Hey gorge,
What a fun week!! It snowed, the S2 White Lotus finale did not disappoint, I only have five movies to go before I hit my goal of 100 new films watched for the year, I had a really great bagel, mulled wine exists, life is good, even when it sucks.
Make sure you listen to River by Joni Mitchell and look out a window wistfully at least once before Christmas is upon us!
But before that, time for the weekly.
💕 SWEETIE RATES 💕
Heartbreak
The side effect of being a lover girl is that the lows are as dizzying as the highs. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, for every promising start there is a sharp fall from grace.
Normal people don’t like to admit this, but there is something so addictive about being heartbroken. It’s so achingly self-indulgent. Listening to Mitski and Daniel Johnston and Frank Ocean and Sufjan and Lana and Phoebe and SZA and Weyes Blood, going on long walks alone, staying up late, gazing at the moon through tears, journalling. Fortunately, I suppose, I have had many opportunities to excel at this routine. It never gets any easier, but it also never gets any harder, either. It’s a simplistic stasis and it does its job.
I’ll be heartbroken over somebody I didn’t even really care about, mourning a version of them that does not exist. Sometimes I’ll dust off something from the corners of my mind just to listen to Norman Fucking Rockwell and immerse myself in the experience. Now, is this a healthy thing to do, per se? No. It’s probably very bad. I accepted a long time ago that it is my piece in life to find growth through pain instead of happiness, so, heartbreak it is for me. It's the lover girl's way.
And it’s a fine way to live. Have you ever listened to I Bet on Losing Dogs and really MEANT it? I’m 99% sure it’s better than being in love. I understand Taylor Swift on a level that can only be accurately described as cosmic.
Once again I have to caveat that I am a Pisces moon, Pisces rising. Carrying the burden of excruciating sensitivity is written in my stars. Heartbreak gives life meaning.
Kitchen dance parties
Despite the beauty of life and whatever, earlier this week, my housemate and I were so profoundly depressed we could barely see straight. To pull ourselves out of the funk, we had a kitchen dance party. To really enjoy this, you need peak sleepover energy — mood lighting, comfortable clothing and a deficit of self consciousness.
You cannot do this by halves, this is where you have to go full millennial. We’re talking Whitney, Britney, Jamelia, Spice Girls, Ricky Martin (though, to be frank, not a great time to be discussing Ricky Martin…) and they must be paired with the most out of pocket, private dance moves you can muster. This is not a time for showing off. This is a time for catharsis. Move the furniture, blast the music, see if you have suddenly gained the ability to twerk, keep going until you’re utterly out of breath.
After we were finished, completely exhausted, we topped off our dance party with a £4 bottle of South African red. Whatever you do, do not drink £4 South African red. That’s not a threat, it's a warning.
The Wikipedia pages for Disney ‘incidents’
A classic of the Wiki genre. A sweet reminder of how unfathomably darksided the Disney universe is. Each Disney establishment gets their own, extensive Wikipedia pages to detail every single incident or accident that has ever occurred on their grounds.
Disneyland (California)
Disneyland (Paris)
Walt Disney World (Florida)
It is not worth linking Tokyo Disney Resort, because it is boring.
You can tell Disney’s lawyers have kept a careful eye on these pages because of the strict legalese sprinkled throughout. Still, a rollicking series of reads. Sit down, pour a calming beverage, and have a scroll. It’s kind of amazing how easy it is to get seriously injured!
😱 SWEETIE HATES 😱
Clumsiness
I’ve really tried the whole radical acceptance thing with myself, but I have to tell you, somebody (me) makes it really, really fucking hard sometimes. I’m a dropper and a knocker and a tipper and a tripper and a bumper, I have no spatial awareness, I have no grasp on velocity.
I am clumsy. And not clumsy in a cute, romcom-leading-lady way — I am clumsy in a don’t-give-me-your-newborn-baby way. My Mum was nicknamed “Spillskie” by her siblings growing up and she went right ahead and Spillskied those genes straight onto me.
I have broken my leg because I fell out of a hammock. Earlier this year I gave myself a concussion and damaged my rotator cuff because I slipped over in the shower. I once got kicked in the head by a horse. I’ve dislocated my knee six times simply through moving around in the world in the following ways:
Two different times dancing to make people laugh.
Once by flopping backwards onto a bed.
Once getting caught behind the lounge.
Once by simply walking (!) in a locked bathroom. I had to crawl on my stomach army-style to unlock the door.
Once while laughing when laying on my side.
It’s hard to be clumsy. It’s hard to be me!
Baby It’s Cold Outside
If Baby It’s Cold Outside has a million haters I am one of them. If Baby It’s Cold Outside has ten haters, I am one of them. If Baby It’s Cold Outside has only one hater, that is me. If Baby It’s Cold Outside has no haters, I am dead.
The word “whilst”
I had a writing tutor in uni tell me that using the word ‘whilst’ was “undergraduate.” Despite the fact that I was, indeed, an undergraduate, I never used the word again. Mostly because I was utterly, desperately in love with him, but also because I hate feeling like I’m out of the academic loop.
Now, I am sharing the wisdom with you. The word you’re looking for is “while” 😊
Until next time ❤️️