Written randomness from a Goth Barbie with high voltage hair. These are completely random snapshots of my life from 2015 and beyond, encompassing Metal, Nutella, Pink Shit (metaphorically speaking), Booze Fuelled Rants, Sober Rants, Shameful Tales and Glorious Showdowns. That's pretty much it.
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Dear Internet,I haven't felt that shitty for ages.Shitty level? Mood dropped to ankle level. Sadness so heavy that it is giving me mood cankles.Metaphor level? Used, ripped condom. On the plus side, the condom is side XXL. Fuck everything and fuck everyone. Fuck this week and fuck this life. Yep, fuck all of this - with my fist cos I don't have a penis. Did I mention I practice...
Before I go through updating this blog retrospectively like crazy with my February shenanigans (which involve Christmas steak, corporate whoredom and Berlin awesomeness), I couldn't help but share this snippet of my love life as of 07/02/2016.Because you know, 'cherish the moments' and all that shit.May this also serve as a warning to any potential douchebag who is tempted to gain access to my Celebration Cave without even bothering with the Journey. I am sick of these things who walk around...
I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid clients.I hate stupid clients. I hate stupid...
Today I decided to pop to the hairdresser to get some Blue Black Gothness back on (damn you brown Chipmunk roots). In the process, I think I might have offended a hairdresser by rebuking the silly 'women magazines' he was trying to offer me with the outrageous words 'No, Thanks'. Yes, that is right, dude looked like I twerked naked to Black Sabbath when I declined.Umpf. People.Anyway...in the pile of papery hygienic towels called 'womens magazine', I managed to dig out a GQ magazine... And I...
Tonight, I am feeling more Lemming than Lemmy.As a matter of fact, if I had to rate my current mood on the wannabe gansta trousers scale, I'd say that it is currently set on the 'Justin Bieber Butt Struggle' level. Lately, I have come to the realisation that quite a few people actually see me as the equivalent of a fucking human post box: damn useful to dump information into - and have it processed within 1 to 2 working days (with recorded delivery of soothing words), but with...
Enough said.What happened on Sunday 10th January will remain in the muscle memory of My lady cave and removed from the memory of My lady brain.Damnit! Why can't I get to share embarrassing body slapping moments with a nice guy instead?Meh.I hereby promise to Myself and My knickers that we will rise high ...higher than Simon Cowell's trousers and Chuck Norris'...
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