Fuck you, Glee.

The closest many will get to the feeling of having their fingers boiling water tortured. Unless you’ve gotten your fingers stuck in the garbage disposal while Glee suddenly aired on the radio.

BTW sorry Monkey King. Haven’t reblogged you yet because, bizarrely, I can relate to your blog. While this post I both understand and find a revelation. You’re up next. No! Don’t throw your shit at me! 😉

Emilie Zoey Baker

So, I’ve had fake nails now for about six months. The reason I got them is I had this hot job interview and I wanted to get that not-on-the-dole look. My nails are like flakes of peeled house paint at best, but whenever I attempt do my own nail polish it looks like a five-year-old kid with ADD did them in a high-speed car chase with a monkey at the wheel. Plus, they were so soft you only had to touch them and they’d faint off my fingers, like a gay man at Liza Minnelli’s farewell concert. So I thought, fuck it, I’m going to be one of those people with fake nails.

So I’d gone into a nail bar and had a Vietnamese woman work my nails away, filing at them like she was some kinda mad violinist from a Chekov play or something. Like this was the concerto…

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US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Eight of Nine

Fifteen metres above me, the brown, brackish Thames flowed one way or the other past its Greenwich Village south shore. Almost half a kilometre away north under the river stretched and seemingly narrowed the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, in a slightly down then upward curve hugging the waters above. No drips could be seen or heard …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Seven of Nine

Love is an emotion felt by people for other people and objects, correct? Yes, but before love is shared or expressed, it still exists. I think of love like it’s a mineral deposit buried within good hearts, that waits but for someone or something to come along and do or be something that drills for …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Six of Nine

My notes next state: “Not really sure about Sunday. Pretty sure I booked my flight to Dublin. What the hell else? Probably slept late again. Hyde Park? Ah, I think this is the afternoon/evening I ventured again into Leicester Square to see The Hobbit.” I’m just glad that I mentioned it was Sunday, which gives …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Five of Nine

Miraculously minus modern technology, as my phone had drained its battery, my sense of direction wasn’t switched off – despite a hangover that weighed on my shoulders like London’s squalid sky. So I staggered to Clapham Common station from somewhere within Brixton to the south, after my romantically unsuccessful night with Kristy. On my way …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Four of Nine

Portland, Oregon, was as you may remember a progressive Pacific-north-western American city I missed while riding a dragon (Wicked Camper) from California to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. This is a little regrettable because since then I’ve learned without much effort more about the city’s vibrancy, despite its almost year-round wet-and-cold-weather. Such weather was itself credited …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Three of Nine

This journal was apparently not updated again until I’d reached Dublin. Here’s a selection, verbatim and erratically hand-scrawled: “Thursday (in London) – I struggle to recall. Drinking too much Guinness in Dublin. Probably slept late. Pretty shitty day, I also think. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I mean it was all pretty touristy stuff, really. …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part Two of Nine

When I’d first booked a return flight from Gold Coast Airport on Friday October 12, 2012, Wednesday December 12 was meant to have been the end of the greatest geographical, physical and intellectual journey of my life, at LAX International Airport to Brisbane via Auckland. Instead, blessedly, I was setting out from Blackheath, south-east London …

US and UK – I Lived By the River – Part One of Nine

Back in Brighton, one of my more bitter memories amid mostly positive ones was when I returned to St Christopher’s Hostel early one morning. It was still dark, and I’d been out wandering the streets for several hours after probably waking up late the previous night. And the sleep deprivation had me in a weird …