1. Make flirty with internet person(s)!
2. Find lots in common with internet person(s)!
3. Tell internet person(s) you might have ladyfeelings happening towards them!
4. Learn to parse sound of tumbleweeds!
5. Congratulations! Enjoy being awesome*!
(*Did I say awesome? I meant “ughsome.”)
HEZ PRO-TIP: For maximum effectiveness, make sure you’re 42 and single!
But I’d probably just start emailing the firehose.
Can’t believe my birthday went by and I didn’t ask for one of these!
For the record, I do accept gifts for a full 6 months after my birthday (which, conveniently, gives you guys until Christmas Eve). ;-)
Is how even INTERNET boyfriends go all Chilean Miner on your ass.
Whatever, dudes! I’ll just be over here, continuing with my awesomeness.
And as usual, I have prepared nothing… least of all, my husk of a liver.
(*Internet Boyfriends, you’ve been warned.)
And my ovaries and I just watched a reality show featuring The Judds on the Oprah Network.
I don’t even have cats, people.
If I can’t get #Rsn4Bzn to catch on as a hashtag, then my internet life has been worthless.
It’s both vaguely heartening and totally infuriating. I mean, I guess it’s great that there’s a lid for every pot (even ones that smell like boiled cabbage), but this microwaveable-pouch-for-one thing I’ve had going on for the last century or so is growing somewhat fatiguing.
In short, you are awesome, internet boyfriends, but you are WAY too far away.
PS: To be fair, I am also at times kind of gross.
INTERNET BOYFRIENDS, of course!
Made some IKEA shelves my bitch this afternoon, and although I feel like a total pro and impressed the hell out of my roommate, it was sweaty work, and I would acquire and distribute 30 kilos of top-grade ground unicorn horn for a firm back massage from a hot dude right now. Instead, I took a painkiller, puffed some PK, poured a small wine, turned on the fireplace, started some brown rice pasta for my chicken cacciatore leftovers (srsly you guys, OMG) and I’m ‘bout to catch up with last night’s ANTM and later tonight (after a hot bath, methinks), the latest episode of Archer. The weather is absolutely gross out there (I swear I saw snow) so this is just my speed tonight.
French-style glazed carrots, yellow nugget potatoes and steamed asparagus, all to be paired with a seared Sockeye salmon with lemon caper butter, which I’m going to try and confit with some garlic. The wine I enjoyed with cooking was a JOIE Farm Rose from the Okanagan Valley, and with dinner is a buttery and gorgeously-oaked Heitz Cellar Chardonnay from Napa Valley.
It’s okay to be jealous.
UPDATE: OMG DELICIOUS. Here’s the after pics!
All of you dudes who aren’t my boyfriends are going to start really hating it pretty soon.
If you’ve yet to experience the British theatre company Punchdrunk’s production of Sleep No More, a Macbeth/1930s thriller mash-up of sorts at the fictional McKittrick Hotel (formerly Guesthouse) I suggest you get around to it. It’s frightfully awesome and weird. I saw it on Monday and I’ve compiled some tips for you:
Be proactive. Knock on locked doors. open drawers. hold onto keys and try them out everywhere.
Find the orgy scene. Yes, there’s an orgy. One that not everyone gets to see if they aren’t paying attention and following the rights actors.
Be brave. Some of these rooms are SCARY. Also, if someone offers you their hand- take it. They’ll bring you somewhere in the hotel that others dont get to see/give you something to keep/lock you in a closet. It happened to me.
Look out for Lydia Hearst and Jeff Goldblum. They were will us the whole time, but we had no idea because she’s so short/he’s so tall/we have to wear masks.
The cocktails are key.
Damn, this looks dope.