I love her long golden hair and the way that she chews the end when she's reading. I love the way she reads the Economist yet she has a tattoo of cherry blossom around her wrist. I love the way she never wears black- only colours and constantly looks like she's going to a festival. Sometimes she wears flowers in her hair and ALWAYS wears odd earrings. Her lips always look moist and coloured in that delicious kind of red that you get when you walk into somewhere warm when you have been out in the old all day. Alive. Her hands are so small and delicate, the skin so soft-looking and pale that I want to constantly hold them in mine, keep them warm, keep them safe. Oh GOD I love her. She's the most smiley person I have ever met and I've never met anyone who has so many friends. She was at a party the other day and she waltzed through the crowd like a princess or someone and people cheered and called her name and her hair swang like something out of a shampoo advert, all shiny and soft and smelling of cocoa butter. She makes you feel like the only person on the planet. Her smile is so wide and genuine and full that I want to make her happy. I want to make her mine, give myself to her, throw myself down at her feet and promise her a lifetime of happiness, if she picked Me. I wouldn't even mind if it was just for one night. To be tangled in and around her under a cashmere blanket, all cocoa butter dreams and smiley sex and I bet she has the best orgasms. Oh God, she makes me not ever want to drink again, she makes me want to appreciate every second on this earth as long as she's in it. She's probably the reason that flowers blossom, or why lambs are born or people give money to charity. God I want her, and I want her soon.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Ruby
Well Mr Ex-Boyfriend-who-I-didn't-really-like-i-just-liked-the-scene-you-were-in
I noticed you ignored my last last comment on Facebook, brushed it aside like it didn't mean anything to you (even though I know you cried for two years after we split up and have only recently started having sex again). I also noticed that you continue to hang round that awful portly slag and are happy to be tagged in photos with her, BUT HAVE UNTAGGED EVERY PHOTO OF US TOGETHER!!!! I have also noticed she has conveniently moved into the spare bedroom in your place (the place we used to share together) and someone has recently told me you guys have swapped rooms (MEANING SHE IS SLEEPING IN MY OLD BED), even though her only hope in the whole time that I knew her, was to become even a tiny bit like me. Constantly trying to copy what I was wearing, constantly wrapping her arms around you and standing closest to you in every picture, sly comments about how much I drank or took or what. Funny that you didn't mean a thing to me then, it was a drugged up love adventure which eroded the more I upped the anti, and the less you would go out and score for me. Now though, I'd like to trip her little chubby legs up so that she falls flat on her face. Off a bridge. Onto a motorway.
I've seen your pictures and quite frankly I'm not even impressed. You lyjhang around the same clubs and pubs we used to back in the day, still the same style, the same people you used to bitch about are still there. SO WHY HAVE YOU UNTAGGED OUR PICTURES???? I'm clearly the best thing you could ever have got your leg over (in my defense, I was a wreck back then) so why deny me? It should be the other way around. I hope you know that I fucked Brian when you both came home together. You were "tired", had work in the morning and had told me during the night that I was being "petulant". So I fucked Brian on the couch that we had bought together. How do you like them apples?
I hope you know I have lyk erased every memory of you from my mind and that when I look back I am quite embarrassed to have let you bone me. I see in your pictures now that you cover up that fucking minging tat on your leg (it used to pain me to look at it) and have started to cut your hair short (why did you insist on growing it long and combing it over where the hair didn't grow-EWWWWW!?). I hope you know I kept those pictures tagged because I didn't want to hurt you in the end, and, well it fucks me off to think that slapper is lying in the bed I used to lie in and is probably looking at all my fucking french art that I left (because I couldn't face coming back to collect it- your constant misery used to freak me out and anger me to the point I wanted to hit you and say "Move ON!"). She's eating from my cereal bowls and is probably putting her sperm-riddled gob around my favourite GIANT MUG.
