The Buddhists (is it the Buddhists? Anyway, somebody) believe that we design our own destiny. Like, we pick out our parents and families before we are born. That everything that happens to us in this life was pre-ordained by us. Which makes you wonder… WTF was I thinking?
Well, I reject the teachings of the Buddhists (or whoever – not important. Pay attention). I reject them. I cast off the fur-lined handcuffs of this mortal coil. Starting tomorrow, I manifest a new destiny. (Not the one I tried to manifest last winter. That was bad. I've thought this one through.)
No longer will I be left holding the bag, the remainder on the lease, or the credit card debt on our dream vacation. The one he said he paid for. Right before he disappeared into the jungle with our sherpa, only to return three days later reeking of coconuts, a wicked sunburn on his back and three necrotic spider bites on his nethers. And no memory of having paid the bill. I can’t go on like this.
This Seonaid does not accept destiny – she creates it – along with a line of headbands, inspired by the fearless and peerless Princess Bea.
Divine Designs is coming.
~xo Seonaid
When it comes to creating an image of effective leadership, there’s nothing more important than dressing the part. How can one expect to be taken seriously whilst wearing a tie decorated in saltires? Let’s hope Alex Salmond ignores Tavish Scott’s lead, or Scotland will never see any of the much needed tie-reform. It’s clear by now that we can’t count on Iain Gray. His one-note ideas will get us nowhere.
Thoughts, gentlemen? Here are mine.
Nick Clegg cut a dashing figure in his conservative suits and tasteful neck wear, but it simply wasn’t enough to offset his flagging reputation. Perhaps he should have done more in charcoal. I’m afraid we’ll never know, but I suspect this unfortunate sweater was his undoing.
Nicola, I congratulate you but…call me.
The future of Scotland is on the line. Fortunately, one man knows what he’s wearing. For our sake, I hope the others will follow Patrick Harvie’s fearless example. I have no idea what he stands for, but he’s sexy as hell just standing, and that’s all I ask for my country.
~xo Seonaid
Question: What sort of sister steals your boyfriend, sleeps with his brother and then begs for a set-up with your ex?
Answer: Mine.
We spent the afternoon shopping. Cait helped spend money I didn’t have. For shoes I didn’t want or (apparently) keep. I hope they give her bunions. Not that it would matter. Our men never look at her feet.
I refused permission on grounds that sharing a husband is one degree from inbreeding. They deserve each other, still it chafes. We stopped for Chinese. My fortune said “Wedding bells fill the future.” She snatched it from my trembling hand. I smacked her. She pulled my hair. I spilled my drink. In her face. Hers was empty. I laughed as they led us to the door. She cried. The waiter comforted her.
She slipped his number into her bra when she thought I couldn’t see.
~xo Seonaid
I’ve given up on Stuart. Making a baby out of thin air is exhausting. Not to mention unrewarding. My boobs might have gotten bigger but who wants birthing hips and stretch marks? Not me, friend.
Dylan is relentless in his pursuit. I miss him when he only texts 9 times before noon.
My mind runs riot.
“What does this mean?”
“Was he knifed to death in city centre?”
“Did he perish in a freak motorcycle accident?”
“Is he with another woman?”
Call me irrational and I will point to a diva who's seen it all, lost it all, and is impossible to surprise.
Dylan calls me every night. We talk for hours. Until 7, because he has to feed his dogs. They make it really difficult to build a foundation. (Mental note: get list of shelters.) Dylan says I need personal growth before I’m ready for a relationship with him. He says, sex is liberating and will help me find my core. Maybe, but it seems like a stall tactic. I think he’s afraid to let go and allow himself to love.
~xo Seonaid
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