When I grow up, I will have no eyebrows. No, I don't mean it in the Kindergarten adage of 'When I grow up, I want to be this, ie. to have no eyebrows and look like a demented Mona Lisa.' Are you crazy? I mean: I ACTUALLY WILL have no eyebrows, and there's nothing I can do about it. You know how Dads tell their sons, 'Check out your girlfriend's mum (and her boobs, and butt, and hips etc), because that's what you'll end up with.' Well, I've recently realised that I will have no eyebrows because of my mum.
I've often seen her without make-up and I did notice she looks a bit like this:
And I always knew there was something wrong with her face that I couldn't quite pinpoint. But then it hit me: she has no eyebrows! She has to DRAW them with liner. Well yeah OK, she does have a bit of eyebrow but the top of her eyes is like a 10 year-old boy's pubic hair. (ewww I can't believe I just said that. I do NOT 'like' little boys if that's what you're thinking). Right now, I have sexy, arched eyebrows that a lot of girls envy (quite rightly too, you should all want to look like me after all, me being the embodiment of sexualness and all that). But what about in 10 years' time, when I'm like 85 and senile and have rheumatism and have 10 cats called Kirby that I feed cough sweets to???? (Wait, that doesn't work, I'm 23. I've just confused myself.)
In other news, you know I've had the flu for a few days. Well, I'm still ill. What is wrong with my metabolism? I have been bored OUT OF MY BUM doing absolutely zero and watching Revenge on my laptop (OMG I can't get enough of it. And Josh Bowman - need I say more?), when I should really be preparing my new life that starts on Monday with my brand new corporate job. But if you've read my blog until now, you'll probably have guessed by now that Putting Off Things is my specialty.
Why, hello there, Josh Bowman.
I don't even know why they gave me the job. Hell, I don't even know why they'd want to be in the same BUILDING as me (other than the fact I ooze sex appeal, wit and charisma, of course). Out of 5,000 international applicants, they could've chosen anyone. Yet they settled on me, the decrepit bum who talks crap. OK I should give myself a bit more credit, seeing as I am super brainy, and confident, and outgoing, and street-smart, and business-savvy but GAAAAAAAAAH SO MUCH PRESSURE! I DON'T WANT TO START MY NEW JOB!!!!!! Just let me curl up under my duvet with my two teddy bears and watch videos of cats on Youtube while eating Maltesers!!! I knew I should've stuck more spinach in my teeth during the interviews, this clearly didn't put them off enough:
With regards to My Fitness Pal, Prince Charming and I had a serious chat on Friday evening, and I've now OFFICIALLY deleted the app off my phone. Whehay! It was ruining my life. I do NOT want to be anorexic and look like Dobby the House Elf again. The issue with that, however, is that I have started eating crap again. Or is it because the mucus in my nose makes me sound and look like Darth Vader all of a sudden, and thus comfort-eating becomes inevitable? I don't know, why are you asking me that? Pfff. I guess I will try to eat a bit of salad and veg tonight, with my chocolate and ice cream.
Other than that, I will continue to panic about my new job like a headless chicken and do nothing for the next few days. Which is obviously hugely constructive. Ooh that reminds me, I need a haircut before Monday. My hair is like 10ft long at the moment. I look like a hot Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. And I SHOULD go on a serious shopping spree to get new blazers and skirts and shoes. Except I am ill. And lazy. And have no money. Ah well. At least I get quite a lot of dosh for my new job. Four days until real life starts.