I find it offensive

. . . offensive, that instagram has such a low opinion of me. 

The new instagram ads are currently the bane of my existence. The below is a sampling of the total garbage Instagram has targeted me with. 

1: Crocs - are you effing kidding me (see croc-a-doodle-eww)
2: Yellow Tail - sangria no less - finally suspicions about the dregs from leftover bottles being compiled into one vile vintage are confirmed.
3: shed-defender - i'm a cat person. fuck off.
4: weetabix - I'm gluten free. Kidding, but wheat makes me ultra gassy. Also: we da cyclists we da wtf? 

Instagram I loved you. every time i posted a pic of my little creations, then got a 'like' was akin to opening a wee pressie. Joy! Now - nightmares. Croc-wearing, yellow tail vomiting, dog hair gagging, convulsive farting nightmares. Sort out your algorithms for pete's sake. I WILL report the crap out of you. 



Remember when . . .

I'm feeling nostalgic. So what else is new. Specifically I'm nostalgic for London. A city I clearly don't recall loathing on a daily basis. All I choose to remember is its charming quirkiness and the total gas I had living there. 

I've decided to revisit some of my writings of the time and I've decided to inflict this hilarity on you may faithful reader(s). Yes, all six of you.

Backstory: I lived in a terrific (and uncharacteristically humongous) flat in Southwark. Across the road was a dodgy-as-fuck half-way house. It provided hours of entertainment and a general sense of uneasiness.

Lets reminisce shall we?

I’ve mentioned the house for the derelict and permanently drunk that’s located across the street? Well, we can add insane to that list of credentials. As I was hanging out my window yesterday I spotted a shifty character come out of  the “shelter” across the way. So far nothing too out of the ordinary. Except upon close inspection I actually read what was on this fella’s t-shirt. Bearing in mind he was weaving all over the road. Difficult to focus. In scrawled, what looked to be printing done in liquid paper. In a very either avant garde or slightly more likely, hasty intoxicated fashion he had written on the front 100% MAD. Super. The really swell part was when I got a look at the back, and it read 200% CRAZY. Super-duper. I think that just about sums up the caliber of resident across the street. Send me your loving thoughts now, cause tomorrow it may be too late. This of course coming from the girl who dragged a door home from under the overpass down the road b/c she thought it looked pretty. Hey kettle, you’re black. 

The End.

For now at least - tune in again next time for more drivel.

the remains of the day.

And that day was the 25th of December. 

It's over people. There are still macabre traces of Christmas. Notice this self-serving santa looming over a lynched snowman - obviously part of a love triangle that went horrible wrong, based on the face-down-in-her-own-filth angel right next door.

photo 2 (1).JPG

This decoration neglect is barely forgivable as we enter the second week of 2014. What you do inside your own home is your business, but if it's on display for the neighborhood to see, that's an entirely different story. 


Worse still - and I think we all know how I feel about reindeer antlers on cars when they're "functioning" (if that's what you'd call it) properly - and entirely inexcusable is when one antler is missing off your stupid PT Cruiser . Two antlers are bad enough, but one - thats just ridiculous, not to mention extraordinarily lazy.

Pack it in folks. Valentines Day is a month away. It's time to put away soggy red noses only to be replaced by  snoggy noses. 

Ah-MAZING - Ah, Spare me.

amaze verb \ə-ˈmāz\amazedamaz·ing

Hands down the most overused adjective in the past 2 years. I'm finding it increasingly grating. All I have to hear is that breath of air before the stalled "ah" and my eye begins twitching. "AH - MAAAZING!" - the national battle cry of 20-30 something women. Used to praise anything from a balled up pair of socks to skydiving. There's got to be a barometer for its use.

photo 1

photo 1

Things that aren't amazing:

  • your friend's homemade chutney - it's palatable and/or delicious.
  • a kitten pushing a shopping cart that carries another kitten - it's adorable and/or ridiculous.
  • a 40 year old flying down a slip and slide - it's hilarious and/or dangerous

Things that are amazing:

  • The Pyramids
  • Space travel (can also be filed under terrifying)
  • Surviving a cardiac arrest in a deserted parking-lot at the age of 35. (can also be filed under dumb luck)

Using a combination of shame and eye-rolls, I have successfully conditioned one friend (culprit) to curb her amazing usage - at least when she's around me.

