Thursday, 26 July 2012

WANTED: friends

So this is me today:

That's right. I am sad/bored/woebegone. Because all my friends are lame and stupid. They all either live too far away, are on exciting trips abroad, were more successful at attaining jobs than me, or just don't really give a damn. Either way, I've been sitting in the house for about two weeks now, searching for a reason to eat my own eye-balls, just so that I might have something the hell to do.

Thus, I have decided that selling myself is the only way. So here goes:

Young, dejected, 21 year old female seeks vibrant and interesting types to befriend her/ show her a good time. Sophie enjoys long walks on the beach, poetry, and water-painting. She likes dogs more than cats, and though somewhat socially awkward, Sophie is a valuable member of any friendship group, happy to assume the vital role of, 'the one who doesn't mind being laughed at'. All applicants please call: 0800-LONERSUNITE.

Monday, 23 July 2012


(To the tune of 'I'm Horny' by the epic Mousse T)


That is all.

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Real People

I'm not sure if this is something that other people do too, but very frequently, when sitting upon a train or a bus or in a cafe, I'll look at somebody. Some girl with straightened hair and make-up on, a man in a business suit, and I'll think, that right there, that is a real person. All around us are these people. The people who look 'real.' They could be extras in Hollywood, they probably have very serious arguments on the phone, they look god-damned solid. If you pricked them they would bleed.

I, have never felt like one of these real people. I look at them with a mixture of envy and befuddlement. I wish I was real too, but I don't know how they do it. See, I do not look the same everyday. I look alright if I try, but often my hair is frizzy and there are spots under my nose clumsily plastered with the wrong colour foundation. I do stupid things like leave my purse on the underground, fall up stairs and go through phases of using expressions way too frequently. These days its, "shit's gwanin down" and "shit has hit the fan." For no apparent reason. Except that I wish I was more gangsta, perhaps. Fat chance.

I just know that I could never be a Hollywood extra. They'd look at me and think, nope, she's not palpable enough. Unlike that guy over there, he's a real bona fide, valid human. I'll bet he wakes up at the same time every day and walks his dog. He'll do.

I think that this 'real'-ness is something to do with a person seeming significant to themselves. Like their issues are really fucking important. They really fucking matter, like, even if its just to them, ok? Like, god. Have some fucking sympathy, is the kind of thing they'd say. I don't think I really have many issues and if I did, I'm really quite aware that they don't matter all that much. What can I say, I'm lucky.

Anyway the point of this post is that on Monday I am becoming a real live working woman with shit to get done, and bills to pay and a professional working appearance to maintain. And I'm frightened. I know that when I walk into the office all these solid people will be there. And I don't know how the hell to talk to people like that.