Well go eat shit Mr Ex-Boyfriend-who-I-didn't-really-like-i-just-liked-the-scene-you-were-in, because I never liked you anyway. I've moved on and I'm lovingggg my life and quite frankly I'm glad that you have untagged yourself because now we have no record of EVER being together (ha- your loss durrrrr). And just so you know if I one day go back to crack county I will be picking up my art and my antique tablecloth and my 1920's lamp and I will be collecting my favourite mug and you had better make sure there is no evidence that stumpy Sue has ever even LOOKED at it or I will post that video we made (the one when you came in the first five seconds) on Facebook and I will tag it and I'll tag it good.
I noticed you ignored my last last comment on Facebook, brushed it aside like it didn't mean anything to you (even though I know you cried for two years after we split up and have only recently started having sex again). I also noticed that you continue to hang round that awful portly slag and are happy to be tagged in photos with her, BUT HAVE UNTAGGED EVERY PHOTO OF US TOGETHER!!!! I have also noticed she has conveniently moved into the spare bedroom in your place (the place we used to share together) and someone has recently told me you guys have swapped rooms (MEANING SHE IS SLEEPING IN MY OLD BED), even though her only hope in the whole time that I knew her, was to become even a tiny bit like me. Constantly trying to copy what I was wearing, constantly wrapping her arms around you and standing closest to you in every picture, sly comments about how much I drank or took or what. Funny that you didn't mean a thing to me then, it was a drugged up love adventure which eroded the more I upped the anti, and the less you would go out and score for me. Now though, I'd like to trip her little chubby legs up so that she falls flat on her face. Off a bridge. Onto a motorway.
I've seen your pictures and quite frankly I'm not even impressed. You lyjhang around the same clubs and pubs we used to back in the day, still the same style, the same people you used to bitch about are still there. SO WHY HAVE YOU UNTAGGED OUR PICTURES???? I'm clearly the best thing you could ever have got your leg over (in my defense, I was a wreck back then) so why deny me? It should be the other way around. I hope you know that I fucked Brian when you both came home together. You were "tired", had work in the morning and had told me during the night that I was being "petulant". So I fucked Brian on the couch that we had bought together. How do you like them apples?
I hope you know I have lyk erased every memory of you from my mind and that when I look back I am quite embarrassed to have let you bone me. I see in your pictures now that you cover up that fucking minging tat on your leg (it used to pain me to look at it) and have started to cut your hair short (why did you insist on growing it long and combing it over where the hair didn't grow-EWWWWW!?). I hope you know I kept those pictures tagged because I didn't want to hurt you in the end, and, well it fucks me off to think that slapper is lying in the bed I used to lie in and is probably looking at all my fucking french art that I left (because I couldn't face coming back to collect it- your constant misery used to freak me out and anger me to the point I wanted to hit you and say "Move ON!"). She's eating from my cereal bowls and is probably putting her sperm-riddled gob around my favourite GIANT MUG.
Well go eat shit Mr Ex-Boyfriend-who-I-didn't-really-like-i-just-liked-the-scene-you-were-in, because I never liked you anyway. I've moved on and I'm lovingggg my life and quite frankly I'm glad that you have untagged yourself because now we have no record of EVER being together (ha- your loss durrrrr). And just so you know if I one day go back to crack county I will be picking up my art and my antique tablecloth and my 1920's lamp and I will be collecting my favourite mug and you had better make sure there is no evidence that stumpy Sue has ever even LOOKED at it or I will post that video we made (the one when you came in the first five seconds) on Facebook and I will tag it and I'll tag it good.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Anna
I remember I had a party, when I was about 16 or 17, it was about the time when people had starting driving because I remember the Mini Coopers and the brand new Corsas and the Clios that lined the pavements along my humble little street and the way nobody could park properly (except the boys) so all the cars looked lopsided along the street. And it was back when nobody knew quite what they liked to drink, so there was Apple Sours and Archers and lemonade and obviously Vodka and those vile smelling alcopops that made everyone's breath smell fake and sweet. There were drinking games and everyone determined to get pissed and it was back when drinking yourself into oblivion didn't leave you with a hangover and a suicide wish so it was lairy and fun and also quite weird because EVERYONE came. The cool kids and the people who wanted to be different and the smart people and the people just interested in the weekend and it was the summer we had all bonded and became a bit of a community. A community which suffered and split when the long days started to end and the codes and regulations of the school social network ripped apart genuine friendships and thrust us all back into the stereotyped groups we all belonged in.
