1. Congratulate me! I’ve got a new imaginary boyfriend. We’re very happy together. Here he is:
LOOK AT THAT FACE. Don’t you want to squeeze him? That is Marcus Parks from The Last Podcast on the Left, which I’ve been listening to obsessively over the past couple of months (although…do I ever consume media non-obsessively? Not really. I’m a natural born binger). He’s the main researcher for the show and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of serial killers and cults and weird phenomena, which in itself is pretty hot. He also has a goofy little-kid laugh and a slight Texas accent and plays drums for a rockabilly/alt country band called The Cowmen. On various episodes of Last Podcast, he has admitted to all of the following:
– Digging a proper six-foot grave just to see how hard it would be. DUDE. Right???
– Eating a jar of pickles for supper. More than once, I think. Pickle supper!
– Collecting bones and skeletons.
– Eating some cow feed out of curiosity to see what it tasted like.
– In high school, having had a set of badger paws strung up in his truck. (True story: when I dissected a frog in high school, I stole the eyeballs and kept them. They were like weird little marbles!) (…What?)
He’s generally adorable and the perfect combination of nerdy weirdo and laddish lad and I’m low-grade stalking him. Soon I’ll start sending him handmade collages with cut-out photos of the two of us covered with glitter and my own blood (which…actually might not turn him off). We’re meant to be together and ONE DAY SOON HE WILL REALISE THIS. HI MARCUS. HI.
2. On my walk to work I take a shortcut up a disused access road, which cuts about five/ten minutes off the journey. In the lighter seasons it’s actually a nice, pretty, innocuous wooded area, but this time of year it’s dark and secluded as hell and I’m basically ignoring all the common-sense How Not To Get Rapemurdered rules that all women absorb from birth. I call it the Rapist Wonderland, and every night as I’m navigating through it using the torch on my phone like the opening scene of a horror movie, I sing a little song in my head to the tune of Winter Wonderland. Here’s what I have so far:
In the lane, a perv is lurking
Check it out…I think he’s jerking
He’s waving his dong
As I go along
Walking in a rapist wonderland!
It’s a work in progress.
3. I saw La Femme in Shepherds Bush last month. Being at the gig made me feel very old and very un-hip (and very poor: £5.60 for a plastic cup of crap lager? Seriously, suck a dick, London), but they put on an epic show and were very cute and very talented and very very French. (“Sank you Leundeun!”) Go listen to them and give them your money.
Of course I wore my leather jacket to try and look cool (end result was probably more like “formerly cool mom”). It was cold outside but I figured I’d be hopping from the train right onto the tube and then walking like fifty feet to the venue, so I decided to risk it. This would have been fine, but on the way home there was some sort of train cancellation issue (never explained. Why bother explaining these things to the hoi polloi? They can go where they’re herded!) which meant that I got stuck at Stevenage station for well over an hour. There was no heated indoor waiting area and it was COLD. I asked the very helpful station attendant if there was a warm place to wait, and he let me stand next to him under a mini-heater in his little station attendant area, which was awfully kind, but WOW, socially awkward in eighty different ways. I made some fumbling attempts at small talk but I’m rubbish at small talk and it was incredibly painful and if it wouldn’t have been even more awkward I would have gladly gone back outside and just got hypothermia. Hypothermia I can deal with. I’ve never been more relieved to see a train in my life.
4. Christmas occurred. It was not unpleasant. I hope yours was similar. And here’s to a better 2017, right? The world has been ALL WRONG since David Bowie died.