It’s Saturday morning here in Los Angeles and once again, I’m blogging from my hotel room. It’s my last day on work-cation and I’m going out with a bang ~ the one truly scrumptious junk food addiction, KyoChon Fried Chicken (the other KFC).
Doing it the American way, I’ve been indulging in the not-so-healthy gourmet delights of this vast country over the last week. I had the obligatory In-N–Out Burger (which is every bit as simple and tantalising as I expected) and will have KFC today, but before either of these, there was Pizza Port.
Me and pizza and beer for dinner. Can you just imagine.
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There are only really three things I want to say in this post:
1) I must seriously love you guys. Either that or I’m a complete blog nerd with no life because here I am, on a work-cation and again, I’m blogging from my hotel room. Say it with me now, de-di-ca-tion. Yeh.
2) The photos in this post are blurry. It wasn’t because the light was bad. We did have fairly dim mood lighting, but I’ve shot far better in far worse conditions. There’s no excuse really, the reason the photos are blurry is because I downed a spiced pear martini minutes before the food was served and Cadbury kid me, my heart was thumping so wildly I struggled to hold the camera, let alone hold it still. Apologiez.
3) I love being corporate-ly wined and dined.
Indeed I do.
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I started doing this post the way I start all of my posts. I flick through my photos and after wiping a sufficient amount of drool off my keyboard, I get my creative juices flowing and smack them into some sort of an aesthetic collage, “kook” them a little, “vignette” the sides and supposedly, on the other end of this process, I am presented with a unique piece of eathography.
But not this time.
Because remember, Ted, the miniature gerbil in charge of the Creativity Dept in my head was accidentally made redundant not so long ago.
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Those of you who follow me on twitter knew eons in advance that Panu’s mum was coming to visit. Why? Because I tweeted relentlessly about the packets of timtams she was bringing with her and how I just could. not. wait. to get my dirty little paws on them.
Well bring she did. But wrapped she also did. The timtams are my Christmas present and y’know, I can’t be upsetting Santa what with opening presents before Christmas day, right?
Wrong. I opened it anyway. Just to make sure it was all there ~ and yes it was ~ and it’s now re-wrapped and only T-minus two days until the great (official) unveiling! Let’s see if they last that long 
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The word “Interflora” is one that arouses in me a number of different emotions. Flowers, romance, love, envy, disappoinment, failure… just to name a few.
I’ve always worked in an office environment and don’t be pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. When the receptionist calls to say someone’s received a bouquet of flowers from anonymous (because the receptionist never knows who it’s from) and the lucky girl walks off in an air of feigned aloofness, suddenly turning her slow stroll into a dash as soon as she’s out of sight.
When she comes back, a bundle of floral delights in tow, we all oooh and ahhh and gush over the bouquet of roses! lillies! everything! and thoughtfully chirp along with each other about oh, your man, he’s so romantic. You’re sooo lucky! when all we’re really thinking is, fuck. Why doesn’t my man ever send me flowers to the office?
Oh, right I know. Because I seem to have a knack for finding men who, well no it’s not that they don’t buy me flowers, but they are ever so misguided as to think that having flowers delivered to the office is unromantic. That it would be oh so much more romantic to be given flowers in person. After work. At a romantic dinner.
How wrong they all were.
Guys. Read it here and read it now.
It ain’t about romance. It’s a fricking competition so please. Help us win, send us flowers to the office.
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