We played "Have You Ever" and drank until the alcohol ended and we ended up drinking leftover wine and gin and weird Mexican spirits from the cupboard and people fell asleep on couches and others fucked in my sister's room and then others fell asleep on her bed, or snuck off to my parent's room ( back when they were together) to perform amateur but very sexy oral on somebody else's boyfriend. And the atmosphere was good- there wasn't any of this weird bitchiness which used to envelop whole nights, caused by someone's jealousy or someone else's fear of someone claiming their boyfriend/girlfriend because they weren't paying enough attention to them. Everyone was pissed and merry and we danced to bad music and we drank until we couldn't see and when I decided that no one else seemed to be leaving and most people left were going to crash, I headed upstairs to my bed where a friend I knew was also sleeping. But he was cool, we had kissed a few times and it hadn't worked out- I simply didn't fancy him but we were mates- he talked about his girlfriend and I talked about the recent split with my boyfriend and we went shopping and made food for each other and it was (naively) platonic. So as the room was spinning I lay down on my side of the bed and let the room spin as I passed out into a drunken stupor.
I was semi-awake when I felt someone kissing me on my neck.It was warm and nice and I started kissing back and was so pleased because i thought it must be Chris who I had just split up with. And the split was amicable and it wasn't weird to think he was kissing me because it was only a few weeks ago and back then, I wasn't used to him not really being around. And then I heard "Oh Anna you are so sexy" and I immediately awoke because- well it wasn't Chris' voice, it was someone else's. It was my friend's. And I was alarmed, I started to panic a bit and I looked up and realised he was actually on top of me and between my legs and my nighty had been pulled up and my knickers were pulled down and his boxers were halfway down his legs, and the room was spinning still. I tensed up and whispered "Stop, stop, stop, what is going on?" ( I don't know why I whispered, I guess I wanted him to wake up too and it all be innocent- like he was doing it in his sleep) and he gripped my arms and pushed them back and held on and I said his name. Louder this time. And I told him to get out and I struggled and the water bed beneath us, thrashed around and my head was spinning but he clung onto me for about thirty seconds before he let go and pulled his boxers up and I drunkenly scrambled out of bed. I didn't know what to do-I didn't want to tell anybody because nothing had really happened, had it? And I was so drunk that everything was a bit blurry but I knew that at the time, I was scared. And I found a sofa downstairs (next to someone else who was blotto, but at least I wasn't on my own) and just pulled a throw over me. I pulled it over my head and I lay there, trying to remember everything in the darkness of the blanket until I fell asleep.
In the morning he was still there, and I couldn't look at him and I didn't say anything but we both knew. The remaining people went for breakfast but we never made eye contact and we didn't sit or stand anywhere near each other. And I kept thinking "But you have a girlfriend" when he was explaining his plans about visiting her and I hated the way he didn't even make an excuse about how he behaved. I hated his silence and I hated mine more.
Some times I get an email from him, which I ignore and sometimes a text, but I never reply and I have never seen him since. And I'm glad because now it doesn't seem real. And I don't want it to be.
We played "Have You Ever" and drank until the alcohol ended and we ended up drinking leftover wine and gin and weird Mexican spirits from the cupboard and people fell asleep on couches and others fucked in my sister's room and then others fell asleep on her bed, or snuck off to my parent's room ( back when they were together) to perform amateur but very sexy oral on somebody else's boyfriend. And the atmosphere was good- there wasn't any of this weird bitchiness which used to envelop whole nights, caused by someone's jealousy or someone else's fear of someone claiming their boyfriend/girlfriend because they weren't paying enough attention to them. Everyone was pissed and merry and we danced to bad music and we drank until we couldn't see and when I decided that no one else seemed to be leaving and most people left were going to crash, I headed upstairs to my bed where a friend I knew was also sleeping. But he was cool, we had kissed a few times and it hadn't worked out- I simply didn't fancy him but we were mates- he talked about his girlfriend and I talked about the recent split with my boyfriend and we went shopping and made food for each other and it was (naively) platonic. So as the room was spinning I lay down on my side of the bed and let the room spin as I passed out into a drunken stupor.
