the reap

You reap what you sow, that's what those wise folk tell us, and for me at the moment - it's harvesting season.

I've had a lot of trouble at my work this year. Between shuffling roles, and the displacement that has caused; a delusional office 'romance' that never left the ground and shall we say - personality clashes, I've had a bit of a rough time.  Nonetheless, it's a roller coaster that I've been doing my best to ride with grace. Every time I think I can't take anymore, I survive another week and battle on for that looming long-service-leave that keeps me hanging onto the nastiest of cliff-faces.

The inner turmoil has had it's ever flowing affect on my home life, my health and my self esteem. Everything with Manchild and the feelings that accompanied this massive failure in discernment had me doubting myself.  Allowing myself to shrink, and feel this need to be wanted, was nothing short of disturbing. How could I be so willing to hand my power to someone else? At the time, I'd heard about the transformative power of one simple thought; that is: "I am enough". I clung to this like a lifeboat; if I saw it enough, if I thought it enough, if I repeated it enough - perhaps like magic, it would help put together these broken parts of myself. I purchased myself a mantra bracelet, and etched into it three words: You. Are. Enough.

I took that bracelet off yesterday. Prematurely perhaps? The bracelet caught a few peoples eye over the time I wore it - some would comment on it. And I began to think to myself - am I giving my secret away? Am I handing strangers and familiar alike the keys to my destruction? This girl has no self esteem... She thinks she's rubbish... She has no confidence... How can I exploit this? How can I convince her she's not enough? It started to feel like it could be a target. A sign saying - hey - here's my glass jaw! Come hit me! Despite the inner-voice-implied subtext, I persisted wearing it, until yesterday - when I decided that I was strong enough to do without.

It's Tuesday, and it's already been a tough work week.  I have been on the receiving end of some cool behavior, which has honestly shocked me. Manchild has been all but ignoring me - avoiding my vicinity, my eye line and anything I say. That started most intensely yesterday - and I called him out on it today, to which he denied. He was lying.

Some may say I deserve this. I've been cool with my coworkers for some time now, in the name of self-preservation I stepped back, I did not engage with people. I've been unhappy, and perhaps at times I have outwardly wallowed in this frustration. I am also a human. But, I recognise blocking these coworkers on Instagram might be seen as some kind of call to arms. I say I don't want people I work with seeing my inner most thoughts and observations, and feeling censored for it.  And if any of them should ask I'll tell them the same thing. I'm not going to apologise for wanting 'space'. If they want to stalk me, they can put in some effort and do it the old fashioned way.

But still, I thought I had remained steady with Manchild. Even after things cooled off and he lost any interest he had in me and found a real live girlfriend. Not only is he freezing me out, but he's being actively nasty and hurtful, and it's not pretty. It's not a side to him that I have seen before, and I think that has been the most shocking. It's ever so disappointing when those rose-coloured glasses come off unexpectedly, and the things you thought you knew about someone are suddenly exposed in a new light. He is nasty and angry and untrustworthy to boot. And might I add, a gutless pussy.

Perhaps I have hurt him, or perhaps this has been him all along? It's an awful thing to feel dismissed by people, and his behaviour feels as if it's rubbing off on others too. I think I'm paranoid... it's complicated. It's not helping those grasping hands on the sharp cliff-edge. Evidently I'm reaping the 'rewards' of my misery, but boy I hope it lets up soon. I refuse to let this break me.

lost myself, again

Look at me I’m such a basket case
Delivered to you wrapped in cellophane
Waiting on your doorstep, every day
Delivery, a basket filled with pain...
- Sia

Something snapped in me a couple of weeks ago. In the lead-up I'd been dealing with quite a bit of work stress, I'd been chatted to by my supervisor, about my 'overworrying' so I was trying so very hard, to not try so very hard - or at least make it appear that way... I understood what I was being told, but I was trying to prepare myself for any foreseeable outcome, I was trying to arm myself with every weapon in my arsenal, but I simply couldn't carry the weight. I was trying to be perfect, flawless. I was told it was unrealistic, it was unnecessary. I knew what they were saying, but I was trying to prove myself. I've been trying to prove myself my whole life.

Work has been a mixture of strange feelings for the past weeks. I'd been thrown back into a role I hadn't done in a long while, back with people I didn't necessarily mesh well with, relying on their assistance and my own skewed sense of competency. I'd also been sitting across from the source of my malignant workplace crush: Manchild. Working with him made getting out of bed in the morning easier, work more bearable and weekends became excruciatingly long. This 'crush' has also come to make a dire mess of me.

