The future freaks me out
Mostly, what these otherwise unconnected stories — unconnected save in that they all happened to me — have in common is me being awkward or uncomfortable. Sometimes both. Enjoy.
Tag Archives: boys
Boom
I turned 30 last month. I finally admitted, under duress and in the face of unyeilding mathematics and biology, that I’m not a kid anymore.
It’s like seventh grade with bank accounts
LB and I descend into the pit down a flight of steep, wide steps and I laugh under my breath that it feels like we’re Cinderellas entering the ball. I’m not overexaggerating much. LB attracts male attention anywhere she goes and here men outnumber women at least five to one.
Get get get get over it
I am fuming. It’s half past ten on a steamy Thursday night and I’m miles from home on a terrifyingly overcrowded dark platform. The next train isn’t due for ages. The tube strike has broken London’s transport system and everyone is miserable. At least I’m not alone in that.
Drinking French, being English
I was primped to within an inch of my life: blow wave sleek, nails shellacked in inoffensive beige, Hobbs heels on, hair hidden under an equally beige hat, dressed modestly, lipstick lacquering my lips. The only hiccup was my name badge: Miss Alexander E. Alexander. I was about to go rub modestly-covered shoulders with London’s best coiffed and I was going to do so as an Alexander.
Have fun go mad
Somewhere between Aussies in uniform, sweaty boys in Bintang beer singlets, plentiful cheap beers, we had stepped through a black hole to an Australia that never quite existed. It was 4pm. We could stay here all night.
There was only one little problem with this genius plan.
I hate this feeling, but I love this part
Because being an Australian in London is apparently much like being in high school again, let’s talk about boys, shall we?
The children of the dirt
I heard the most wonderful story this week. Full credit goes to to its author, Simon Rich, who tells it far better than I’m about to.
Once upon a time there were 20 little pixies and elves
Sunshine, sunburn and skinny dipping — it was the polo weekend!
Burned toast
The smell of burned toast and wet food scraps in the sink always reminds me of my time living in Canada.
