Dear Angela Bishop

Dear Angela Bishop,

I don't know if you are aware of this or not, so I am writing to you to tell that you don't have a neck.

Regards, Felix for Zosia

Too Short To Breed

Juicebar has been telling all and sundry that he has been accused of being "too short to breed" by his housemate who... er... likes to assemble Ikea furniture in her spare time (not-that-there's-anything-wrong-with-that). He seemed to take an unnatural amount of glee in proclaiming this opinion, much to the distress of said housemate. Having spent 8 years at university, I am not quite as stupid as I look (although the fact of having spent 8 years at university and still not being finished may possibly be an argument against my supposedly astronomically high level of intellect... humm... uncomfortable self analysis on the horizon if I'm not careful)... so I suspected that he wasn't telling the whole truth, and I asked him what she actually meant. It turns out that she was of the opinion that - in the context of their mooting the idea of a "communal baby" - the two of them were too short to breed together. Upon hearing this I paused for thought and said, in a let's-be-reasonable-and-analytical-here voice "but ER isn't particularly short, and neither are you. I don't think the two of you are too short to breed together." It was only much later that it occurred to me that having any kind of reasonable discussion about any points relating to the concept of a "communal baby" was kind of ridiculous.

Bilingual Jane: An Enigma

Every single item* of kitchenware or general household bric a brac that Bilingual Jane contributed to our abode is pink, except for the ice cube tray that makes penis shaped pieces of ice.

*I am allowed a 10% margin of exaggeration or inaccuracy as part of my creativity contact, which I wrote myself using crayons when I was bored.

Felix For Zosia: Style_Lab

I just finished reading a book called The Thoughtful Dresser by Linda Grant. I have decided that she is my Guru* of the Month. I have been so inspired by the book that I was going to go out and start myself another blog called Felix For Zosia: Style_Lab, where I would blog about fashion, non-fashion, and my outfit choices with the sophisticated wit and intelligent humour that make Felix For Zosia (original) the brilliant market success and revenue spinner that it is today. But then I decided that probably nobody would want to read such wanky bosh. But THEN I though to myself “who am I to decide?” So here is a sample of what you might find on Felix For Zosia: Style Lab if it were a real blog. Tell me what you think:

What My Clothes Say About Me: Saturday Morning
Orange scarf and grey cardigan: I feel like shit. These items look disgusting together and I can hardly believe I am wearing them. I want people on the street to know that I have a cold and a headache and possibly a smidge of hangover so I’ve chosen items that clash so horribly they will invariably induce headaches in all who observe me.

What My Clothes Say About Me: Saturday Afternoon
Blue/green scarf and grey cardigan: I am stupidly vain and hopelessly bad with money. As the day wore on and I felt better, I had to buy another scarf to replace the orange one because I couldn’t take it any longer. Even though the new scarf looks like something a mermaid would wear if it had a sore throat, I consider it an Investment Piece because it actually looks fantastic with half my wardrobe.

Autumn/Winter09: Shopping
I called my bestest, gayest friend Harveii (who is like a cross between Napoleon Perdis and Napoleon Dynamite) in a high excitement after my morning’s shopping trip. “Harveii!!! Guess what?? I’ve found my new Autumn Palette! It’s all based around a pair of earrings I bought last week. It’s such a great combination of Burnt Ochre, Tamil Tiger Green and a touch of Democratic Purple**. It’s going to be so versatile, and the best thing is that all I have to do when I go shopping for more pieces***is make sure that I wear the earrings and they will be like my personal, fashion equivalent of those paint sample things people give you when you’re redecorating the front parlour.” Needless to say, Harveii was practically as excited as I was, so we agreed to meet up and drank fruit flavoured martinis all afternoon long in a “New York style”**** bar.


*Please always pronounce this word “ga-roo” in your head when reading it anywhere on this blog. Trust me, it’s much more fun.

** For those not in the know, Democratic Purple is similar to Royal Purple but less… inbred.

***Rule number 63 of The Fashion Blog Creed states that one must always refer to “pieces” and not “clothes”. Amendment 63b states that “garment” is acceptable in certain circumstances.

****People get mugged there a lot.

Why Lesbianism is Like Assembling Ikea Furniture

I have been doing some thinking and would like to present the following analogy for perusal:

I really like Ikea furniture. I even have some in my home. I know that there are some people who like to assemble Ikea furniture, and while I know that I am physically capable of doing so myself, when faced with an array of nuts and bolts and planks of wood it all just seems like too much effort.

The Person To Whom The Deep Fryer Belonged Was Ugly Sven

As certain readers of this blog are aware (Lingual Alison first and foremost among you) I have been promising for many months to post all funny utterances from Lingual Alison’s dinner parties. Because it was taking me so long I thought I should do something really spectacular with the collected quotes, and I began working on an epic poem where every alternate line was a dinner party quote and the whole thing was tied together under the umbrella theme of ancient Roman festivals. I thought it was a fucking brilliant idea, but upon reflection I concede that I probably don’t even need to tell you that actually it was crap. In case there is any doubt I’ll give you an example:

I don’t want to say goodbye talking about my father’s genetalia!
Could we instead discuss ancient Rome, and feasts like Saturnalia?

While I have to indulge in a bit of egoism, and acknowledge that rhyming “genetalia” which “Saturnalia” was rather brilliant, I am willing to note that I am probably the only person in the world who cares. Anyway one of the problems I’ve been facing is that all the quotes seem hilarious to me but I’m not sure they would make much sense to anybody else– see the title of this post for an illustration of this point. So I will give you a severely edited version of Funny Moments From The Dinner Party:

Billy (whose parents I accused of naming their son after a piece of Ikea furniture) said “I’m terrible with single digit children”. Oh how we laughed!

* * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * *

Then LA (who really needs a sexier nickname I think – suggestions welcome one and all) had a Eurovision party last weekend and I was too busy eating wonderful European-themed food and drinking wine and generally having a fabulous time to bother writing down any funny things that anybody said. I vaguely remember that Bilingual Jane and I stole a Yellow Pages on the way home, and one of the European countries won the contest. Also, there were dolmades.

Farewell, Dullard Cheese Girl, Tanty Man et al

I have finally left the crazy workplace once and for all. Squish squish. Apart from not being able to blog about it anymore, the only serious downside I can think of is that the new workplace does not have a panini maker in its non-existent staff lunch room. This is going to take some getting used to because that panini maker was sometimes the only thing that got me through the day at Crazy Former Workplace. Consequently, it has risen to great heights in my estimation of Workplace Pros and Cons, to somewhere about the level of salary-sacrifice sports car.

After a mega four days alcohol free (mostly due to the fact that I am now working during normal drinking hours) I headed to the bottle shop, where I saw a half legless man who murmured to me as he hobbled past “’s good for ya”. Now when I say “half legless” I mean that he had one leg, and was moving about with the aid of crutches. While I recognise the bad taste implicit in mocking a person’s physical disability in such a way, I was completely and utterly unable to resist.

I have one small story to report from New Workplace: a customer order was sitting on the counter this week with a note on it that said “ Customer is waiting for “The Power of Now” and will collect when it arrives”. I guess Customer couldn’t wait for someone to write a book called “The Power of Next Week”.