I was semi-awake when I felt someone kissing me on my neck.It was warm and nice and I started kissing back and was so pleased because i thought it must be Chris who I had just split up with. And the split was amicable and it wasn't weird to think he was kissing me because it was only a few weeks ago and back then, I wasn't used to him not really being around. And then I heard "Oh Anna you are so sexy" and I immediately awoke because- well it wasn't Chris' voice, it was someone else's. It was my friend's. And I was alarmed, I started to panic a bit and I looked up and realised he was actually on top of me and between my legs and my nighty had been pulled up and my knickers were pulled down and his boxers were halfway down his legs, and the room was spinning still. I tensed up and whispered "Stop, stop, stop, what is going on?" ( I don't know why I whispered, I guess I wanted him to wake up too and it all be innocent- like he was doing it in his sleep) and he gripped my arms and pushed them back and held on and I said his name. Louder this time. And I told him to get out and I struggled and the water bed beneath us, thrashed around and my head was spinning but he clung onto me for about thirty seconds before he let go and pulled his boxers up and I drunkenly scrambled out of bed. I didn't know what to do-I didn't want to tell anybody because nothing had really happened, had it? And I was so drunk that everything was a bit blurry but I knew that at the time, I was scared. And I found a sofa downstairs (next to someone else who was blotto, but at least I wasn't on my own) and just pulled a throw over me. I pulled it over my head and I lay there, trying to remember everything in the darkness of the blanket until I fell asleep.
In the morning he was still there, and I couldn't look at him and I didn't say anything but we both knew. The remaining people went for breakfast but we never made eye contact and we didn't sit or stand anywhere near each other. And I kept thinking "But you have a girlfriend" when he was explaining his plans about visiting her and I hated the way he didn't even make an excuse about how he behaved. I hated his silence and I hated mine more.
Some times I get an email from him, which I ignore and sometimes a text, but I never reply and I have never seen him since. And I'm glad because now it doesn't seem real. And I don't want it to be.
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Paddy
I think I might have head lice.
I'm not sure but my head's really itchy and I'v been staying at Lucy's house a lot and she's got a cat.
I'm phoning my mum
I'm not sure but my head's really itchy and I'v been staying at Lucy's house a lot and she's got a cat.
I'm phoning my mum
Brian
I wake up and it's light, like that in-between harsh white light when it's early morning. When the clouds are so thick they won't let the colour in. Everything looks cold and fucking miserable. I flick the covers off my naked bod and lean over the bint I lay last night- not as bad as I thought, actually. High five, B-dawg. Even so, I hop out of bed and quietly scramble around for my clothes. No fucking awkward convos. No I don't want to go for breakfast with you and no I don't want to pay the bill, knowing I'm never going to call you and you are never going the call me- because dear, the number I gave you is wrong. To be honest, I only fucked her because it saved me getting a taxi home and I've done enough Walks of Shame in recent years that the disgusted looks don't really bother me anymore.
It's cold and the room's spinning and it smells of stale fags and, weirdly, like old roast dinner. My breath fucking stinks too. It's kind of a nice room- drapey things and arty shit on the walls and candles everywhere so it looks a bit like this brothel me and Nathan went to in Prague. Oh God, I get this flashback of this girl doing a sexy dance for me in the candle light. Love, it ain't working for me if one of your tits hangs down five inches lower than the other. Still, God loves a tryer. Jeans; on. Where are my...? There's posters and pics of all these models on the walls, I'm not talking Kate Moss or Giselle, but model-models.Ultra scrawny ones. All bones and no tit. Weird, considering this chick is a bit portly. She's stirring but I'm missing a shoe, and I'm scrambling around the floor in a panic, please don't wake up, don't wake up. Can't find it on the floor so I look under the bed and there's a million plates all stacked up, half eaten take-ways, boxes of chocolates and McDonald's fucking happy meal boxes all stuffed under the fucking valance or whatever it's called. Gross. I'm talking sausage sandwich crusts and this weird sticky stuff and empty ketchup bottles and it fucking stinks. Chicken bones and errrrr, empty bread wrappers.
