Archive for November, 2004

Simon Is Awesome

Have I ever told you all about my awesome friend Simon?

Simon is AWESOME. In case there be any doubt on the matter let me repeat. My friend Simon ROCKS. He is super intelligent, and funny as hell. He has two daughters. He lives in Richmond, outside of London and I can’t tell you what he does for a living because I don’t know what that is, but I do know it involves lots of working from home and smoking fags and putting in a thousand hours a week. With no air conditioning. Which isn’t usually a problem but this past summer the UK was hit with a HEAT WAVE.

Yeah. Like I think it reached 80 degrees aieeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, back to Simon. He’s read everything Martin Amis ever wrote, he loves grammar, he has good taste in clothes, food, booze, and women. And he’s kind, in a way that I cannot really explain. Kind in a way that doesn’t conflict with his British laddishness, razor wit, and keen and unrepentant observations. Because his kindness isn’t a ticket for you to get away with anything or validate the lies you tell yourself. He is kind where it really counts. He is REAL. Truly himself every minute of the day. I think that’s brave.

Or maybe it’s just arrogant. At any rate Simon, if you are reading this, this is my lame ass excuse for not contacting you when I was in London two days ago. I lost your card, I don’t have your mobile number, I didn’t log onto email. Whatever. I missed you.

And I think you are totally awesome.


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Pumpkins on Madison

I just finished packing and I am wiped out. What is it that makes packing so damn difficult? You would think I could just throw a bunch of trousers and sweaters and sexy tops and enough sparkly bits to choke a camel into my suitcase, zip it up, and then plonk down on the sofa to watch Conan and smoke a fag SIPPIN ON GIN AND JUICE. Gin and orange. My new craze.

Anyway, but NO. No in fact it is an endless game of possibilities and weighing of contingencies like weather and shoes (those bulky things) and country vs town. And OH THE JEWELRY. Don’t even get me started. I swear the CRAP women have to cart with them (at least THIS woman) to keep their skin smelling good and their eyes dramatically smoky and their teeth clean and their legs shaved. OI.

So I’m off to England tomorrow for my annual pilgrimage to Exeter with the Professor. But of course we have to stop in London for a few days to see all the mates. I think the main reason it is difficult for me to pack for a trip like this is that a) it is for ten days, b) it is cold over there so I have to pack thick warm woolen things, and c) I have a carry on sized suitcase and one extra bag, which is currently crammed full of shoes and a British hairdryer and makeup and moisturiser and a scrubby ball because Lord knows I’ve completely forgotten how to soap myself up without one. I also managed to squeeze in an extra carry bag for all the gifts and stuff I’m going to buy whilst over there. HA HA SUCKAHS. Got you again. Whilst. Can you use that in a sentence please?

But before I go I wanted to post pretty pichers. Apologies in advance if these all run together. I wish some soul would take pity on me and help me figure out how to do html in here so I can space them apart. All that happens when I try that is that the html tags show and no formatting actually occurs.

Okay, here goes.

The birthday dinner in New York with the Professor and his cousin, the Divine Miss A:


More of the Professor and the Divine Miss A, outside the Waldorf Astoria, which didn’t turn out to have a very nice bar, FYI:


Pumpkins on Madison:


Tipsy in Manhattan. You can’t tell in this picture, but I am wearing my new Banana Republic GREEN FEATHER earrings. The Professor kept telling me all night "The Hopi want their earrings back."


Me at a recent party, playing with the camera:


Right I’m outtie. Must. Go. Sink. Into. Soft Warm Bed. Let’s see if this post works.

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Go Sho’ty

It’s yo’ birfday.  We gonna party like it’s yo’ birfday.  We gon’ sip Bacardi like it’s yo’ birfday.  And you know we don’t give a fuck cause it’s yo’ birfday!

Today is Guy Fawkes Day, which I happen to like very much because a) it’s fiery, b) it’s a British holiday, and c) it’s my birthday, yo.

I am having a GREAT DAY.  I came into work and there are chocolate chip MUFFINS, a balloon, a ton of cards (e- and paper), and a cupcake with buttercream frosting and a little wand stuck in it.  Plus this afternoon I take the train to New York City baby.  I got my dress, I got my fur wrap, I secretly have this little tiara I plan to pull out of my handbag and shove on when I am sufficiently DRUNK and annoying everyone.

The Professor and I are going up to NYC for my birthday weekend and partying down in our Nick and Nora way.  We are having dinner here tonight, and hopefully drinks at the Rainbow Room.  I am going to hemhorrage money but hey what else is new.  Here is the general plan:

  1. Leave work in a flurry of unfinished conversations and dashed off marketing copy
  2. Meet the Professor at Union Station Round Bar at 3:30 for a 4:00 pm train
  3. Cram onto the train with all our stuff and pray for seats
  4. Buy orange juice.  Doctor with contents of prepared airplane-sized gin bottles
  5. Arrive in NYC.  Mad dash to Professor’s cousin’s flat.  Dress for dinner.
  6. Taxi to Daniel.  Have drinks in bar.  Try to light up fag and curse when I remember cannot smoke in NYC
  7. Gorge myself on amazing French food and probably champers.
  8. Nip outside for fag with other pariahs.  Huddle next to the Professor in my strappy gown and fur cape.
  9. Taxi to Rainbow Room.  Attempt to get in.  No idea as to the outcome of this part of the plan.
  10. Continue drinking until incoherent and the Professor has to get me into a taxi and back to cousin’s flat without me getting a) cross or b) philosophical.
  11. Next day: shopping, drinks, museum, drinks.  Dress for clubbing. Drinks. Decide against clubbing as too loud.
  12. Sunday: All Saints Day service at St. Thomas Fifth Avenue, where they will smoke the place out with incense! And I’ll sing "For All the Saints" at the TOP of my LUNGS.
  13. Brunch. Mimosa. Graduating to gin.
  14. Rush to catch, and then collapse on, the 3 pm train home.

By the way, I FINALLY got off my arse and figured out how to upload pictures from my digital camera to my computer.  It is so easy a three year old probably would have beat me to it. 

Bacchanale, everyone!

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