Oh ladies, ladies....

....Am horrified by telly programme containing interview with 25 year old woman who had been "looking for a husband for nine years".

Actual quote:
"What kind of man are you looking for?"
"One who can speak English".

Makes me sad, and do not understandeth. Wanting to be 'a wife'?

But then again, am not the type of girl one would take home for Sunday dinner to meet the parents, so perhaps I shall never understand.

For no-strings, performance-enhancing sex, please contact Annette at Goodtimepartygirls-R-Us.

I wanted to control it....

Have you ever come across a song that just seems to have been written for you, and you alone? As though someone crawled inside your brain, muddled through the fuzz and disparate nonsense, and translated it all into beautiful lyrics that express exactly how you feel?


I'm going on a date tonight
To try to fall out of love with you
I know, I know this is a crime
But I don't know what else to do

My love, you're in a magazine
My love, you're doing fine, you're on TV
You pull my heart out then you run away
From Chicago to Cleveland you leave me pain
You leave me pain

When you're lucid you're the sweetest thing
I would trade my mother to hear you sing
When you're lucid you're thee sweetest thing
I would trade my mother


The Sweetest Thing
Camera Obscura, My Maudlin Career, 2009


Goodness. Some days I really depress myself. Scrap the above.
This illustrates my mood much more accurately:


Someone left a cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
Because it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again

My Old Man's a Dustman...

Things I have realised this weekend:

1. I am attracted to boys who look good in my flat cap.
2. I am infinitely more skilled at not giving a damn, than caring a little bit.
3. My lust for cheese when hungover will always outweigh my need to communicate with other human beings.

Hush now child....

I wish I had stuck to my guns and never told anyone.

There was a reason I kept it my secret. Thank you for reminding me why.

Are you so strong, or is all the weakness in me....

I just finished a telephonic chatter with the ole dear. She attempted (unsuccesfully) to stealthily slip into conversation that she happened to go on a jolly jaunt to the chiropractor the previous week, and he had discovered, after much japery, that she has next to no pain sensation in her feet, fingers or neck. She told me the story purely because she found it amusing.

She is a daft bloody hippy.

I constantly wonder what I would do without her. When she tells me she's been to the doctors, I always have the same gut reaction. It is as though someone is squeezing my bronchials tight, choking me from the inside out. As though someone has filled my lungs with dust and ash, and try as I might, I just can't breathe. Such is my fear of losing her.

I get scared that the last time I spoke to her will be the last time.

I get scared that I spoke too much about me, and never enough about her.

I get scared that she'll never know how astounded I am by her amazingness.

Often, after hanging up, I will find an excuse to call her back...
Just so I can tell her I love her again.

Cud and other such things....

RuminationRu`mi*na"tion\, n. [L. ruminatio: cf. F. rumination.]

1. The act or process of ruminating, or chewing the cud; the habit of chewing the cud.
2. The state of being disposed to ruminate or ponder; deliberate meditation or reflection.
3. (Physiol.) The regurgitation of food from the stomach after it has been swallowed, -- occasionally observed as a morbid phenomenon in man.

On the odd occasion that I scroll back through my old posts, I am somewhat saddened. I am disturbed by my preoccupation with the shitbag boy who defecated all over my life for four years. I want to give sad, broken one-year-ago-Me a massive hug and make sure she knows it's going to be ok.

I would like to get a big black marker and draw a line on my computer screen, separating pre and post-life-saving-epiphany.

Or, I would like to work out a way of chaptering my posts.
Technology has me beat.

I wish I had Stretch Armstrong limbs so I could reach to Frome just to touch her....

Without a doubt, one of the most astoundingly talented, beautiful and downright coolest ladies I have ever met. Lucky for me, I get to call her my best friend too... She lives in a beautiful little house in Frome (best bathtub in the land) with her delicious hubby Lu and their little terror-puppy Elvis.

She runs the rockin'est boutique, and I thought I would do a spot of pimping as I am desperately in love with everything she sells, and does and says.

http://www.deadlyisthefemale.com/home.php

Enjoy!
x

P.s - Claudina, mon cherie, tu me manque. Cannot wait for June!