Here's a list of synonyms to help break the cycle.

  • surprising
  • astonishing
  • astounding
  • shocking
  • startling
  • extraordinary
  • wonderful
  • marvelous
  • tremendous
  • remarkable
  • stunning  (runs a close second to amazing)
  • incredible (runs a close third to amazing)

Start listening/watching for the A-word in conversation, Instagram comments, Facebook status and tweets - you'll be sharing in my agony in no time.

Next up: Hashtags - Living with an addiction.

Blobs vs. Heels

As with Crocs, (gagging*) Tevas and the like serve a purpose. That purpose is to be hidden in nature and used on slippery rocky terrain. I maintain that these visually loathsome footwear choices are unnecessary in urban settings. Case in point - last weekend: Walking uphill, I overtook two women (roughly my age) wearing generic rubbery tready blobby things on their feet while I was wearing heels and a pacemaker. And there you have it.

The Defence rests.

Not Tevas.

Not Tevas.

Allergy Watch 2013

I've already had a cacophony of sneezes and snots this year. What the hell? How does that entitle me to receive more? Fury! So in the spirit of my current misery I recall a fonder(?) time: A time where I also had debilitating allergies. Picture it: London 2005. The season was Spring, and the theme was crankiness. Please enjoy the following excerpt from one of my highly popular publications, distributed at the time. left: London Plane "fruit" (spare me) - right: Cottonwood fluff, more innocent looking, almost as lethal.

It’s come to my attention that there must be a cache of mail for me somewhere in the incompetent depths of the Royal Mail Headquarters.  Seriously, there’s a room full to the brim with letters from friends and family addressed to Zenija Esmits Great Guildford St London SE1 0ES. And all the Royal Mail employees (read: thieving bastards) frolic in it like it’s a ball-room at chuck-e-cheese.

 I was talking to Clare this afternoon and conversation led to the postal service, and figured that she has sent waaaaaay more than the single postcard I’ve received from her. Now, I’m thrilled with the postcard, but I’m pretty T’oed that there are bits of mail not reaching me. I love mail. So I intend to launch a campaign against the Fucking Royal Mail (sorry, but I’m seriously pissed off) In fact, I think they should think about attaching that prefix to their title. It would help account for their continued ineptitude.

Not only does the Royal Mail seriously blow, but the post office seriously blows as well. The dregs of society frequent the place. I wonder sometimes if the wealthy and the: not strung out on smack ever send letters? Because looking at the ‘clientele’ in these places makes me think that I’m the only sober person who mails stuff.  The public businesses such as banks, post and government offices are the filthiest smears on society that I’ve ever had the displeasure to visit. They cater to the emotionally stunted that work there and the equally emotionally stunted that require their services.  I try not to touch the surfaces. Everything is encased in contaminated plexi and the tellers whether they be post or financial are all assholes. I do not generalize.

And while we’re lingering on the subject of things that tick me off, because god knows, the list is never-ending, here’s another one to add to the archive. It all happened one sunny day in May.

I don’t know what they are, and frankly I don’t care. There’s probably a botanical name for them. I highly doubt however that it’s as colorful as the one I’ve christened them with. Blinding Maple Shards. They’re the pesky little razor sharp pokey bits that form innocent looking puffballs that dangle off the Maple branches. Innocent that is, until the wind picks up and they explode into a cloud of airborne metal filings. It should be mandatory to harvest these things off the damn trees come late April. Or alternatively, chop the trees lining The Embankment down.

It was the most painful walk home EVER! Every nanosecond another fly-away razor sharp piece of fluff attacked my eyes mercilessly. I am soooo very bloodshot right now and my eyes sting like I rubbed them with fibreglass.

Just did some research… turns out what I thought was a particularly lethal maple is actually, the ‘London  Plane’ tree. Here’s what the botanists have to say about it. The crap that almost killed me is from the ‘flowers’ (deceptively innocent term) .The ‘flowers’ are dense spherical heads comprised of millions of prickles. They are wind pollinated. No shit. Now I can look forward to London Plane trees growing out of my eyes.

Tune in again for the continuation of Allergy Attack of 2005.