Monthly newsletter
Monthly newsletter
Month... four, is it?
Dear Andrew,
This week you will have been gone for, ooooh, quite some time.
Yesterday, I was dusting my room, and looking at the shamelessly poseurish passport picture you left me before you went away. I had placed it on the shelf in a shot glass (effortless/arty - no?) in front of the 'You Made Me Gay!' card you got me for my birthday, and next to a photograph of my friend Daniel, who also went to live in New Zealand. Sheesh fellas, I can take a hint, you know?
Anyhoo. Before you went away, I tried to make you stand still and look pretty while I took photos of you and of us, in case you died in a plane crash, or were accidentally knocked unconscious by a seal in the sea, and drowned. I still haven't had the film developed. I don't actually think I know where the camera is. But I want you to know, if one of your politicians with dreadlocks gets too stoned, falls off his skateboard and knocks you down, fatally impaling you on the bill of a nearby kiwi bird, I will find that camera. If you somehow gain possession of a magical ring, and have to venture far from the Shires and into the terrifying badlands of Middle Earth with your adoring Hobbitty pal Sam, I will develop that film, and keep those pictures forever.
I realised the other day that, unless I am getting my months muddled up again, you will be back in the grimy, expensive, danger-pocked, flea-riddled, germ-smeared, rain-addled, over-populated hell hole that we call 'home' next month. Gosh! Do you need picking up from the airport?
When you get back, you will find that there have been changes. I bought some new jeans. A whole Celebrity Big Brother has passed, not to mention an I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. Will you even know who Joe Pasquale is? Or Kenzie? Busted have broken up, and Desperate Housewives will be well into the first series. Will you have seen it? Where will you be up to with The OC? Will we be able to discuss storylines without ripping asunder the space-time continuum, or having a fight? At first, it will be hard. But you know that I will be here, and all the Scoobies will be here, to guide you though the difficult first few weeks.
Andrew, when you come back, you will have written a whole book. You will be a writer. This means that you won't have any money and, for a while, you will have to eat horrid economy spaghetti, and sleep on the ground. You may have to go to cheap bars offering two-for-one Bacardi Breezers, frequented by substandard gays who have crabs. But before the lice shampoo bubbles have burst, you will re-connect with slightly mean-looking, over-quaffed people who are outwardly really happy and totally reckon themselves and can get you on the guestlist for stuff, but are crying on the inside. And one day, you will have a book launch, and you can invite them, and pat them on their product-coated heads, and then never talk to them again.
These are exciting times for you, as you plan to cross oceans and make your dreams come true. I say to you, as you steel yourself for the heady, scary, difficult and thrilling times ahead - if you only remember one thing from these days before the storm, it should be this:
Don't. Forget. My present.
All my love,
Lizzie
Month... four, is it?
Dear Andrew,
This week you will have been gone for, ooooh, quite some time.
Yesterday, I was dusting my room, and looking at the shamelessly poseurish passport picture you left me before you went away. I had placed it on the shelf in a shot glass (effortless/arty - no?) in front of the 'You Made Me Gay!' card you got me for my birthday, and next to a photograph of my friend Daniel, who also went to live in New Zealand. Sheesh fellas, I can take a hint, you know?
Anyhoo. Before you went away, I tried to make you stand still and look pretty while I took photos of you and of us, in case you died in a plane crash, or were accidentally knocked unconscious by a seal in the sea, and drowned. I still haven't had the film developed. I don't actually think I know where the camera is. But I want you to know, if one of your politicians with dreadlocks gets too stoned, falls off his skateboard and knocks you down, fatally impaling you on the bill of a nearby kiwi bird, I will find that camera. If you somehow gain possession of a magical ring, and have to venture far from the Shires and into the terrifying badlands of Middle Earth with your adoring Hobbitty pal Sam, I will develop that film, and keep those pictures forever.
I realised the other day that, unless I am getting my months muddled up again, you will be back in the grimy, expensive, danger-pocked, flea-riddled, germ-smeared, rain-addled, over-populated hell hole that we call 'home' next month. Gosh! Do you need picking up from the airport?
When you get back, you will find that there have been changes. I bought some new jeans. A whole Celebrity Big Brother has passed, not to mention an I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. Will you even know who Joe Pasquale is? Or Kenzie? Busted have broken up, and Desperate Housewives will be well into the first series. Will you have seen it? Where will you be up to with The OC? Will we be able to discuss storylines without ripping asunder the space-time continuum, or having a fight? At first, it will be hard. But you know that I will be here, and all the Scoobies will be here, to guide you though the difficult first few weeks.
Andrew, when you come back, you will have written a whole book. You will be a writer. This means that you won't have any money and, for a while, you will have to eat horrid economy spaghetti, and sleep on the ground. You may have to go to cheap bars offering two-for-one Bacardi Breezers, frequented by substandard gays who have crabs. But before the lice shampoo bubbles have burst, you will re-connect with slightly mean-looking, over-quaffed people who are outwardly really happy and totally reckon themselves and can get you on the guestlist for stuff, but are crying on the inside. And one day, you will have a book launch, and you can invite them, and pat them on their product-coated heads, and then never talk to them again.
These are exciting times for you, as you plan to cross oceans and make your dreams come true. I say to you, as you steel yourself for the heady, scary, difficult and thrilling times ahead - if you only remember one thing from these days before the storm, it should be this:
Don't. Forget. My present.
All my love,
Lizzie
posted by Elizabeth at 5:42 PM
2 Comments:
ROFL.
Spikebot
http://geocities.com/blondiebearbot2/
Harsh. Nice.
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