My job

... is simply not interesting enough to wake up thinking about at 4 a.m.  Unlike, say, Hugh Jackman's chest or Fergus Henderson's marrow bone and parsley salad, or Matthew Williamson's colorful 70's style print tunics for H&M's summer collection. 

Of course, as S helpfully pointed out, it's not really interesting enough to think about much at 4 p.m., either.

But at least from 9 to 6 I'm getting paid for it.

On a slippery slope...

... to trashiness.

Monday after Pilates and yoga I was too lazy to change back into street clothes, so I took the metro home wearing sweatpants.  For the first ever, I wore exercise clothes "out" in public. 

Yesterday after going to the movies (Wolverine, fab eye candy, not a great movie, but hey, Wolverine has always been my favorite superhero, and how could I resist an ensemble cast including Hugh Jackman, Ryan "The Abs" Reynolds, and Liev Schrieber looking as butch as I've ever seen him?) we had dinner, at, foodies please forgive me,  KFC.

And today I was seduced by a buy one, get one free offer and succombed to the allure of white wine in a plastic bottle. 

This is the end, my friends.  I used to be a fairly classy chick.  It's all downhill from here. 

Riddle me this.

The movie The Boat that Rocked was released in France this week with the title Good Morning England.
Not "Bonjour Angleterre", mind you, but "Good Morning England".
Why bother ?*

*I don't mean why bother seeing it - please please do - it's great, the music is, of course, fantastic, but so is the cast, and it's a real feel good movie.

I had a dream...

... about Hugh Jackman last night.  I was in a bar with a group of friends (one of whom admitted to me that she had for years been the lesbian lover of the mother one of my ex-boyfriends, in the dream that is, not in Real Life.  But that's neither here nor there). 

Hugh was there, wearing a black leather jacket (well of course), sort of at the periphery of the group.  We kept looking at each other from across the room.  I couldn't take my eyes off him for more than a few minutes at a time (well of course not) and whenever I glanced back at him he was already looking at me, and smiling, and I knew that he loved me already.  We went out for a stroll in the night and and nothing bad could ever happen to me while he was near, and we kissed and it was all magic until I told him I couldn't possibly run away with him and leave S.

When I woke up and told S about it he was amused but not, I feel, suitably impressed by my loyalty.

Yes, it's kind of adolescent to have celebrity crushes, but isn't there something simply irresistible about a man who can sing, dance, snarl, and kick ass all with equal aplomb and grace ? 

late adopter

Years after everyone else in the Western world, I now have an iPod.  No, actually, I have an iPhone, and I'm such a loser that I kept the automatic email signature that says "Sent from my iPhone" because I think it's the coolest thing since,  well, warm baguette.  

So now I can be even more spaced out and in my own little world than ever before, listening to my private soundtrack while balancing precariously with my nose in a stranger's armpit on the metro at rush hour.  

Having Born to Run come on the shuffle while grocery shopping, though, that's a bit anticlimatic.  So much for rolling down the window and letting the wind blow back my hair.  Instead I chose white toilet paper (instead of pink) and muttered to myself at the price of broccoli.  (2,40 euros for a little head of hardly 500 grams, outrageous...).  But I did it all with Bruce instead of supermarket muzak, and that, my friends, can only be a good thing. 

No comment.

- groooooaaaaaan, I've eaten way too much. My stomach is huuuuuuuge.
- you have the experience to cope with it.