It was a Thursday, my last day in this challenging work rotation and it was set to be a long day. I was strangely well-composed, even 'chilled' on the exterior. My last hoorah - come what may! In the late afternoon, I hit a speed bump - I was overtired and frustrated. Manchild had been away for work, was due to return this afternoon, it had been three days since seeing him. As I was reaching speed on my decline, he walked in... he shouldn't have been there. My heart leapt and I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to cry my eyes out. It was as if my very own knight in shining armor had knocked at my castle door. People talk about being unable to wipe a smile of their face - I now understood this kind of smile.

Unbeknownst to me he stayed. He stayed until I finished. He stayed for me? Then as I was collecting my things he told me he had decided to pursue a longstanding passion that would almost certainly take him out of our shared workplace, and out of our hometown. Tears were welling in my eyes.

It was like John all over again. A lesson not yet learned, manifesting in some new cruel way. I had to flee immediately. I feigned part exhaustion, but I fear even a blind soul could sense my upset, my tears freely leaking.

I had to rush to the safety of my car. Sobbing part way there - begging the Gods that I not bump into anyone I know. I got to my car and I sobbed heartily the whole way home. I'm quite surprised I actually made it home without incident. My parents could not understand why I was in the state, and neither could I really. I continued to sob in the shower, as I pleaded with God, the Angels, or whoever dared listen: please, not again.

I went to work the next day. On the drive home at the end of the day, I became a similar teary mess.

Monday rolled around, back to my old menial role...ripped from the company of Manchild, I slipped further into an ugly black hole. I started crying, in front of a coworker. I couldn't collect myself - I had to hide away in a dark room - more than once. I could hear other coworkers, including Manchild having a jolly old time in another part of the office. It seemed an added cruelty on my already frayed emotional state. Much of that day was spent fighting the urge to cry. Each evening going home, feeling ill with this darkness. Tuesday, Wednesday...fighting tears. Evidently I had lost the footing I had so solemly maintained after John, after changing jobs, after the death of my beloved pet, after so many knocks. I'd finally succumbed to the black dog again, and he had me in his jaws.

This week just passed, went by in usual fashion. I thought I had begun to make some headway - but another work incident knocked me on Wednesday, and I went down again.

I have whimpered and howled in bathroom stalls, showers and in the dark silence of 'bed-time'. I have hidden sneaky tears at customer service counters, and inhaled and exhaled the muted upset to just make it to another day. To make it to another day in which Manchild would finally declare his feelings.

"I can't do this again" is what I cried to the Divine. Wrong. I won't do this again.

Again, I have lost sight of who I am, near-drowned myself in the shadow version of me that I thought he'd like. That I thought, the 'cool-girls' would like. I've been trying to be ok with eroding myself. I'm so messed up with these muddy thoughts that I don't even remember what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I cannot believe I sabotaged myself again. I cannot believe I fooled myself again.

It's late, and right now I should be sleeping, but I needed to get this out. I had hoped to spill everything; for as sure as I know I put myself here, with my thoughts, I know also that the situation does not belong solely to me.

But most of all, with this anger-tinged clarity, I needed to write down, for the 'me' that will undoubtedly weaken momentarily again... I need to tell her - that this guy, these people, this bullshit morphing of myself is utter fucking crap. That none of it - that none of our late night imaginings, warm affections and sassy office repartee are anything other than slight of hand, smoke screen distractions from our self. I - we - started a journey of self discovery, we knew that the path to love was going to start with loving our own self - even the dark parts. I got lost. I got transported to another dimension, but I will get back to myself.

Manchild is not the answer you seek. Nor is an attentive boss, a flattering friend, an approving parent, a complimentary stranger. These archetypes are not the missing piece of the puzzle, they are not going to make everything better - the power you are assigning to these faceless figures does not exist. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is something we must believe - we must know, that all the power we will ever need, all the love we are seeking to find is already there, inside ourselves. Believe it. Don't be distracted by anything else, because this is the only love that matters, and it is the only thing that is going to fix you. 

the making of things

So, it's been quite a while.  I have thought about you quite a lot, I wanted to drop by and say hi, (so many times) but so much time had passed that I didn't really know how...

I came across this video a while ago, and stashed it away for a later date.  Today seems as good a day as any other to share it.

