time may heal all wounds, but a steady income and reckless spending will do it FASTER!

My grieving process is clearly not complete.

Apparently, in my mind, the best cure for a broken heart is PRETTY THINGS! Mostly of the clothing and accessory variety.

My eyes may be puffy and my nose may be red and long ribbons of snot may be dragging along the ground behind me, BUT GOD DAMN IT, my earrings are shiny and my boots are killer.

I buy pretty things and I drape them across my body and then I, too, look pretty. This (sometimes) leads handsome boys with large egos to talk to me. They say things that are one-part nice to two-parts smart ass, which is apparently close enough to be considered charisma.

I do not like these boys, however, because they make me sad and nervous, and kind of cranky. So instead I go home and cry.

....BUT! (this wasn't supposed to be a depressing entry, I swear) I look ADORABLE. I even smell good! And my hair is as shiny as Judy Garland's in 'Meet Me In St Louis'!

So I cry, but I also admire myself in the mirror, dance to fabulous music, and allow myself to be completely self-indulgent. It's all a part of the healing process.

This, my friends, is how you justify an out-of-control internet shopping habit. I hope it serves you as well as it has served me.

Stuff I have ordered recently....

 

 

 

  

  

[all from ASOS and Etsy. Too lazy to find the individual sellers, but let me know if you want links and I'll track them down]

Oh, and remember how I said it's important to smell nice? This is a good place to start....

Fellas, just try to keep your hands off this minxxxxxx.

The one in which I talk about blowing wads, tree bark, and cattle.

On my third birthday, I wrote a song. It is the only song I have ever written. As far as my musical career goes, I peaked much, much too soon. I blew my lyrical wad, if you will.

Ever since, for the last 21-and-a-bit years, I have held on to this song as my single greatest artistic achievement. I feel sad that it hasn't amounted to anything more than an amusing anecdote my parents occasionally recall.... mostly to people who really could not care less.

For a long time, I wanted to turn it into a children's picture book. But it's only four lines long, and isn't so much a narrative as a self-help guide. For confused three year olds.

That's a pretty limited market, and unlikely to achieve mainstream popularity. So I scrapped my my plans of literary glory, and have instead settled on posting it here.

... 'settled'? Did I say 'settled'? I meant 'decided to save it for a more intelligent and appreciative audience'.

Oh, and by the way....  The reason I remembered this song is that, as I was driving home from work today, Florence and the Machine's Shake It Out came on the radio. And I suddenly realised...It's pretty much the same song!  Both talk about dark. And... born rhymes with dawn. Her version has horses, mine has cows. She talks about 'devils', I talk about 'bad'.
Don't worry. Miss Welch will be hearing from my legal team very soon.

So here is my song (although it is not so much as 'song' as a 'way of living'), with accompanying illustrations.......because I love Microsoft Paint like a crazy person. Which, incidentally, is what I am. Surprise!

UNNAMED COMPOSITION #1
Composed 26th August, 1990

Cuddle your mum and cuddle your dad

 

[You may choose whether you wish you cuddle your mum, then your dad, or the other way around, or even both at once. It's important that you put your own spin on this song. I can't tell you how to live your life... merely guide you in the right direction. If you're doing the cuddling of mum/dad/both correctly, you will all look somewhat like this. 

.....yes I do come from a family of blind people with enormous heads. We are like an incredible hybrid mole-human creature, living in a mysterious underground city. Except instead we live in normal society, where we are teased relentlessly and crash into stuff a lot.]

Don't be afraid of the dark and the bad

 

 

[I chose to represent this with the scariest thing I could think of.... a scary forest late at night, with a spooky misty full moon and a witch on a broomstick with GLOWING RED EYES. If that's not dark AND bad, I don't know what is.]

You can't see the meadows or the cows in the corn

 

[You can't, can you? If you can, please move yourself to a new location or close the curtains on your window. Failing that, stab out your eyeballs. It's very important that you cannot see them.]

So don't be afraid of the bark or the born!

[Just don't! They are nowhere NEAR as scary as the aforementioned woods/witch/scary night scenario. And you survived that, didn't you? So harden up and deal with it.]

THE END.

I hope you found this as educational and insightful as I did. One day I will probably record myself singing it and post it here. Because humiliation and me go together like breast implants and Dolly Parton.

Thank you for your time. I will be signing autographs in the lobby.

EDIT: Mum (you know, the one I cuddled, along with dad) just emailed me a photo of the momentous moment when I composed this song. Apologies for the quality of this camera-phone-photo-of-a-photo. But I think you'll get the gist of the genius that resides inside that enormous, bespectacled head.