Being a slob, it's kinda nice
I've not been good at keeping my blog up todate lately. I'm tired, my life is a wreck, I've been eating like a pig, getting fat, chain smoking even inside my office, hence a terrible smell of cold cigarettes on the entire floor, not making any efforts to wear make-up on, not ironing my shirts, sometimes wearing the same bra 3 days in a row, often falling asleep without brushing my teeth and suddenly my bad breath waking me up in the middle of the night, ain't that terrible? Should I continue with the enumeration of my pathetic own self; I'm no longer inclined to write my inner intimate thoughts freely on this blog as my dear friend X to whom I told I wished to keep the anonymity of my silly blog went around disparaging rumours that I was recounting my non existent sex life on the net. What a bastard little prince. I've done on-line dating tonight, it's 3 a.m., how pathetic. I'm so afraid to be discovered by some work colleagues on the dating website (are there many thirty-something Asian women earning a 6 digit salary in Paris?) that I haven't posted any pictures. e.g., chances of meeting a male being is hence, less than likely. Not a bad thing though; I've mentioned in passing to my mom I was considering on-line dating since she is totally desperate to see me wed, but she freaked out. My mom thinks I might meet a serial killer or a man who might sexually abuse me. Seriously mother, I think first of all that a sexually enhanced man would choose a better looking person. Not someone who doesn't brush her teeth before going to bed. Second, a serial killer will target a stupid girl. Mom, I might be unattractive these days but I haven't lost my IQ above 150.Labels: Online dating, Self derision
Happy Birthday Cinderella
Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday dear self, Happy Birthday to me...
My mom called me five times at the office today to annoy me with some administrative issues. She forgot though to wish me a happy birthday. Why blame her, she is caught by amnesia, neither the date, nor the year of birth of her twin daughters is of importance to her. But how could a mother forget the date of her giving birth to a pair of twins? Strange. Luckily I have my twin sister. For the past thirty-something years, she has been the first person to wish me a happy birthday. Of course, she is my twin, so how could she forget to wish herself (hence to me) a happy birthday, you would say. Funnily, she wasn't the first this year. A strange feeling... She was beaten by a few minutes by a colleague of mine, who even had the sweetest thought of organizing a little champagne party. Thank you dear colleague. And happy birthday, sis'.Labels: As the years go by..., Mommy dearest
Five Years Already or Five Years Later ... ?
We all remember what we were doing or where we were when it all happened.
Does time heal all wounds? Is there still a feeling of an empty seat? The parents, certainly but what about the lovers?Labels: As the years go by...
Post-Vacation Trauma
I deplore the Paris scene beginning of September; the season during which a detestable and constant questioning takes place from the French: “So, how was your vacation??” To which I respond with obvious hostility: “What vacation?” To which they reply back suspiciously and with a certain disdain: “That’s why you look sooo pale, are you going on vacation soon? You know vacations are mandatory!?”
Excuse-me !!?? What are these people talking about? Since when labor regulations impose mandatory breaks during the summer season? I’m not a college-kid or a boring “commute-work-sleep” kind of person. Neither am I a lazy 9 to 5 lifestyle aficionado. I strive for performance; I strive for the growth of the GNP in this lazy socialist country. Somebody got to work, you know?
Why do people, especially women of a certain age, who have just come back from their much undeserved vacation need to expose their suntan and, in passing, their no-so attractive nudity in the middle of the Paris avenues? Why on earth do they have to wear bikini like, flashy outfits in the middle of a polluted city as if they were in ostentatious Saint-Tropez or iconoclastic South Beach? A little bit of decency for those who have worked in August would be, much appreciated. . .Labels: Parisian life, Professional hardship