In my own way, I'm striving to make something beautiful.  Something important, and authentic, and resounding. My own tattoo on time. But not one of those dodgy ones that people get in the heat of the moment, and then three years down the track they are having it burnt off their flesh with laser therapy.  That's why I'm taking my time.

I suppose I always imagined that being truthful would be easy, turns out it's not.  It's risky to live, to love, to be any version of yourself, but especially the 'real' one. 

I'm learning things about myself all the time.

For instance: I like Milo just fine without added sugar (you just need to up the Milo to liquid ratio), I am quite fearful of plunging to my death in a sinkhole, Chris Pratt is hot (both versions) and life, even in its complete ordinariness, hurts.

Jesus Pratt - enough with the sexy eyes already

A Year in Review

So, it's been while.  So long in fact, I had wondered if I would even remember how to do this.  Good news though, it would seem I haven't slipped into premature senility just yet.

So, a fair bit has happened since we last met. I finally got out of that horrid workplace. So, I'm now in a totally new job, which has brought along with it more than a few challenges.  Not sure that I've found my niche, but for the moment, as I find my feet, I am grateful to be in a workplace that values me.

My body and I continue to be at odds. Some days we stand eye-to-eye 'till one of us cracks, but then other days I'm waving the white flag from the floor.  So, it's still a bit of a juggling act, and lot of mind-fuckery.

It's almost a year since I joined the world of online dating, and... well... the thing is - nothing has happened. Which makes this little fun fact, a little disconcerting...

Every. Day? In The World vs. StrangeBird, the score  is 1 to nil. Or is that 3 000 000 to 1. That's a lot of fucking zero's. The Supremes said "you can't hurry love", but Jesu - must I wait until I'm a pensioner?

Other news that has adversely affected me:

Joe Manganiello got engaged dammit. And...

Joseph Gordon-Levitt got married!  I would've taken a hyphenated name for you Joseph?! 

And I found out these two pieces of news in the same week.  It's been rough.

Still, we gotta keep moving. Until next time, "take a card, take a seat"...

to the other boy

I spoke to John yesterday - not on purpose of course.  He called work, and I was the only sucker around to answer the phone.

"Hello StrangeBird, my name is John - I used to work there, I'm not sure if you remember me..."
(yes, the conversation really started like this)
(what, like I send intense love letters to all my previous co-workers, and then forget who they are?!)
(fuckwit)
Blah-blah and pleasantries followed, and then when he met his quota of appropriate interest shown, he got down to business and revealed what he wanted.

Of all the days in a month, of all the minutes, seconds, hours contained within a single work day, he had to call at precisely that moment.  As I was talking to him, I was aware it was awkward, but it wasn't until a few minutes after I put down the phone, that unease rippled through my gut.

Of course, he doesn't have the power he once had over me.  And it's only now, with the benefit of distance and time that I can see the cracks in his presentation, and the massive voids of clarity that once impeded my view of the world with him in it.  But, he's still the first boy who ever really broke my heart. And that warrants a slight pause I suppose.

Hearing his voice, and the suggestion that I might have removed him from my memory, sort of made me wish that I had; that I could have.  It made me want to change - transform like caterpillar to butterfly, and fly away - forgetting what things were like, before I had my wings.

That night, I pondered the experience before pushing it to outskirts of my mind, where it belongs. And it made me think of the 'other' boy I'd met recently. The wonderful conversationalist, and part-time yogi who found me on the dating website those weeks ago. I still haven't heard from him.

I know I should forget him.  But, there's a small part of me who holds onto a speck of hope that he will contact again, when he is ready.  And, if we were talking, I might tell him about what happened yesterday. I might tell him I write these posts to him.

I want to hear from you RiverBoy, so incredibly much.  I don't know if you'll ever be in the mood to listen to me again, but maybe I'll keep the conversation going anyway. Just until you tell me to shut up.

to me

In the dark of night, as the rain lightly sprinkles on the tin roof above, I want to talk to him.  But he's stopped listening.  I told him it was my favourite sound, and now it's spoiled.  Each pit-pat, pit-pat thuds my sodden hopes and reminds me of the void.  I hate boys.

Except Chet Faker.  I love Chet Faker.

the big dump

This is my 'Sliding Doors' moment; with my freshly reinstated full front fringe, I am blond Gwyneth Paltrow. In an alternative universe, I would, at this moment, have been fifteen minutes into my first 'date', with someone I met through this online dating business.  Except, and in the fashion that only I seem to be able to achieve, I managed to talk myself out of a coffee date, and remove myself from a potential suitors sea of female fish friends. Fuuuuucck.

