(no subject)

The car wouldn't start today. S,o at nine o'clock in the morning, I had to sprint to the mall and get a cab. I got to my hairdresser at 9:20. And had to leave again at ten, so, while I got my hair cut, she didn't have time to blow-dry it. It looked hellish, by the time I was home. Mousse and no blow-dry, makes for a very bad hair-day. But no one messes with my appointments with my hairdresser, they are vital. But I love my hair again. It is short in the back, and to about my jawline in front, and in a bob again. Camilla (hairdresser), said I looked very much a desperate housewife, running in with my hair standing on end on a pair of UN's. I rather felt the part, too.

I figured I need a leather jacket for fall, and a straw hat of the huge kind, to prance around in on vacation (I thought of it earlier, and Samantha's just reinforced the lust for one).

Sex and the City was just what I wanted; If I can't have my fun with some hot guy, why not watch Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda do it? And it made me re-realise that I really do need a pair of strappy, brown heels. Though, if that is feminism, I am proud I have never called myself a feminist. Four women, searching for love and happiness in heels, how on earth do you make that out to be feminism?

My "book" (or filofax rip-off), ends this Friday. I have a huge organisation problem, and am not about to pay fifteen-hundred for a new leather, A5 filofax. So, ebay is my friend. When I have money and a job.

Since no one else can be bothered, I have to cook dinner today. Blargh. One very good reason not to move out, there. Cooking every day? No, thank you very much. Occasionally does it.

Chi's birthday party yesterday was a complete bore, until I found a fellow anglophile. A girl, much to my chagrin. We discussed modernism, the Bloomsbury Group, literature, movies, London and theatre. She even liked Cillian Murphy.

(no subject)

The car wouldn't start today. S,o at nine o'clock in the morning, I had to sprint to the mall and get a cab. I got to my hairdresser at 9:20. And had to leave again at ten, so, while I got my hair cut, she didn't have time to blow-dry it. It looked hellish, by the time I was home. Mousse and no blow-dry, makes for a very bad hair-day. But no one messes with my appointments with my hairdresser, they are vital. But I love my hair again. It is short in the back, and to about my jawline in front, and in a bob again. Camilla (hairdresser), said I looked very much a desperate housewife, running in with my hair standing on end on a pair of UN's. I rather felt the part, too.

I figured I need a leather jacket for fall, and a straw hat of the huge kind, to prance around in on vacation (I thought of it earlier, and Samantha's just reinforced the lust for one).

Sex and the City was just what I wanted; If I can't have my fun with some hot guy, why not watch Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda do it? And it made me re-realise that I really do need a pair of strappy, brown heels. Though, if that is feminism, I am proud I have never called myself a feminist. Four women, searching for love and happiness in heels, how on earth do you make that out to be feminism?

My "book" (or filofax rip-off), ends this Friday. I have a huge organisation problem, and am not about to pay fifteen-hundred for a new leather, A5 filofax. So, ebay is my friend. When I have money and a job.

Since no one else can be bothered, I have to cook dinner today. Blargh. One very good reason not to move out, there. Cooking every day? No, thank you very much. Occasionally does it.

Chi's birthday party yesterday was a complete bore, until I found a fellow anglophile. A girl, much to my chagrin. We discussed modernism, the Bloomsbury Group, literature, movies, London and theatre. She even liked Cillian Murphy.