vol #29: f boy island, tuna & cleopatra
good morning beautiful <3
anyway, welcome back (okay, presumptuous of me!!!) to sent from my iphone with love, your hot links to epic things that i have found On The Line and the irl bit, which is hot reccos for Real Life Living™
painting by emily snowdon
this is the online bit
when you think every dating show to possibly exist has been created- stop, sit back, and revel in the fact that there will always be more.
no show has made me scream at the tv like this has. well, not since the lockdown of 2021, where i was so parasocially attached to all the love island contestants that i cried multiple times an episode.
anyway, this show is a car crash. like, a really horrific one. there is something about the whole premise which is so innately humiliating. its editing is reminiscent of youtube videos. everyone is a dj. there’s a guy who they’ve kindly described as “between jobs”. mia said everyone looks like they own a staffy. on monday, our house was watching it and two friends dropped past and stayed to watch the entirety of the two episodes, slack jawed. it’s self aware that it’s cringe, but self aware in a cringe way.
okay yes, i went to semi permanent, you don’t need to ask again
p.s. nick looks like a disney prince and i’m in love with him.
catherine cohen unwinds with psychic-prescribed magnesium and game of thrones, vanity fair
cat cohen could shit on the street and i would think it was perfect, impeccable, hilarious. this article is no different.
1 p.m.: I meet a friend to write side by side at a café. Writing is sooo performative for me—it’s very hard to do it alone in my apartment. I can’t write unless I’m sure someone is watching me, thinking, “Wow, look at that mysterious woman gingerly flicking the keys of her MacBook Air…I bet she’s good at writing and sex to boot!”
soooo me!
sending emails
okay get ready for an ultra mega truth bomb to be deployed, BUT, sending emails is only fun when you don’t have to send them.
in the past year, i have had minimum 4 of my besties leave me for europe. yes this is all very chi chi and yes this has made my poor little heart go ow.
when this first started happening, i told my mum and she consoled me with, “oh yes darling, this tends to happen around your age. i remember all my friends left and then we drifted and i suppose that’s just what happens with life.”
weirdly, this did not make me feel awesome and reassured. so, i’ve taken to writing little love letters. sporadic! dramatic! a little kiss for your inbox! makes me feel like sylvia plath in a chic romantic way, not like, in a suicidal way.
me being an absolute weapon on the keys
this is the irl bit
cleopatra and frankenstein, coco mellors
this was a fun read. it’s not like a change your life read, but i definitely enjoyed it. now that i’ve looked up the author, it appears that she may have based the main character around herself. it also appears that it’ll be turned into a tv show. both things to think about, or not!
standing your ground
there are three guarantees in life: death, taxes and my eyebrow lady asking me if i want to get my lip waxed too.
up until last year, when i first met my eyebrow lady, i was unaware that i was sporting a mo. look, it’s not like i’m rocking a handlebar. it’s not even pubescent 15 year old upper lip fluff. at most, it’s a little peach fuzz. yet, every time i walk in the salon and ask to get my eyebrows waxed, she looks at me and asks if i’m getting my lip done too. i’m unsure if it’s an upsell or if my girl has just got my back, but there is something so brutal about the tone that every time i say no. frida kahlo was a certified moustached hottie, so i’ll stay rocking the fuzz. it’s good for the winter chill. and what’s more? i will not let my eyebrow lady win.
tuna and rice <3
two inconvenient truths: (1) i am not that excited by cooking, (2) i am not a millionaire.
unfortunately, this makes the whole keeping-yourself-alive-at-work thing kinda expensive and a bit of a drag. luckily, i am a woman of not only ample rack, but also of ample brains, and have therefore devised an incredible solution for this situation: the media girlie diet: excessive drinks by night, tuna and rice by day.
jazz that shit up with some seaweed salad and some pickled ginger, soy sauce and wasabi and it is no longer uninspiring, gym bro-esque, but rather artisanal and intriguing. deconstructed sushi, if you will.
frugal AND gorgeous! what can’t she do?!?! (cook)
bye-bye!
Woman of ample rack got me