I am so bad right now. After making love to a bottle of prosecco last night, I am laid up in bed eating cherry crumble, drinking black coffee and listening to Jamiroquai. Because our summer forecast has been diagnosed with clinical depression, I have felt the need to indulge myself at every possible moment to feel better. In the last 48 hours I have watched three episodes of Downton Abbey, five of Girls, and the newest episode of Suits. I am getting fat but that is okay because my life is filled with scandal, intrigue and snappy dialogue.
Well, I am happy to report that I haven’t managed to screw up my relationship with Sebastian Elliot yet. Last weekend we celebrated our two-month anniversary like we were in grade seven. Initially I suggested that we spend the day at the mall; but the Mr. Elliot had other plans in mind. As the clock struck one in the afternoon, he pulled up in his car with the sun-roof down. I don’t know what it is, but there is something about a sun-roof that just rubs me the right way. After a scenic drive through Richmond, we arrived at a quaint fishing village called “Steveston.”
Strolling up and down each dock, I tried to keep my hands off him. Allow me to girl-talk for a paragraph, but ladies this man is Jonathan Rhys Meyers hot. I swear to Meryl I dream-phoned him when I was thirteen years old. He is six foot one with olive skin, mouth-watering biceps, and lips so plush I can’t believe it’s not botox. Every time he takes off his clothes at the end of the night I feel like Laura Linney in Love Actually. Except rest assured my phone is on silent.
So there we were, two gays in a fishing village, yep. (Author’s note: you know you are in trouble when this is your opening sentence.) The part that makes this paragraph remotely interesting is that we were not holding hands. It wasn’t that we were afraid or ashamed or anything like that; bitch please, when it comes to public displays of pride I am walking float. It was just that we chose not to. The last time I took to the streets hand-in-hand with a man, I returned home exhausted - drained from all the second looks and turned heads. I give total props to any same-sex couple who has enough energy to put with this crazy world; but sometimes a redhead just needs a commercial break.
Ugh! I just looked at the clock and I have to wrap this post short. I am scheduled to depart on a boat cruise at 5:30pm with twenty other girls for a stagette party. Of course! In other news, I am moving downtown in a studio apartment so tiny it makes me look like Polly Pocket. I also got a promotion at work so now I am managing instead of serving. The great new is that I now have a career and direction in life. The bad news is that I can no longer hit on the support staff.