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The Normative Day
May. 11th, 2004 02:34 pmI haven't watched television since March 4th. (Not quite true - I did go over to Silke's one Saturday and watch C.S.I. Miami, and I do get glimpses of shows such as The Fabulous Life of Arnold Shwartzanaga while purchasing my sandwich at Tesco's.) Life for Kevin and I is very typical, mild-mannered and pleasant.
Take yesterday, for example. I took the Tube home, ran into my old landlord (and asked him if he knew of any properties with three bedrooms: Kevin's sisters are moving to England in the Summer and we are all going to live together.) He said he didn't. Chit-chat, I get some money out of the bank machine and go home.
Our little apartment is flooded with sunlight in the afternoon. The place is baking so I get out of my clothes and into some shorts. I notice two packages on the bed and my Morrissey single (which I had lent to Kevin during lunch time, since he can listen to music at work and I can't.) I put on the cd (which is brilliant) and open the packages. One of them contains 3 CDS from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
divanrouge, the sassiest girl in the Bronx. The other is a magazine my mom sent, which some people in Brazil call "pompous" and "artsy-fartsy", but which I call "nice-reading-that-makes-me-miss-home".
I eat some cracker biscuits with houmous and await for Kevin to come home and explain to me why he left work early again, the little tricksy. (He dropped the mail and went to Queen's Park, where he ran into our old housemate Silke. She invited us to go see "Eternal Spotless Mind" this weekend.)
Kevin comes home and I start chopping onions and getting ready to make white rice brazilian-style. I also re-heat the Korma we ate the previous evening, and open a tall bottle of Stella.
After dinner, I calllala_jones and we conclude that the world is full of crashing psychotic bosses. I try calling Mary-Helen afterwards but nobody answers. During the phone calls, I eat 1/4 of a chocolate cake with cherry topping.
I finish reading Black House, while listening to Chris Issak, and brush my teeth. I get my swimming stuff ready.
***
I wake up at 6:45 and go to the swimming pool. There aren't many people, which is charming. I swim 1 km and give scornful looks at the swimmers who paddle in the fast lane. I splash like an albino dolphin by a slow-moving ginger bloke.
Afterwards, I walk into the showers and catch ginger bloke toweling off the last drops of stinky chlorine water. He is hairless, with the exception of his pubic hair and his head. His hair looks as red as a matchstick head, and wiry. I realize that most most ginger boys are quite good-looking, with the exception of Ginger Minger Stalker (though he did have a very slim and toned body). They always seem to have very pert butts, and milky-white smooth skin. And I like how their eyebrows are almost non-existant. Go Gingers!
For the rest of this day I've been feeling very good, energetic, happy, reconciled to my life of a secretary monkey. I think I can put up with any shit in the world. I'm now nursing a cappuccino and wondering whether I should learn about the Stock Exchange and buy some bonds.
Take yesterday, for example. I took the Tube home, ran into my old landlord (and asked him if he knew of any properties with three bedrooms: Kevin's sisters are moving to England in the Summer and we are all going to live together.) He said he didn't. Chit-chat, I get some money out of the bank machine and go home.
Our little apartment is flooded with sunlight in the afternoon. The place is baking so I get out of my clothes and into some shorts. I notice two packages on the bed and my Morrissey single (which I had lent to Kevin during lunch time, since he can listen to music at work and I can't.) I put on the cd (which is brilliant) and open the packages. One of them contains 3 CDS from
divanrouge, the sassiest girl in the Bronx. The other is a magazine my mom sent, which some people in Brazil call "pompous" and "artsy-fartsy", but which I call "nice-reading-that-makes-me-miss-home". I eat some cracker biscuits with houmous and await for Kevin to come home and explain to me why he left work early again, the little tricksy. (He dropped the mail and went to Queen's Park, where he ran into our old housemate Silke. She invited us to go see "Eternal Spotless Mind" this weekend.)
Kevin comes home and I start chopping onions and getting ready to make white rice brazilian-style. I also re-heat the Korma we ate the previous evening, and open a tall bottle of Stella.
After dinner, I call
lala_jones and we conclude that the world is full of crashing psychotic bosses. I try calling Mary-Helen afterwards but nobody answers. During the phone calls, I eat 1/4 of a chocolate cake with cherry topping.I finish reading Black House, while listening to Chris Issak, and brush my teeth. I get my swimming stuff ready.
***
I wake up at 6:45 and go to the swimming pool. There aren't many people, which is charming. I swim 1 km and give scornful looks at the swimmers who paddle in the fast lane. I splash like an albino dolphin by a slow-moving ginger bloke.
Afterwards, I walk into the showers and catch ginger bloke toweling off the last drops of stinky chlorine water. He is hairless, with the exception of his pubic hair and his head. His hair looks as red as a matchstick head, and wiry. I realize that most most ginger boys are quite good-looking, with the exception of Ginger Minger Stalker (though he did have a very slim and toned body). They always seem to have very pert butts, and milky-white smooth skin. And I like how their eyebrows are almost non-existant. Go Gingers!
For the rest of this day I've been feeling very good, energetic, happy, reconciled to my life of a secretary monkey. I think I can put up with any shit in the world. I'm now nursing a cappuccino and wondering whether I should learn about the Stock Exchange and buy some bonds.
