Detox

Yeah, you read that right, detox.

Last week I pissed off almost all the men in my London life. I'm "lippy" (a work used by California to describe my reckless verbal outbursts) by nature and after a few drinks my tongue becomes loose and I tend to offend folks.

So this week, I'm taking a break from booze and boys.

Yup, it will probably be the most boring week ever...

To Clog or Not to Clog?

opening ceremony, shopbop, piperlime no6store

It's finally March, the month where dreadful thoughts of freezing temperatures and snow are slowly replaced with pleasant thoughts of lilies, festivals and spring fashion!

One of the biggest trends this summer is the clog. I undoubtedly remember this shoe being the epitome of cool when I was a kid in the 90's but its sudden resurgence in popularity is admittedly a bit unsettling.

I find the style of this shoe generally unflattering, and in recent years, it has mostly been spotted on the older and extremely unfashionable crowd.

In recent months however, I've seen the über stylish Rachel Bilson and Alexa Chung proudly sporting this questionable trend, and Mary Kate - the "dirtier" Olsen has been rocking them for years.

I felt the same resistance to drop crotches and crop tops but eventually converted and became a lover of those rather unusual fashion choices.

I'm going to try and resist this trend for as long as I can because I'd like to think of myself as an innovator and not as a follower, but honestly I reckon it's just a matter of time...

Bad Girl

Tuesday's victim was unsuspecting, adorable, and only 22.

I'm certain that I had the best of intentions when I agreed to go out with him, but my behavior on our date was absolutely shameful.

I arrived over 2o minutes late and liquored up.

Genuinely disinterested, and disappointed because my glass wasn't being filled fast enough, I decided that the duration of our date (which I abruptly ended after and hour) would be best spent sending saucy messages to California and "The Cop."

Absolutely despicable, right? I wonder what nastiness karma is preparing for me right about now...

Lucky Number 21?

20. That's the number of men I've dated in the past year. Each suitor was tried, tested, and rendered unsuitable.

California, my latest conquest, showed so much promise. Handsome, charming, and ridiculously successful; I thought that I had finally found "the one."

We went out on 1 real date and hung out at a few parties together, and I quickly realized that he was a total player. I immediately became detached and did something that I've never done before. I charmed him, bedded him, and then left him.

All these unsucessful dating experiences have me thinking that maybe I'm the one whose fucked and not my dates. But, perhaps patience is truly a virtue and I might just get lucky with number 21.

P.S. I really love this fucking coat...

Snow and the Singleton

Today it snowed in London. When it snows here it is like a natural catastrophe. Most businesses close early and everyone looks forward to playing hookey. Couples can enjoy hours of cuddling on the sofa and really hot marathon sex, but where does that leave us singletons?

In other news, I am officially on a diet for the new year. I devoured absolutely everything in sight over the holidays and now my mid-section has swelled to Precious like proportions!

It's 2010, Bitches!

I absolutely love the holidays! I've been in New York visiting my family for the past week and I've done absolutely nothing outside of stuffing my face and boozing.

This weekend I met up with two of my favorite people here. The evening started out quite innocently, but after two drinks I was making out with a Navy man who I renamed "Salmon Shirt" and molesting AP's friend Snowflake. NYC is the bomb, really.

But as we all know, all good things must come to an end. My ass is headed back to London tomorrow to resume work at my rather unfulfilling 9 to 5. In spite of that, I still have a ridiculously positive outlook for 2010 and absolutely cannot wait to get things started!

WTF

Over the last few weeks while in the midst of a few drunken escapes I met two seemingly nice men.

I met the first guy while I was heading home after having a few drinks with friends. He kept me company while I was on what seemed to be the longest bus journey home. As a courtesy for keeping me entertained throughout the ride, I slipped him my number before getting off the bus.

I met the second guy as I stumbled home a few weeks later. He saw that I was unsteady and he ran to my aid. He walked me to my doorstep which I thought was really kind, and then, as a courtesy, I slipped him my number before entering my house.

Over the past few weeks tweedle dee and tweedle dumb have been blowing up my freaking phone non-stop and leaving me psychotic messages because I won't answer their calls.

Recently tweedle dee has gotten a bit more clever and has started called me from an unknown number.

Since when did guys you randomly gave your number to actually start calling?

And more importantly, why is it that guys that you actually want to call never do?