A Quick Trip to Mykonos, Greece


My first trip this summer was to Mykonos, Greece. If you’re wondering if I enjoyed myself, then you should know that the first thing I said to my boss when I got back was “dammit, I was kind of hoping this company had burnt itself to the ground while I was away.”

She found it amusing (not, really).

We laughed about it (she threatened to fire me).

We’re really good friends (she sometimes forgets my name).

But anyway, this isn’t about my sad work life, this is about Mykonos. The island of the crystal blue water, where the sun shines the brightest, and men named Sebastian steal your heart and suddenly make you feel like maybe it’s okay to commit murder for the man you love, if he’s a Greek god in Vilebrequin shorts.

My friends and I stayed for a short three days, which in my opinion was more than enough. We spent the mornings on large Bungalows in beach clubs and evenings roaming the town center, which by the way has sixteen different names. Each evening, as the sun went down and my friends joint-effortedly tried to stop me from dancing on tables, we asked some friendly waiter or the other where we could go for some shopping. The first day we got sent to “Old Mykonos”, the second day they recommended “Hora” and on the third, we were told the “Town Center” had the best shops. Fun fact, they’re all the same place.

At nights we dined at Ling Ling, Interni and Buddha Bar. Buddha Bar was definitely my favorite, we got seated at a table that overlooked where the yachts were parked and as I watched men being driven back and forth from them, carrying large bags of Buddha Bar take-out I began contemplating whether I could make it as a drug lord. I just needed to live that yacht-life as soon as possible, and frankly i’m not willing to live in a gym to marry a footballer, so cocaine it is.

Anyway, i’m back now and i’m miserable and not just because my face is peeling from the burn I got when I fell asleep at the beach without sunscreen or because I’ve gained like sixteen pounds and now must starve myself. I’m miserable because it’s apparently very hard to find drugs to sell which means I’m still yacht-less.

Please pray for me to find Sebastian again and this time, have the nerve to talk to him. And while you’re at it, pray I turn into Adriana Lima.


Bite Me, Royal Wedding.


Like everyone else on the planet (and possibly, those that remain undiscovered out there) I watched the Royal Wedding today.

I won’t lie, I was devastated. Was there a little part of me that was happy for Megan? No. Absolutely not. That should have been me. In fact, that should have been me when William married Kate but I have chosen to forgive him because he went bald way too fast for my liking so Harry was meant to be it. My ticket out of my 9 to 5, my ticket out of a title-less life, out of singlehood and the possibility of birthing any more none-royal-blooded offspring. Yes, yes I love my daughter, but IS SHE A WINDSOR?

Am I deserving of a man like Harry? You may ask as you eye me plastered out, in oversized tracks, face down on the couch biting into chocolates I brought with me back from the UK … and to that I say, yes. Yes, because I clean up nice (kinda) and I am quite the conversationalist and have a wicked sense of humor but you wouldn’t know it because I suffer from introvertedness and shrivel up into a human form of a trembling tortoise whenever there are more than a handful of people in a room BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I AM UNWORTHY OF LOVE. And by love I mean the Royal kind because commoner men do not interest me.



So i’ll just sit here next to Chelsy Davy and try to keep a straight face whilst shrieking on the inside as I ponder how the f-bomb it wasn’t me standing up there with him today.