Hiiiii!Β
How are you? Whatβs been happening? Just circling back with a fresh newsletter for your inbox. Hope it brings you joy.Β
π¬π§ SWEETIE RATES π¬π§
Itβs (me) coming home (not coming home)
On Monday evening, after one Guinness, a packet of pork scratchings, and mourning a one-off payment of over a thousand pounds, I walked into a tiny, fluorescently lit office and filed paperwork that begged the UK government to please let me extend my visa for another year. I really hate appointments like these, where things actually matter and I have to try not say something objectively humiliating, but I was hopeful Iβd be able to hold it together for just twenty minutes.Β Β
The agent I was paired with was a lovely lady who insulted me upon our meeting by looking me up and down and asking, βDo you work in advertising?β She then told me stories about how she met her husband in an Australian hostel and how one of their friends was likely murdered by drug dealers in Peru. After gently admonishing me for not including my middle name on government paperwork (oopsy doops!), she was ready to send away my application, I just needed a new BRP picture taken to seal the deal.Β
I had made an effort with my appearance in anticipation of being photographed. It was the kind of effort I can only describe as βFrenchβ, in that I did just enough grooming to look put-together, but not so much that anybody would be able to make fun of me for it. Despite doing my best to take a decent ID picture for once in my life, tragedy struck. The agent took one look at my clean, tousled hair and said, βWell, time to tie your hair back for the picture.βΒ
Mi scusi? I tried to tell her that being photographed straight-on without the assistance/obfuscation of my hair wasnβt really going to capture my best angle. The experience of having to have a picture taken straight-on as someone with a round face, elven ears and their hair scraped back is akin to being waterboarded, I think. Perhaps, I asked, I could tuck my hair into my scarf, creating the illusion of a bob? For some curious reason, she didnβt seem to care about my concerns, nor my solutions. She reached into the top drawer of her desk, handed me a black hair band from a cardboard sleeve and asked me to turn towards the camera.Β
I hastily ponytail-ed, and prepared for my close-up as best I could. She took my picture and immediately shook her head. She took another and sighed.Β
βCan youβ¦ You keep blinking.βΒ
βSorry,β I said, βI tend to do that.β
We tried again.Β
βYour eyes are always kind of half-closed. Justβ¦ open your eyes really wide.βΒ
Unaware that having heavy eyelids is a crime to the Home Office, I widened my stupid eyes and solemnly resigned myself to the fact that I am going to look like This Man in my BRP picture. The agent wished me well, and I sent my regards to her husband. Five days later, my visa was approved. I can only assume itβs because whoever was processing the paperwork felt afraid of the heavy dread emanating from my picture, but nevertheless, Iβll take the wins where I can get them.Β Β
I couldnβt be happier that I get to stay here. Even through the cost of living crisis, chronic fears of phone-snatching, struggling to get a single prescription from the NHS, and seeing a man getting the living daylights beaten out of him at Tesco, I wouldnβt want to be anywhere else. Hereβs to another year. And another. And another. Andβ¦ then weβll see.Β
To all my people with avoidant-tendencies out there: yes, you actually CAN run away from your problems! It works! You just have to keep running! Donβt stop running for a second!Β
Emoting
New iOS has dropped, and Iβm loving the new emojis! And let me tell you right neeeooooow, I am going to be abusing these emojis in particular.Β
πββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈπββοΈ
Letβs roleplay using them together.Β
You: Are you coming to the pub tonight
Me: πββοΈ
You: Why, are you busy?
Me: πββοΈ
You: Are you lying under an inside out duvet cover thatβs covered with piles of fresh laundry and watching Summer House while you make a hyper-specific Pinterest board on your phone?
Me: πββοΈ
You: Are you being honest?
Me: πββοΈ
You: I want a divorce
Hooliganism incoming
Much like my 2022 tryst with the World Cup, I am finding the Euros quite pleasing. To me, watching football is all about going for whichever team is winning in the moment, saying βWHOβS THAT?β loudly when the camera pans to a good looking player, spending ten minutes finding out who that player is and if theyβre married or just a statutory rapist, accidentally zoning out and then missing a goal, and looking around panicked whenever a penalty happens to gauge the general sentiment. I love life.Β
π€‘ SWEETIE HATESΒ π€‘
Itβs not Cyr-I, itβs Cyr-US
π¨ CYRUS NEWS π¨
Itβs been a while since Iβve been on the Cyrus beat, mostly because itβs kind of hard to top the story of a potential love triangle between Tish Cyrus, her daughter Noah and a bald man. But this time, another Cyrusβ love life is in shambles β itβs Billy Ray βMuch To Think Aboutβ Cyrusβ turn. Heβs trying to cancel his marriage, you see, from a woman called Firerose who seems to have run up a tab of $96,986.05 USD on his business credit card. Reparations, I say, for her presumably having to touch these braids.Β
Heβs pulling out the stops to end this marriage β asking for a temporary restraining order, filing to annul the marriage because it was obtained via "fraudβ, and doing single-man posting on Instagram β and Iβm all for it. Itβs like an ancestral curse was placed on this family to spur all the strange, interpersonal problems they have. They shouldnβt have been on The Disney Channel, they should have had a show on TLC.Β
Thereβs something crucial we need to consider within the fractured Cyrus relationships, a common denominator, if you will. Billy Rayβs wife Firerose, Tishβs husband Dominic Purcell and Mileyβs ex-husband Liam Hemsworth all have one thing in commonβ¦ Theyβre all Australian.
This family needs to step AWAY from the antipodeans, expeditiously. Fall in love with a Canadian or something instead. Itβs kind of the same thing. Justβ¦ back off from anybody thatβs ever been barefoot in an IGA, or anyone who can remember the Kevin 07β campaign, alright?Β Β
Save it for the drafts
I admire the vulnerability, but the personal essay I Finally Befriended My Idol Tavi Gevinson. Would It Fall Apart Over Taylor Swift? is what those in the business callΒ a βtough read.β
I fully-body winced so hard reading this that I think I fractured my skeleton. What is this style of personal essay that The Cut, and now I guess GQ too, are dealing in β cringebait? Schadenfreudebait? Reading these articles that are meant to invoke derision and discourse is like picking at a scab, yet, I remain seated. So who is really mocking who?
Ouch
Iβve been trying out new deodorants lately and the search is really stressing me out, so letβs just say I had to choke down a sob when I checked my Reddit notifications only to see this.Β
Iβm fine. Really.Β
CYA!