I’m a student of English Lit.

Are you still here? Alright, you must be an English Lit student too! Welcome to my blog. I tried to resist using that word out of a misplaced sense of linguistic superiority but it won. The word, that is. Anyway, this is a place where I attempt to be interesting and amusing to what I imagine must be a large, international audience (Hi, Mom!). When reading my posts, try to imagine me standing on a soapbox at an empty square. They’re funnier that way.

I’m a child of the nineties, born in the mid-eighties. I’ve recently begun practicing my Crotchety Old Geezer-routine, which I’ll be needing in about 5 years’ time, so don’t be surprised if you find me blubbering about today’s youth and its utter lack of morals. I mean that, by the way. Kids today!

I live in the Netherlands, a tiny country in Europe that you’re not likely to ever visit. All you need to know is that it rains a lot here, we smoke weed all day long, and our population density is higher than a factory chicken farm’s. Which brings me to another important fact: I am a vegetarian, I only eat organic dairy products and I try to help the environment wherever I can. Yes, I am a goddamned treehugger, and I’m proud of it. If you eat meat, go away now. I don’t want your bloody fingerprints all over my lily-white blog.

I’m married with no kids. Facebook has taught me that motherhood = daily status updates detailing your crotchfruit’s latest groundbreaking work (“she’s holding the bottle! I WUV MY LITTLE GIRL!”) and your battle to lose your baby blubber (“Too tired to cook, so ordered from Domino’s.”). In response, my tubes have shrivelled up and desperately wrapped themselves around my spine to avoid spawning what will essentially be the end of my humanity. I could get all dignified and tell you I don’t want kids because I don’t want to bring them into Today’s World, but really I just don’t like poop all that much.

At the moment a large, Swedish furniture retailer employs me. Reluctantly. They and I, we maintain a precarious equilibrium where I work as little as I can possibly get away with and they can’t fire me because I have a permanent contract. Such is the awesomeness of Dutch law.

In my spare time I spend a god-awful amount of time at the gym, mostly because of the quantities of winegums and other gelatine-based junkfood that I consume. I really wish I could say after years of squatting, deadlifting and benchpressing I look like Jessica Alba but the sad reality is that I look more like Jessica Simpson during her Years of Abundance. I also read a lot; some of it is high falutin’ literature and some of it is, well, Grazia and Cosmo. But only because I want to stay relatable. Yes, that’s it.

Finally, I’m a fashionista with a huge boner for Marc Jacobs. Sadly the only thing of his that I own is a wallet because I’m cheap. But I like him, so that makes me hip. Cheap, but hip.

And there you have it! Now you understand me wholly and completely. You know my innermost fears and desires, my secrets and my past. I feel like we’ve bonded, you know? Such a deep connection… hey, where are you going?!


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