Dear Valerie

Dear Valerie,
Hi! It was really nice to meet you while I was searching for a new flatmate. I thought we would get along fine as flatties, but I wasn't expecting it to be some kind of whirlwind flatmate love like I've had in the past. Basically, I guess you met my minium criteria: able to construct full sentences in conversation, no discernable psychotic tendencies, demonstrated familiarity with the procedures of washing dishes and general light household duties, and a slight display of quirky personality (as evidenced by your spider earrings and tongue piercing).

What I am trying to say is that I am not really all that upset if you don't want to live with me. It is not going to come as a personal blow to what you for some reason seem to imagine is my fragile emotional state and heightened sense of feeling rejected. Or, to put it another way, you're not that great. Also, I think if you moved in I would keep getting Amy Winehouse in my head singing that song Valerie which would get pretty annoying after a while.

I just wanted to write you a letter to fill you in on one of the most basic rules of flatmate finding ettiquette because you seem to be unaware of it. If you don't want to live with someone there is absolutely no need to keep stringing them along with "I will definately let you know tomorrow" type messages. All you have to do is think up a small, inane excuse and go with that right from the start. Some good, solid examples are: "you don't have a car space" "the room is too small" "I would prefer to live in a different suburb" or "the rent is too high". Any of these are fine and as you can see, they are completely impersonal. Everyone knows that they are all just platitudes and they really mean "I found someone I liked more than you" but the thing is that we all do it. Or you could take the approach of Linda who, while barely able to speak English, managed to let me know less than 24 hours after we met "thank you but I do not take the room". See how easy that was? she didn't even bother with the platitude!

Anyway, just letting you know that I have retracted my offer to have you move in with me because your car space is too small and I want you to live in a different suburb. Good luck with your search for a home,
Reagrds, Felix

Panic Stations!!!!!

I was just in a public toilet looking at myself in the mirror and I realised that I have one ear bigger than the other. I am a mutant! For about 17 years I have been wearing earings that look lopsided because they have been hanging from ear lobes that are at different heights due to the disproportionate size of my ears. I can't believe that NOBODY TOLD ME!!! I vow to spend the rest of my life tilting my head ever so slightly to the right in the hope that it evens things up a bit.

My sense of self has been so shaken that I'm off to write some bleak, stark existential poetry and drink some absinthe.

Random-a-rama

Juicebar and I tried to go furniture shopping the other day but things did not go exactly according to plan...
The shop was closed. It rained. Google maps auto-corrected us incorrectly and tried to send us to random places. We also managed to get lost a few times without the aid of Google maps. But despite such setbacks, the day was not a complete loss: I bought lots of random confectionary and foodstuffs, and a tin of Non-stick Spray-On Me.

How did this happen? I metaphorically hear you ask. Well I am going to tell you (non-metaphorically). We eventually found a furniture shop to look in, and just like in the movie Felix, Zosia and Juicebar in Wonderland, there was a supermarket on the bottom floor. I bought myself some Foul Madames because my supplies are running really low at the moment.



I also bought the afore-mentioned Non-stick Spray-On Me. It is actually cooking oil with my name as the brand but since my blog is semi-anonymous I can't really tell you what that is.

In other news, I am stuck in a loop of governmental proportions. Because I was unemployed for a couple of weeks (or "flexi-ployed" to use the PC term) several months ago, I now have to attend various meetings to prove that I have a job, in case I change my mind and suddenly want to not have a job again... or something... So although I concede that these phone calls and meetings are an utter waste of time it still surprised me yesterday when I was asked by someone who is supposedly qualified to help me find a job (should I want her to) how to spell PhD. Uhhh... yes: she asked me how to spell a three letter acronym.