I don't know what happened...

That's not true - it was me, all me.  I over-thought things, and then tried to make them 'better' - but what I ended up doing was making things confusing.

We'd been chatting via email for a week or so, when he asked if I'd like to grab a coffee.  I put it off for that week, and so, when the chatting recommenced, as the previous decliner, I thought it was my duty to do the asking this time.  It was affirmative, it was set - he had no idea what I look like, but that was a minor detail. Until it wasn't.

Maybe I was testing... does it bother you to not know what I look like? It was neither 'yay' or 'nay', but it was suggested we might exchange pictures, so - we swapped numbers.  He said he would text... and he didn't.  And I waited.  The sun set and rose once again, and I still hadn't heard from him. And with all this extra thinking time I had, I thought about the way I had presented myself.  I thought about the expectations a dude might come to have of me - and I freaked.  So, I went and altered my profile - to reflect more of the truth - that I didn't know what I want, that anything started would have to be in the view of friendship initially. And then, I broke the bitter silence and sent him a text.  I explained that I couldn't promise anything, that I needed to start with friends - and that if he still wanted to meet, then great - but if he didn't, then ok.

Seemingly, there is nothing less attractive to a man than a woman who:
a) doesn't know what she wants, and
b) possibly will make you wait a very long time before you get to sleep with her.
Well done me, for meeting both sets of criteria with one ugly action.

Suddenly the dude's status had changed from "looking to date, but nothing serious" to "looking for someone special".  And they say women are confusing. Now that I had made my intentions clearer, his life had quickly become void of any time for himself, and our 'date' was 'on hold'.

I don't harbor any bad feelings.  Actually I feel a bit shit about the whole thing.  I don't know whether I made myself seem like too much hard work, or maybe he Facebook stalked me, and decided I was too fat/ugly/old to liaise with any longer.  All I know is that I just have this horrible taste of disappointment in my mouth, rounded off by the gritty sensation of self sabotage.

Perhaps I'll come to laugh about the whole saga very soon.  But, right now all I want to do is sob loudly, while watching the following:

After the mornings dumping, my ipod delivered another well timed, musical message.  And I realised that if Sarah Blasko felt like this too, then maybe it's ok for me.  This is exactly how I feel.

the good, the bad, the downright ugly

The good.
Seeing Mr Matt Damon pop up on your TV screen is always good.  As far as I'm concerned this guy can do no wrong.  He's my imaginary husband. Well... one of them.

The bad.

For a chronic foot issue that I have been nursing for most of the year, I have been sentenced to six weeks in a 'moon-boot' in a last ditch effort to avoid surgery.  On the plus side, it's probably the closest I'll ever get to wearing knee high boots - however it's only on one leg, and the look is completely cheapened by the velcro. *insert quiet sob*

The ugly.

While in the hairdressers yesterday I witnessed a conversation in which the grey-haired, middle aged man next to me asked for a mullet hair cut.  He actually asked for it y'all.  I can't believe people actually deem that a legitimate hair-style choice.  Surely mullets are the stuff of accidents and dares?  Surely, surely no one 'chooses' to look like a bogan?

nobodies baby, everybody's girl

I sort of fell in love last night.... but he doesn't know it.

I happened upon him at a social outing; he was singing sad, bluesy songs with his sexy, gravelly voice. He had warm, youthful brown eyes and I had seriously considered paying him to say my name over and over and over again. His generous beard had ginger undertones, but I did not care. 

By his second song I was preparing the "Mum I'm going to marry a ginger" speech in my head - even at the risk of being disowned.  By 11pm we were meeting each others parents (and I was charming the fucking pants off his folks, let me tell you!) and at the nights end, we had fictional babies and a permanent address.

See, this is what happens when I go out in public; I find people I can't have. I fall in lust way-too-quickly.

But, I make a terrible groupie - so I was never going to make a very good impression.  When I went to buy his E.P's, he gave me back the wrong change and when I figured it out I didn't want to say anything (although he did realise and called me back) but I did make myself look like a total dumb-ass.  I'm not stupid, really...

gift horses

Today is Friday, which is great all on its own, except I have other things to be grateful for.

