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(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[12 Jul 2006|02:33am]
[ mood | cranky ]

I'm so infuriated by everyday life that I don't know where to start. Working constantly, unimpressed by shitty management, honey do this honey do that - BUT I'M ALREADY DOING IT. And you have to weigh the drink okay I'll weigh the drink have you weighed the drink don't forget to weigh the drink YES I'll weigh the drink oh wait now I've fucked the drink because you kept distracting me. Please leave me alone. And there's this one guy whose schizophrenic and he keeps hitting on everyone. And there's this one guy whose homeless and he keeps hitting on everyone. And there's this one guy whose a fucking asshole and he keeps hitting on everyone.

It's getting worse you know. Everytime a man says something I want to scream go have an abortion or a c-section or bleed from your vagina. Oh wait you can't so shut the fuck up and quit telling me it's not so bad. Yeah boo frickety hoo you have to pay for all the booze when you're trying to sniff some blonde's panties - spend one month in an ever-betraying body and maybe then something you say will be relevant to me.

Of course this excludes a choice few, mostly Mat, who I am going to Coffs Harbour with next week in order to ride a giant vibrator - I mean, dirt bike. Speaking of which, I would love to write an erotic novel that does not include sluts, sodomy or best friends/sisters who magically become lesbians in the presence of a hard, probably anonymous dick. However, I don't think it would sell very well.

(hit me baby one more time)

[20 Jun 2006|02:35am]
Instead of writing my essay, which is about death, and also really late, to make it even more depressing (to my GPA or whatever they call it):

Man: Hey! It's so great to run into you! I haven't heard from you in so long!
Woman: Yeah, that's because you didn't call me after we slept together.

Man: Do you want fries?
Woman: No, I'll eat yours.

Drunk Chick: Be a gentleman!
Drunk Guy: Fuck you, bitch! I am a gentleman!

Hobo: Do you have a dollar?
Suit: Yes.
Hobo: May I have it?
Suit: Shouldn't you do a trick first?
Hobo: Fucker, I don't even own pants! You want me to dance for that shit?

20-something Intellectual: Facts are such a distraction from the essence of what's really happening.

Teen girl: It was the saddest thing ever. It was almost as sad as watching a baby cough.

Guy #1: I'd totally hit that.
Guy #2: Dude, I'd hit that so hard whoever could pull me out would become the King of England.

Girl #1 As Shakespeare once said "Thou shall not kill."
Girl #2 No, that would be God.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[13 Jun 2006|01:19am]
[ mood | exhausted ]

All my essays are laaaaaaaate. Working four nights in a rooooooowwww. Mat is away. I'm fucked.

The only thing that vaguely, a little bit, cheered me was:

Dude: I'll have a beer, thanks.
Me: Yep, beer...going to get beer...wait! Beer?
Dude: Yeah, beer.
Me: But...beer?
Dude: BEER!
Me: Or coffee?
Dude: (long, sad pause) Alright, coffee...

P.S. I work at a cafe not a bar. Also, I'm getting a little sick of when I ask people for a name to call out when their order is ready, and they also like to add their phone number, and a leer - that is, if they have testicles. The very first time it was mildly flattering, but now it wears thin. Mostly I just feel vague sense of pity for the guys who pull that shit, because you know with a pick up line like that they'll be fucking dumb sluts for the rest of their life. I guess some people like it that way, though.

(hit me baby one more time)

[31 May 2006|11:03pm]
I wonder if I want boots made of llama fur?

(hit me baby one more time)

[15 Apr 2006|12:43pm]
[ mood | complacent ]

There's a Vice gig on tonight but am I really in the mood to be surrounded by drug-fucked dumbfucks? Probably not. And hey I could just go to the Town & Country next door. Also if there's an outing I have to dress like a hard bitch but if I stay in I can be a sweetheart pixie in a soft sweater. I don't know. It's pretty cold. I really do think I'm hard of hearing, but no one believes me because I'm a hypochondriac. Maybe I should go to anger management class.

(hit me baby one more time)

[24 Mar 2006|10:24am]
[ mood | smug ]

YES! I have a job! Cocktails for everyone! And no, you may not have any other kind of drink...especially not BEER!

