A readily slow weekend


A little Sunday-soused on the red wine I forced out of a leftover bag-in-box from my birthday party, I pulled out the last tray of Finnish Christmas stars out of the oven and put them on the stove. I looked around the kitchen at the post-baking mess and thanked the technology lords for the entity called “a dishwashing machine”.

Now it’s sloshing happily out there in the kitchen while cleaning up my mess with a gentle hand after my, if I may say so myself, quite successful attempt to get my shit together and do some Christmas baking instead of just lying on the couch watching Bones. I realized that I could watch Bones in the kitchen anyway, I have a laptop!

This weekend I’ve only left the apartment in the name of errands, a nice contrast to the previous five weekends that just somehow sort of ended with the spontaneous social consumption of alcoholic beverages and visits at the local meat market, also called “the bar”.

In an Instagram competition, I recently won a book made for singles, “The handbook for singles on the brink of a nervous breakdown (SE)”. Entertained, I’ve reached page 245 but in direct contrast to the quote on the front page “Recognition is total, buy it!” I can conclude that I can in no way identify with the author of the book. The closest thing I can relate is that we’d passed our 30th birthday before we exclaimed “YOLO!” for the first time. The book tells a story very similar Sex and the City and that kind of single life is drastically different to my everyday grind as a single person in my 30’s.

The nearest I’ve been to lumber down cobbled big city streets in stiletto heels, eating fancy dinners at restaurants with French sounding names then drinking a glass of fancy red at Riche while flirting with gorgeous single men, is when V and I celebrated my birthday last year by getting drunk on bubbly at home with my mom and then going to McDonalds in order to keep the worst of the intoxication at bay. Later on, we realized that the place we’d picked for the evening only contained 18-year olds and I’m not quite ready to be a cougar yet.

Hastily we went to a place that takes an entrance fee and I immediately got chatted up be a 40-year old, kind of hot, math teacher. Ah, better. That was a year ago.

But soon it’s Christmas. The season for doing stupid things. Let’s see what happens this year.