My niece started walking today - which means she has finally begun on her track to normal childhood milestones; which means one less thing for my anxiety ridden sister to worry about.  It means, of course - chaos - because she's going to be a little menace, but for my niece it means freedom, for her, a tiny triumph in a world chock-full-of stumbles and roadblocks.  I'm pleased that she has mounted this one successfully.

Yesterday was my sisters birthday, and I was able to spoil her with gifts - which I suspect made her feel, for just a fraction of that day that she was important - and for that small time, her mind was not fogged with worry and doubt.

I had a doctors appointment today.  I had to wait nearly an hour to see my smiley GP (who I suspect has more patients... and patience than time) and I got kind of what I expected - plus by utter strange coincidence I ended up sitting next to the aforementioned hot tradie.  I couldn't believe it - as if scripted in some midday rom-com movie, all the choices and moments collided right there.  Well, there was a little awkward, and no actual talking - but I did learn his name.. and that he breathes really heavy (an asthmatic perhaps?) But it was a surprise I didn't expect and a reminder that you just never know what's around the corner.. or in the GP waiting room.

I also received some mail today - some items I purchased for myself (so kind of like presents - if I forget who paid for them) but also other sparkly, surprising - beautiful things that would make your heart whistle (if it could whistle, healthily... hmm).

Also, the weather was a glorious 34 degrees, as opposed to the scorching 44 we had days earlier - so I was happy to walk in the sun without feeling my skin fry.

All of these things, these little unrelated things, crashed together and made for a day littered with great moments.  I guess all we can really hope for in life, is a series of great moments strung together in close succession.  Today I wear these moments like a string of pearls.  Tomorrow may hold any number of things, but just for now I'll be thankful for my moments, and I will not - I refuse to look that gift horse in the mouth.

And, as a complete side note, a celebration of this hot little biscuit Matt Corby...

change of heart

My female-ness is sort of in hyper drive right now. While I often 'joke' about being a 29 year old female with no prospects who is well on her way to becoming a cat lady, I've come to realise quite recently that I don't actually want to be alone. There is a huge part of me that wants to be noticed, that wants to be cared about and loved - although I am completely without the balls to initiate 'contact' with men-folk, which is sort of where the ideal falls apart.

Hence, I am looking around me as if driven by primal instincts, sniffing out anyone half decent - and I mean anyone. Ashamedly the new bloke who empties the bin at work looked almost dashing in the green reflective glow of the rubbish bin lid today - whistling and smiling in his khaki uniform - he seemed like the kind of simple my life requires. And don't get me started on the tradie contractor I've been devoting REM cycles to. Except maybe I will, because he looks a lot like this...

The small company he works for tends to be called in to do odd bits of work around the place, most recently he has been working on establishing the amenities of a new building right on my doorstep at work. So of course, there's been trench digging and flexing calves and glistening triceps. This guy is freakin' fit! And polite, and hard working, with dark brown skin and glorious grey-blue eyes, he had me at "good morning".. those couple of times he said it, like, months ago. Clearly my imagination doesn't need a lot of encouragement.

His presence has been infrequent of late, which made me sad...

So, this week when he returned to continue, and possibly complete the work, I was delighted. I was all....

As the days wore on, I continued to sneak glimpses of him through the wooden blinds and found countless legitimate excuses to journey outside to chance an encounter. But the days ticked over, and I was all...

And now he's gone, the trench has been filled and compacted and my work days feel a little emptier than they used to. 

But, if I'd known then what I know now - perhaps I would've seized the opportunity of the late night walk to the public library with my girlfriends and Justin-big lips, for a pash on the pine logs too. I'm told he slobbered a lot, but, meh - beggars can't be choosers right?

ode to a man

I have been submerged in a 'Game of Thrones' world lately; all Lords, Ladies and some naughty bits too! I have also been sporting a winter jacket with a fake fur trimmed collar, and this jacket may or may not be feeding my unhealthy obsession with 'Jon Snow'.  Meet, Kit Harrington....

Kit comes to you tonight, well, because he is lovely, and because I like to imagine that not every man in the world is a selfish, un-intuitive, lazy weasel.

Stun me with your steely stare Jon Snow...

POW!

be still my beating h

I remember when I started hearing about Heath Ledger, I think I was about 16 years old, struggling with the idea of planning out the rest of my life.  He was starting to make big waves - I couldn't wait to see "10 things I hate about you", to see a West Australian boy getting attention - it made me think maybe I could someday too.