Of course I am now scouring ebay for anything Wheels and Dollbaby, although I should probably save up for something useful, like a computer or a car.

But like, whatever.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[21 Mar 2006|10:42pm]
[ mood | dirty ]

I just found a maggot in the kitchen. That's right, a maggot. Last time I checked, it wasn't the 17th century, and yet for some reason I find feculence prospering everywhere I go. So much so that I believe the word "feculence" will need to make an appearance in every livejournal entry I write this month.

It's bad enough spending half my life in a share-house (Mat, Si and now Ty [by the way, aren't I clever with the rhyming and the cuteness and the...yeah. okay, no.]), where the grime runs wild and unadulterated and various insects feast with relish upon leftover pork gristle, sink scum and bodily remnants (mostly phlegm and toenail clippings, I think). I mean, I know they're men and all, which obviously means they work harder and have worse hangovers than us lucky womenfolk, so therefore are incapable of pouring soap on a dish then rinsing it with water. Or urinating into the actual toilet bowl, rather than kinda just in the general vicinity of it...with their eyes closed, so it would seem.

As I was saying, it's easy to put up with that sort of thing, because I more or less understand it. In the words of Marie Curie, "nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood." Until it kills you, apparently, if her bio is anything to go by. However, all well-meaning but otherwise useless advice aside, when I find a live MAGGOT (as in the kind that usually writhe around inside rotting corpses) in my own house, where I live, and eat, and clean up after myself, along with a Mother, who also cleans (obsessively), well I have to say I am afraid. Afraid that's just going too far, and we might as well throw in the towel and sleep with the pigs in a barn and eat nothing but ox tongue stew.

(hit me baby one more time)

[18 Mar 2006|10:28am]
Is it weird to get excited about plucking my eyebrows? I don't mean, like, in my pants excited (you sick freaks) but just...I like...the smooth arch. And I feel I have, in some small, obscure way, triumphed. Then again, it's sort of a case of winning the battle but not the war - there are a million other hairs I could be plucking! Not just my own either - there are far too many women (and men, but like anyone cares) out there with erroneous back hair. I don't mean soft, downy, baby-chick stuff, of course that's totally fine. I'm talking thick, dark, luxurious locks, as should usually be restrained to the head, pubic and, if you are revolutionary or just plain lazy, underarm area. So, yeah. This all reminds me of a dream I had where in Mat plaited all his chest and leg hair, and everyone thought it was really cool - except me.

But in other news, as usual, I am ill. I'm such a fucking weakling! But not as bad as the dumbfuck emo kid I had to sit next to on the train yesterday. With his frickin' converse sneakers, uber-trendy death-cab-for-cutie filled ipod and stupid dyed-black fringe to cover his hideous face...gawd. I feel nauseated just thinking about it. But anyway, of course there was no where to rest my tired, aching, weak-like-a-woman body except next to his feculence. THERE WAS NO ESCAPE! And when I sat down he kinda glanced at me too long like he was interested (and yes, this time I do mean in his pants) but a few minutes into the ride I started sneezing and coughing and sniffling - into a tissue, by the way, not ON him, or even into the air. But you know what he does anyway? He INCHES AWAY! INCHES! On one hand I'm like "Yeah, well, that's what you get for being SUPERFICIAL, dick!" and was perversely pleased, but on the other it's like "Fuck, man, it's not like I have the plague! And even if I did, moving your ass cheek half a centimeter away from mine isn't going to help much, is it? No. No, it's not."

And that's not all. Would you like to know what he does next? I will tell you what he does next. He reaches into his canvas knapsack (yes, I said knapsack) and pulls out a teeny tiny plastic package about a quarter of the size of his huge, gangly man-boy hand at the end of his gross, gangly, mole-covered, man-boy arm. In case you are wondering - no, the package was not filled with something cool and fun and glamourous, like heroin. It was filled with sultanas. Fucking. Sultanas. As in, dried fruit. Filled with fibre and nutrients, to keep you healthy and regular. What is a 20-something-year-old man doing eating sultanas, on a train, from a tiny plastic package?! What's next, he's going to whip out a carton of crayons to design his new, lame tattoo involving nautical stars? Maybe start sobbing because I "stole his seat"?

