I’ve been crashing on my friend Mavi’s sofa for the past two nights, trying to avoid going back to the basement from hell. Mavi is my beautiful, loud Italian friend who has a shaved head apart from one long ponytail that sprouts from the top of her head. Random but also kind of amazing? She can’t speak English very well, mainly because instead of familiarizing herself with actual English words she would rather spend her time learning (and sometimes creating) random, complex fashion slang that no one understands but herself. Listening to her speak is akin to trying to crack a top secret code.
Anyway, she’s been letting me stay at her house in east London which is super nice. I think she thinks I’m depressed or whatever, and is trying to comfort me in as many ways as she can. I completely appreciate it, but it’s sort of gone beyond hospitality now and I think she’s trying to be my life coach or something. Like she keeps trying to set me up with all these weird guys, saying she “doesn’t want me to be lonely anymore.” Whatever that means. For example, this morning while at work I got this Facebook message from her:
It’s sweet that she’s trying to fix my life and all, but contrary to popular belief, I don’t want to fuck every guy under 140lbs who has some weird physical malfunction. Or at least I don’t think I do… I don’t even know anymore.
Anyway, apparently she is setting me up on some sort of “blind date.” Embarrassing. She’s invited some guy over for dinner tonight that apparently I’m going to think is just “so totes mayj.” I’ll let you know how it pans out.