girlsdontcry's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pretty women are a wonder Hey, I was only kidding in my last entry about the personal pronoun thing (blatant plug for my fabulous, heart-stopping previous entry there). Although I was not kidding about reading that book again. Not reading, exactly, just browsing, and the reason I'm doing that is because we were talking about it at lunch yesterday and I was defending it saying that it was (a) satirical and (b) it wasn't the book's fault that the Daily Mail decided to run a feature about the "Real Bridget Joneses" every single day for about three years. My life is suddenly terribly Australian... I'm living with one; I went out with one on Friday night; I went out with three on Saturday in the day; on Saturday night I met a friend in what turned out to be an Australian pub; and as we speak, my parental unit, comprising a mother and a father, is on the way from Sydney to visit. I'm disappointed that they arrive tomorrow night, because Alice Sebold is doing one reading in London and it's... tomorrow night. I would've liked to have gone. I'm telling you, if my mother has not brought Tim Tams I'm going to be one very unhappy regressing-back-to-14-years-old daughter. My friend I went out with on Friday night, Jo, she's very beautiful, she looks like a cross between Julia Roberts and Juliette Binoche. And while I was waiting for her in the pub (she is always late), I was sitting next to a breastfeeding woman, Louise, and she was also very beautiful. She started talking to me, and then when Jo was there we were all talking. And when you're with two beautiful women like that, even one with a baby stuck to her tit and another who is married, you just see the way men behave around beautiful woman, and I couldn't help it, I was hating not being beautiful and, yeah, I was hating my friend for being beautiful -- even though she's not at all ... she doesn't operate like a Beautiful Woman. We were drinking too, so then I was feeling drunk and paranoid, and by the time we got to this Chinese restaurant, and the waitress was saying "you look like Julia Roberts" and then being really nice to her, I was feeling bad. I was pissed off, Jo said thank you to the waitress in Mandarin and I was pissed off at that because it was a Cantonese place and I lived in Hong Kong, and I never say thank you in Cantonese because... because... I just don't, because it's patronising to trot out the one word you know in another language. Only when Jo does it, it just seems sweet and nice, even when she does it in the wrong language. They gave us free pudding. And afterwards I was feeling so mean, so I told Jo we got it was because she looks like Julia Roberts -- I know she hates that, she hates attention being drawn to her good looks, so I said it. And hated my self and the world and men all of the way home and probably until I was asleep, although maybe also even while I was asleep. Edited to include important new development from the snack worldI'm eating a packet of Vanilla ice-cream flavour Monster Munch. I swear that is the truth. And even though I'm a brave snack pioneer, I don't recommend that you try them. Weird. 10:07 a.m. - 2003-06-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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