Geez Louise! Kids these days.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[20 Feb 2006|02:13am]
[ mood | tired ]

Goddamn! I'd totally forgotten the horror of decrepit creepy merman with a penis fish up his ass and then I went through my friends list and there it was once more, assaulting me with it's very existence, and yet again triggering the urge to choke on my own vomit simply so I will never have to look at it again.

Anyway, was at Mat's all day, and apparently there was a party, but as we all know these days parties aren't really parties anymore, just three to five people drinking in a skeevy excuse for a pub until everyone involved passes out and/or decides they'd better leave because they have to work in the morning. Which isn't really a bad thing, just...repetitive. Needless to say we stayed home. In bed.

If anyone wants to give me a job, I might take it. No escort agencies though, if I wanted to be forced to make small talk with sleazy, impotent business men, I'd catch public transport.

Oh wait, I do.

Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

(hit me baby one more time)

[09 Feb 2006|12:49am]
[ mood | suspicious ]

Well, you know. Have been quietly plotting my revenge. And sometimes not so quietly. Could not find the poison so the cockroaches run free and unadulterated. YUCK! Am going to look for jobs at Newtown. Jobs that suck! For me who also sucks, they would not dare give me anything bearable, of course. Sometimes the world is exciting and sometimes not so. At the moment not so. And I have this very small allotment of cash and after that who knows and I'm wondering if I should spend it on personal beauty treatments or making Mat some sort of seared seafood consumption-piece for Valentine's. I've been plotting...this whole thing. And trying to figure out what to do. Because I hate when other people do things. Like, you don't need Valentine's Day to be nice, you should ALWAYS be nice, godammit! Or else I break things. But still. I really like fish. Sometimes, even, fish, or croissants, can take the place of sex. That's only if you're really busy though. Otherwise you just have a poor excuse of a sensuality, IMHO - OKOMGWTFROFLMAO. And yes, I did just do that MSN-abbreviation-mass-compression thing, that everyone does because we think it's so fucking satirical and witty when really it just grates on the nerves of everyone involved. And secretly, perhaps, that is why I do it. Because I've been having minor aneurysms of late about how the world is against me and what's the point and I'm so ANGRY all the time, positively foaming at the mouth sometimes, just because everyone on the bus is so stupid, or everyone at the pub is so ugly, or whatever. And apparently it has nothing to do with me, but as if it doesn't. Being pissed off at randoms totally changes the world for the better, I tell you. MAKE A DIFFERENCE! KILL SOMEONE WHO DISAGREES WITH YOU - TODAY!

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[29 Jan 2006|11:49pm]

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[18 Jan 2006|12:26am]
[ mood | curious ]

The roast was a miserable fucking failure but other than that things are fine EXCEPT for a secret call from who-know-who?! I don't know who! I hate when that happens, dude. Dished out to those who deserved, hungry, tired, want gooey sticky sweet anything. And I still haven't done my nails! Perish the thought. I'm really enjoying to learn for to drive but no one will take me unless I pay them. I just want to do it until I'm good and then I'm done because boredom is really encroaching here. It's like constant. Is it possible to be both the devil and from the devil? Because I am! I totally am. The only bad thing about being in a happy relationship is not being able to wear lipstick, because it impedes the kisses. I am such a freak. But like a normal freak, but not like that. What the hell? Devil. What am I going to do tomorrow? And the next day? And the next?

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[17 Jan 2006|02:57am]
Party soon.

(hit me baby one more time)

too drunk to fuck [03 Jan 2006|11:51pm]
New Year's Eve was good, until it was STUPID, then it was good again, but then it was even more stupid, and then it became New Year's Day.

I'm detoxing because alcohol has become the new sex and I don't like it that way. Only for a week though.

Preparations begin for my birthday, which I would really like to be a pirate party, but getting on the water proves to be difficult. Arrr, avast, etc.

My humps, my lumps, my bumps.

I don't take drugs, I AM drugs.

But seriously, when I make my t-shirt that says "i kill everything i fuck" whose gonna wear the "i fuck everything i kill" one? Huh? Huh? You'll have to hang around with me all night, whoever it is.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[23 Dec 2005|10:15am]
[ mood | devious ]

One of my worst fears is wearing sticky lip gloss in summer, and having a fly land on it and get stuck. To my mouth! Yuuuuuck!

