I have been having some good days lately and I have been enjoying them like slices of decadent chocolate cake, crumb by crumb, with the obligatory mmmmm and ahhhhh and the licking of fingers.
I cut my hair short in June and then I went even further and did the baddest, boldest move ever: I dyed it red!
Because I am quite emotionally unstable and because it was a full moon at some point, one morning I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, as one does and I came out with a DYI fringe, slightly uneven, as almost no one does.
On a different note, last week was my best week this year.
I celebrated four years in London on the July 5th, by going to work all jolly and ending up by getting frustrated with the severe hiccups Ministry of Justice decided to throw at me all day long.
I must say, the chaos of that particular day reminded me of the every day life in my beautiful, much unorganised Romania that I do not miss one bit.
Drained by tireless efforts of trying to do my job against all odds, I ended up in a hipster bar at Highbury and Islington at a mere 3 pm, drinking a cocktail from the most hipsteresque vessel I have ever seen, while wearing a very formal attire, as I was coming from a Court of Justice of the United Kingdom.
The tipsiness hit me hard and so did the inspiration. Bottom line, I spent the afternoon getting wasted on hipster cocktails and writing a short story, before moving the party to Camden for the purpose of eating tacos with the boyfriend.
Last Friday I felt like a million bucks. Or sterlings, whichever is stronger at the mo’. I actually took a lift selfie because I couldn’t believe I looked as good as I felt. I usually have this greyish, sluggish complexion and my most common facial expression is: why did I leave the bed? when can I go back to bed?
It was like I didn’t want the day to end. After work I went to see my baby niece and to smell her into oblivion.
She makes me feel a zillion butterflies when she gives me those smiles and giggles. She has also discovered my nipples but I think she can’t make out why my milk dispenser is not working no matter how hard she attacks me through my top and all.
I ended the day with boyfriend at Everyman Hampstead watching the new Spidey and almost falling asleep on their comfy couches. I swear Everyman is the closest thing to a private cinema, us, the mere mortals, can get.
On Saturday I hosted a girls only party. Boyfriend was allowed to sit with us for dinner then he was exiled upstairs, with his computer and his PHP coding. We only needed him a few times: to take pictures of us, to buy us season 4 of Sex And The City on Amazon and to turn on the TV for us after we accidentally pressed random buttons on the remote control.
Many compelling topics were discussed at the party, such as: when is it appropriate to wee in a bucket, what sort of bisexuals are we, like going down on a woman bisexual, boob fondling bisexual or imagining girls you see naked bisexual. I am the latter, by the way, in case you were wondering.
Other than that, we pondered on life, men and single life and I had my say in every one of these topics. I have been single most of my life so I consider myself qualified to offer my two pence on the matter for at least two more lives from now on.
Prosecco and Cava were consumed abundantly, strawberries, cherries and chocolates were eaten in despair, all in all, the spirits were high. But we were not. There was an oregano incident later that night but I couldn’t fully grasp what happened. We shall leave it at that, as some things are better left unexplored.
The brutal hangover I nursed on Sunday didn’t stop me from further bonding with my niece. We spent the afternoon together, being lazy, eating mezze (my sister and I) and singing nursery rhymes. She likes “Row Your Boat” the best. And I like “if you’re happy and you know it share your meds” the best. I am so #auntiegoals, aren’t I just?