally I cut my own bangs and it's no big D. A cooler-than-me friend initially gave me a straight across fringe one summer at Cambridge and since then I've felt pretty okay about giving them a trim, or letting them grow super long to cover it up when I can't afford to dye my eyebrows (it's fun to be albino). But when I cut them it's usually, just, like, straight across. Following a line.

And then today, for no reason, I did this:

 

You brought this on yourself, self.

LIFE, sometimes, you know?

"Well of course the lovely thing about the house is that each marchioness has such a different taste, and that is really reflected in the Great Hall. Most of the decorative touches in there aren't original, they've been Jacobethan-ized by past dowagers. ...More tea?"

THIS REALLY HAPPENED TO ME.

I spent the day with the other research interns at Hatfield House, a manor home in Hertfordshire originally built in 1611. It's closed to the public in the winter but we went on a Special Geek Mission to check out the Jacobean tapestries. (This is my life now, deal with it everyone.) It was nerd heaven- the library there literally looks like the one from the part in Beauty and the Beast where he just gives her the library as a present. BEST PRESENT EVER. NICE ONE, THE BEAST.

It was also the most British day of my life.

I think I'm going to kill someone.

In Gnomeo and Juliet one of the characters talks to SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST in the form of a statue, and together they decide that the lovers dying in the end is not a good story. OH GOOD.

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.