Looking forward to NYE although I will be spending it with mostly boys and maybe some stupid sluts. I could make an inappropriate comment about gang rape but I won't...

Not looking forward to xmas though! Everyone else gets great food but I get stupid Leb food that I have to eat and work with every single day anyway. And you know what I'm getting from my parents? Driving lessons that I don't even want. Why can't they just teach me? Oh that's right, because they are lazy and don't love me. Goodness gracious, that's like saying they're going to pay for my education for xmas (which they don't even do anyway), and it's like HELLO you're suppposed to do that anyway.

Parents these days! Jeez.

Yes, and hurray for being an ungrateful wretch!

I'm just bitter because I couldn't find all the stuff I wanted to get other people. And I don't want to waste a whole weekEND spending time with my family. I do it all week, I think this is just pushing it.

At least there will be (FREE) alcohol.

(hit me baby one more time)

[19 Dec 2005|11:21am]
I learned that seafood extender is made from tripe, and I was afraid.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[06 Dec 2005|07:13pm]
[ mood | cold ]

I am the cat on the dog's back.

Also, this girl is my idol:


as I sometimes say, due to my loserdom - ROCK 'n' rooooolllll.

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[22 Nov 2005|09:20pm]
[ mood | mellow ]

Shani just came over and henceforth we busily plotted the demise of you all. Probably going to a poetry slam this Friday, but NOT to perform, no sir. Matt Matt is going to speak though and we are going to cheer. I am hopeful that the Mat will come with also, instead of falling asleep, who knows? Stranger things have happened. I've been doing some naughty things lately, like not getting a job, and eating a lot of raw steak, but SHHHHH DON'T TELL ANYONE! And I cook all the time. I am cooking right now, delicious sticky sweet semolina slice with ORANGE BLOSSOM. I dearly desire to have my very own delicatessen, with various cheeses and special meats and foreign spices, and I will run the counter in a frilly apron and red lipstick and make obscene comments when couples come in and buy truffles or various other aphrodisiacs. And smile and wink and suggest what wine goes best and what is safe to eat in bed (*ahem*) because it won't stain the sheets if you happen to get messy (*double ahem*) and I'll always make sure to flirt with the girl more than the guy, so as not to start a snarly catfight and ruin my precious counter displays as she tries to throttle me and I, in defense, pull out her tongue and hack it off with the meat cleaver I shall be so expertly wielding. Ooooh yes. What fun!

(1 abusive boyfriend | hit me baby one more time)

[16 Nov 2005|12:55pm]
[ mood | sad ]

I know it's only about bugs, but somehow I find this article really depressing.


Poor little cricket laydees! They only wanted a hot stud for the night. But they had to DIE for it.

(2 abusive boyfriends | hit me baby one more time)

[14 Nov 2005|03:20pm]
[ mood | dirty ]

"So then we started foolin' around....and then we started screwin' around...which is the same as foolin' around, but without dinner."

Almost finished with uni but not quite. Foolish assignment, how I long for your demise. But then freedom. To bathe. And other such non-bohemian activities. I have no clue. So then. I'm going to make a dress, hopefully green satin. And there's maybe stuff to do and things to see. My eye is swollen like a monged beast, with down syndrome, but it doesn't even impress the children. I plan to get trashed and do the dishes. It is summer time nearly. I was really impressed with Shani's shorts at Newtown festival, where I went yesterday, and I like denim shorts, like for prostitutes, but nice prostitutes, with peaches, and um...we walked aorund in the scalding and then the breeze cut through like juice, crazy man took picture of me and Amelia then Amelia and Simon, and Mat wore my gay sparkly tight shirt of which he was ashamed so I told him to take it off, as if wearing NO shirt in public would make him seem less gay, and I longed for a leopard print bikini, more so than usual, and I touched the many trinkets and we all ate and drank and were merry, crushed in the crowd and swaying and swindling and all sorts. All sorts of fun and we didn't even take no drugs or drink no beer. Well, I certainly didn't I don't know about you guys all. Anyway. I have to...mumble to myself. And scrub the floor like the Cindyrelly I am.

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