I find my shoe and I sneak over to the door but then I check my back pocket and realise I haven't got any money. I find this chick's bag amongst the clothes on the floor and dig out her wallet. She's loaded. I think about taking a tenner, but there's seventy quid in there. I take sixty, leave her ten. If I ever bump into her again, I'll tell her I was wrecked, don't remember anything and probably buy her a commiserations drink. Serves you right for being a fucking tart. I'm outta here. I've even got enough to get a taxi home. Fucking mint.
It's cold and the room's spinning and it smells of stale fags and, weirdly, like old roast dinner. My breath fucking stinks too. It's kind of a nice room- drapey things and arty shit on the walls and candles everywhere so it looks a bit like this brothel me and Nathan went to in Prague. Oh God, I get this flashback of this girl doing a sexy dance for me in the candle light. Love, it ain't working for me if one of your tits hangs down five inches lower than the other. Still, God loves a tryer. Jeans; on. Where are my...? There's posters and pics of all these models on the walls, I'm not talking Kate Moss or Giselle, but model-models.Ultra scrawny ones. All bones and no tit. Weird, considering this chick is a bit portly. She's stirring but I'm missing a shoe, and I'm scrambling around the floor in a panic, please don't wake up, don't wake up. Can't find it on the floor so I look under the bed and there's a million plates all stacked up, half eaten take-ways, boxes of chocolates and McDonald's fucking happy meal boxes all stuffed under the fucking valance or whatever it's called. Gross. I'm talking sausage sandwich crusts and this weird sticky stuff and empty ketchup bottles and it fucking stinks. Chicken bones and errrrr, empty bread wrappers.
I find my shoe and I sneak over to the door but then I check my back pocket and realise I haven't got any money. I find this chick's bag amongst the clothes on the floor and dig out her wallet. She's loaded. I think about taking a tenner, but there's seventy quid in there. I take sixty, leave her ten. If I ever bump into her again, I'll tell her I was wrecked, don't remember anything and probably buy her a commiserations drink. Serves you right for being a fucking tart. I'm outta here. I've even got enough to get a taxi home. Fucking mint.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Evie
Breakfast
2 X Dark Rye Rivita = 2X 38 cal
1 X Small spoon of low fat hummus = 43 cal
Lunch
Half tin of soup = 104 cal
cup of tea no sugar = 13 cal
Dinner
3 X Dark Rye Rivita = 3X 38 cal
2 X Carrots = 2 X 13 cals
1 X Banana = 95 cals
1X cup of tea with sugar = 29 cals
I probably shouldn't have had the sugar in the last tea but I was just so tired, that I needed something to keep me awake in work. I walked the long way home anyway, so I should have burnt that off.
2 X Dark Rye Rivita = 2X 38 cal
1 X Small spoon of low fat hummus = 43 cal
Lunch
Half tin of soup = 104 cal
cup of tea no sugar = 13 cal
Dinner
3 X Dark Rye Rivita = 3X 38 cal
2 X Carrots = 2 X 13 cals
1 X Banana = 95 cals
1X cup of tea with sugar = 29 cals
I probably shouldn't have had the sugar in the last tea but I was just so tired, that I needed something to keep me awake in work. I walked the long way home anyway, so I should have burnt that off.
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Thom
Some people are so dumb. The other night I was out with the guys and this girl asked me if we had "been to a mourning". Been to a mourning? Been where? Are we in mourning? Do we look like we are in mourning? I was wearing a shirt and tie (obviously too smart for the shit hole we were in). She then asked me if I would like to buy her a drink. I felt so embarrassed for her, I bought her two. She then attempted to lapdance one of the boys- he is gay. I cringed. hard.
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