fatty

I'm so where I want to be right now. In bed. Wearing an over-sized man's Christian Dior shirt circa '83. With stripes. In my underwear. Under the blankets because it's not scorching hot in London. And I'm alone which is slightly sad...but kind of nice (sorry Chris have a lovely time in B'ham with your dog and your parents!)

So I buggered up my life about three weeks ago. I then tried to fix it about two weeks ago. I then tried to fix about five days ago. And now it's fixed...mostly. Well we'll see.

I've also done a good amount of shopping in the past two days but yesterday can be blamed on the two car bombs found and me not being able to get home. I was stuck in Oxford circus so I turned lemons into lemonade. I would have gone for a drink alone when my diverted bus said that it wasn't going to move for at least 25 minutes but I thought that ultimately leads to alcoholism so I decided to spend my money on tangible objects that will hopefully give me more pleasure than a glass of cold white. Materialism is ok when traffic isn't moving.

I'm also living the high life working in PR. We had the MAC VIva Glam party with Dita von Teese on Wednesday and she rode a giant bucking lipstick. She's stunning in real life and shorter than I am. She's lovely and demure and although I thought her show was playing more to the camera than to the live audience, she does have the best breasts I've ever seen. And then Steve Tyler walked by, dude definitely looks like a lady. Chris pointed out to me that it was him and I couldn't see because I thought he was woman. Or it could have been the four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach that caused this womanly apparition. (Seriously though, I'm not an alcoholic, I just need it to get over the dignity I have to schmooze and say DARLING in that voice you need to say it in, it's compartmentalization, not irony).

So for the rest of the weekend? I'm doing absolutely nothing. And maybe cleaning my room.