With all the Ledger hype, amongst my university confusion, I started thinking it'd be grand to do drama and be an 'artist' - just like Heath. It was a silly passing idea, sobered by the fact that I actually hate being a public centre of attention.  I suppose I was impressed by Heath Ledgers energy, passion, talent and bravery, and I just wanted something of the same for myself.

It makes me incredibly sad thinking about how his light went out so early - and I think the world is darker for it.

To reinstate my posts of appreciation for glorious men - I begin with the wonderful Heath Ledger. What a smile.

rock boy

It's been a big week, and an exhausting Friday.  I think I need me a rock boy tonight. My unusual choice is Johnny Mackay from Children Collide - I saw him in action on the Nick Cave tribute concert, and thought he was kind of a crazy dude, but also interesting...

rock, rock, rock, said the boys on top....

(This fine photograph is the work of Kate Griffin)

SB

all the fass

This man, Michael Fassbender is so handsome, it actually hurts (it hurts me.. I suspect it's quite advantageous for him).  Nothing like a little bit of Sunday afternoon loneliness to induce some 'real man' appreciation.

Oh my giddy gosh?! Insert swoon.

He can be the tormented Mr Rochester to my Jane Eyre any day.  I always fancied myself a period drama kinda gal too...

Now I have a legitimate excuse to source and 'endure' "X-Men First Class".

SB xx

the 'other' john

John Krasinski, how I love thee. He's just so disturbingly adorable... and funny.

Dear God, please give me a man who makes me laugh. I'll love him good, I promise.

SB xx

man of the hour

This past Saturday night, amongst the bushy land of The Swan Valley - I endured so many people; people in front, behind, beside - they stepped over me; spilt a drink on my friend and some knob even told me off in a polite, yet degrading manner, that I wasn't sitting the way I was supposed to be?! All of this had me cursing at first - but then the show really began. There was a surprise lunar eclipse (I say surprise, because I didn't know about it - although I'm quite sure the scientists did) and then out came my drummer boy: Wally De Backer a.k.a Gotye.

Due to the aforementioned seat change, I didn't feel as much thumping inside my chest, but by God - what a show.  Suddenly the crowd didn't bother me.  Wally came on - he had eleven companions on stage, all sharing his energy and excitement for sound. My favourite element, his very own drum kit - front and centre next to him. His voice was flawless - it carried across the amphitheatre and stunned even the stupid into silence.  I could barely see him, I was so far away - but nonetheless, he gave me goosebumps - a lot. Sometimes it was magical, other times, it was as if the crowd didn't even exist and it was just a window into a jam session; and on the songs where he let loose on his drum kit - it was like watching a child playing - a really talented, handsome, awesome child. He struck my heart with his drum sticks.

I waited through two unremarkable supporting bands - we got him for 60 short minutes. I used my 'loud' clap and screamed my girliest scream wherever possible; I delighted in 'Learnalilgivinanlovin' and cried quietly during his last song 'Bronte'.

I love him, simply.

Bless.

SB xx

red hot

I have been having some seriously weird dreams lately. Last night, it was that I got together with the current male university student we have at work right now. Which is ok I suppose - except for the fact that he's a 'ginger'. I've already been told by my Mother, that she doesn't think she could love ginger, freckly grand babies - so I best not be making any babies with ginger men... or any men with ginger genealogy - which could get tricky.

Now might be a good time to admit that I think the ginger uni student is kind of cute. And that this dream kept me awake from 4.30am this morning.

Anyway - it could be that this student simply reminds me of the magnetic Michael C Hall. I sort of love him, and don't mind at all that he plays a disconnected, emotionally retarded serial killer. He's a hot little ginger.

Oh, Michael. C. Hall...

SB xx

the man in the silhouette

There might be something unhinged about drooling over a fictional character.  More disturbing still, is that said character is, kind of a hot mess. Well, I don't care. Donald Draper, I don't care that you smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish, because nobody - noooo-body - looks as good as you do wearing mirrored aviators.  And as for you Jon Hamm - you are spectacular.

"The reason you haven't felt it is because it doesn't exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons. You're born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts. But I never forget. I'm living like there's no tomorrow, because there isn't one"

The question is not "What would Don Draper do?" It is, rather: "What would you do if you were in the same room as Don Draper?" My answer: exactly what's she's doing below. Oh. My. God.

See, I just don't know how anyone that handsome gets anything done.  Would you not just lose chunks of time in random reflective surfaces??

SB xx