Date Night

Sometimes – more often than I should probably admit – I find it very hard to like myself. I know that’s not particularly uncommon, or even mildly interesting to most people, but it is a truth.

Anyway, I saw some terribly overdone quote on Facebook earlier this week – something about love yourself like you would love the love of your life, or something inane like that. And I decided, heck, this whole self-betterment Cosmopolitan/718 Ways to Achieve Happiness industry does rake in millions – presumably for a reason. And so on Wednesday night I decided to blow off the press screening that I was supposed to go to, and decided to treat myself to a date instead.

Now, it has been a while since I’ve been on a date. Not since JJ, and that particular date was in late July. I know, I know. Anyway, I was a little rusty on the whole concept, but I think I may have won.

First, I treated myself to a nice bubble bath, with an old favourite book. I tend to reread the Harry Potter novels when I’m struggling emotionally – so if you know me, and you see that I’m reading Harry Potter, a hug is in order. Just saying.

Bathtime

Now, I usually lump foam bath into the “absolute luxury” category of shopping. I usually buy Radox ’cause it’s marketed as being fabulous – but I find it doesn’t make really decent foam, and the bubbles don’t last. And I feel super slimy. And it’s a little more expensive. Anyway, I ended up choosing something from the Good Stuff range at Pick n Pay – and it was awesome. Thick foam, the bubbles lasted longer than I did, and it smells superb! And I won’t lie, I definitely bought it for the blurb on the bottle at first, but I think it’s a new favourite.

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Then it was time to get all dolled-up… In my favourite pyjama pants. I’m loving that the nights are getting (slightly) cooler – means I can live in these bad boys again!

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And, of course, what date is complete without flowers? Now, I wasn’t actually going to by myself flowers, so I improvised.

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Then, I cracked open a baby bottle of JC le Roux and treated myself to a plateful of sushi. Also from Pick n Pay, freshly made. Hey, don’t ever say we’re not schmancy chez Whitehead.

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And then – oh goodness, this is so cheesy, don’t judge me – because on dates people are meant to say nice things to each other, I opened up my journal and started writing some nice things to myself. Things I like about myself. Look, I’ll be honest, it’s currently a short-ish list, but I’m saving the page and will return to it as I think of things. I already did today.

And no, you’re not getting a picture! Ha.

And then it was time for a private screening of one of my favourite movies. It’s the Special, Extended Edition. It’s awesome.

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And then, midway through my movie, my mother texted and all my zen was shattered.

But still, you have to start somewhere. Learning to love yourself, it would appear, is a process.

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Bad Blogger. Bad.

So I had this whole awesome plan figured out. I was going to set aside three days a week to blog. And no matter what it I blogged, there would be a regular post.

You know me by now, it takes me a while to get things going. Part of it is that I don’t feel comfortable blogging at work. Even though I could technically blog during my lunch break a) I don’t really take a lunch break and b) I’m not a big fan really of having people being able to lurk over my shoulder and see what I’m doing.

 

So that leaves blogging from home, but I’ve been so knackered lately that I’ve barely been able to cook dinner in the evenings, never mind string together any coherent thoughts. Add to that my poor laptop, which is so far on its way out that if somebody gtalks me my whole laptop has an existential crisis for a few minutes before remembering how to open windows and switch tabs and things. So trying to do anything vaguely hardcore like blog, browse flickr or watch YouTube videos kinda tanks things.

But, if the Budget Gods are good, I should have a new one at the end of May/early June. I’ll be sad to let Jean-Pierre go (So what, he has a name. He also had a gay lover in university, his name was Giovanni. It’s a long story involving LAN cables, a philosophy essay and far too little sleep) but perhaps I should donate him to charity. After all, he’s not totally written off.

I wonder what my dad would have thought of that, seeing as he sacrificed so much to give me this one.

I miss him.