Aren’t happy people the absolute pits? Oh Christ are they ever. Skipping about with their sugar-coated grins singing about flowers and unicorns while the rest of us shuffle about in the Valley of Ashes just waiting for a bullet between the eyes to put us out of our misery so we can lie down, oh fuck could we please just lie down, for a minute. Their presence offends the rest of us, actually deprives of the teensy little part of us that still retains a vague will to live. The depressed and the disillusioned, however, oh they’re the best. Striding about with their black berets, making cutting remarks about strangers and only stubbing their cigarette out long enough to make a suicide pact over the internet. These people never have to get let down because they never have any expectations. They never have to be nice to people because they’re Depressed Don’t You Know and, best of all, they never get disappointed because they’re already expecting the worst. That, my friends, is living.
But just quietly, strickly between you and me, you understand, I’m sort of having fun. I’m actually rather happy. God knows why – I’m poor, sleep deprived and may have some semi serious dental/financial problems all of my own making. On top of that my body is falling apart, potentially because the last time I did any proper exercise was around the time that fucking annoying/incredibly catchy Outcast song was at the top of the charts. Slip in a little no-home-for-Katyitis-today-or-ever and surely I should be reading Sylvia Plath and slitting my wrists in a bath somewhere.
But am I what? Am I never. So maybe the bitter twisted cynical part of me says this is because it’s nearly the end of the work day, it’s a four day week and I have a week of holidays coming up but I don’t care. I’m rather happy. And just to stuff all this disgusting syrupy shit further down your throats until you choke let’s have a look at some of Katy’s current favourite things. You may open your vomit bag… now.
Card making. Ah yes look at the time – it’s 1894 already is it? Yes, yes, there is something a little bit quaint and a whole lot twee about getting ones jollies making cards but I’ve just started getting back into it (after a glue drought-imposed break) and I find myself right now, as I sit at work waiting to be released from servitude, actually looking forward to start working on some new ideas. That’s right readers – I live the sort of wild, hedonistic life you can only DREAM about.
Cadbury Crème Eggs. What IS that shit in these eggs? Is it pure sugar? Is it unadulterated fat? And why is the idea that it resembles a raw egg yolk supposed to be a GOOD thing? These are rhetorical questions, as I don’t really care, because I love them. Mmm mmm, pre-Easter is my favourite time of year.
The weather. Not all among us are flattered by a stringy summer dresser or a strappy little singlet. Some of us, dare I suggest it, look like trussed up hams loafing in supermarket refrigerators if we so much as try. And every year, as the summer sloooowly gives way to the best season of the year, Autumn, I Thank Fuck and pull out my collection of fetching cardigans and fluffy hats. Hurrah. Hot cocoa for all (if we put the air con on first).
Entourage. Oh sure it’s sort of stupid and there’s the sound of ten in-jokes a second I don’t understand flying over my head but Adrian Grenier has the face of an angel and Jeremy Piven has the mouth of a sewer. Brilliant, schlocky fun.
Aaan that's it for now, kids, we made it through together and my reputation as a cynical biatch is ruined forever. From here on it’s all yoghurt for breakfast, drum circles at midnight and the dumb grin of a harmless puppy adorning my stupid mug. Ask me if I care? Yeah, that’s right, So’s Your Face.