This is not the beginning of anything. This is a time to plan, to wait while the world lies dormant under frost. Plans rushed into now will go nowhere. But ideas hatched slowly may well bloom with the spring flowers. And I have plenty of ideas.
2009 will be all change. I need it to be. This is a year of sink or swim, get out or get stuck. Extra care is needed this year to nurture the fire of dreams. So easy to let it die. I must seek out good fuels and feed the fire well. Nothing ever thrived on what I feed myself now. I'm not saying that I will clean up and reform my wreckhead ways. Fuck that shit. No, I am reclaiming the balance.
Less junkfood, fags, recreational drugs, timewasting, brainwasting, walking cold streets at night with people who let their dreams die down a long time ago.
More art, writing, wholesome foods, beautiful things, long walks, psychedelics, photography, music, inspiring people, strength.
And, distinct from what I do, I should work on what I am. I realise that I have become weak, bitter, spiteful, lazy, envious, greedy, mean, angry, sullen, dishonest and generally a lowdown woman who ain't no good. I have no idea how one goes about becoming a better person, but I'm sure I'll work something out.
Big plans, here. In 2009 I also finish my course, and will probably start another unit. I will also probably do a TEFL (teaching English as a foreign language) course. And maybe then I will travel abroad somewhere, either this year or the next. Oh, how wavering my commitments, Possibly, maybe, sometime in the future... Scratch that. I will do these things. I can't get into uni until I'm at least 21, as a mature student, so I have a year or two to put to good use.
And now that this has been recorded for posterity and read by other people, I will look a right twat if I don't manage to get at least some of this stuff done.
Wednesday 31 December 2008
Monday 29 December 2008
Anger Management
Well, today the tally is:
- Bruised left knuckle (wall punching)
- Headphones snapped in half
- Bruised right knuckle (brick wall)
- Laptop thrown
- Sega Megadrive punched
- Guitar Hero controller thrown
- Maoams thrown
- Brother severely insulted and pissed off
- Xmas spirit well and truly finished
- Karma severely damaged
Saturday 27 December 2008
Back Home
Where things will slowly return to normal. Life will no longer be a never-ending round of wine and chocolate. There will be no relatives to appease, no cats, and plenty of free time and free space. Having not had my own space, or been able to dictate my own actions, for the past four days, it feels good to be autonomous and alone again.
I keep thinking about stuff. About everything. Way too much deep thought. Possibly as a consequence of way too much alcohol.
Oh, and I think I stayed in a haunted room the past two nights. The back attic bedroom of a 16th century inn. Freezing cold, and undeniably creepy, especially after a glass or five of wine. The moving light circle in the morning still defies explanation, and I am not one for ghosts. I think I am the least psychic person ever made, but still I felt something, a residual energy, something lost and confused. As with every new thing I encounter, my first instinct was to figure out whether it was a threat or not. I couldn't work it out. It didn't hurt me, but then, how could a faint trace of energy hurt anything? It was its intentions which bothered me. I couldn't figure them out, couldn't even figure out if it knew wht it was doing, what it wanted.
Then in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, as I was packing to go home this morning, I found a book on the teachings of Buddha. Pretty cool stuff there. I might look into this a bit more. I was going to steal the book, but that would kind of nullify any spiritual enlightnment I might obtain from it. I am not becoming a Buddhist. Subscribing to any specified religion seems a kind of spiritual and intellectual laziness. I shall figure this world out for myself, not swallow the rote learnings of others. Still, I can learn from everything, especially a Buddha.
Now, returning to this earthly plane, I really need to tidy up. I went shopping this afternoon, getting dropped off in Derby when the rest of the family went straight home. I managed to spend way too much money, as usual, on useless crap. Although it is incredibly cool crap. And maybe slightly useful. Ziggy Stardust calender, pink zebra-print skirt, hoodie, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, paintbrush cleaner. Yes, all cool stuff. Shame that it, and everything I got for Xmas, and everything I took with me for the past 4 days, and everything else I own, appears to be either on my bed or on my floor, with just a moderate stack of paper covering my desk.
Well, back to cleaning, drinking, and thinking.
I don't like thinking. That's what the drink is for, a preventative measure against excessive thought. Hopefully it will work...
Now back to
I keep thinking about stuff. About everything. Way too much deep thought. Possibly as a consequence of way too much alcohol.
Oh, and I think I stayed in a haunted room the past two nights. The back attic bedroom of a 16th century inn. Freezing cold, and undeniably creepy, especially after a glass or five of wine. The moving light circle in the morning still defies explanation, and I am not one for ghosts. I think I am the least psychic person ever made, but still I felt something, a residual energy, something lost and confused. As with every new thing I encounter, my first instinct was to figure out whether it was a threat or not. I couldn't work it out. It didn't hurt me, but then, how could a faint trace of energy hurt anything? It was its intentions which bothered me. I couldn't figure them out, couldn't even figure out if it knew wht it was doing, what it wanted.
Then in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, as I was packing to go home this morning, I found a book on the teachings of Buddha. Pretty cool stuff there. I might look into this a bit more. I was going to steal the book, but that would kind of nullify any spiritual enlightnment I might obtain from it. I am not becoming a Buddhist. Subscribing to any specified religion seems a kind of spiritual and intellectual laziness. I shall figure this world out for myself, not swallow the rote learnings of others. Still, I can learn from everything, especially a Buddha.
Now, returning to this earthly plane, I really need to tidy up. I went shopping this afternoon, getting dropped off in Derby when the rest of the family went straight home. I managed to spend way too much money, as usual, on useless crap. Although it is incredibly cool crap. And maybe slightly useful. Ziggy Stardust calender, pink zebra-print skirt, hoodie, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, paintbrush cleaner. Yes, all cool stuff. Shame that it, and everything I got for Xmas, and everything I took with me for the past 4 days, and everything else I own, appears to be either on my bed or on my floor, with just a moderate stack of paper covering my desk.
Well, back to cleaning, drinking, and thinking.
I don't like thinking. That's what the drink is for, a preventative measure against excessive thought. Hopefully it will work...
Now back to
Thursday 25 December 2008
Happy/Crappy
Strange... there is some really, really awesome news, and really good times, but also some
utterly depressing whining. So business as usual really. After waking at seven, eating chocolate, and then a breakfast of pink champagne and smoked salmon (Aunty's Xmas tradition #1), this may be somewhat incoherent. It was a lot of pink champagne.
First, and most pressing news alert can be that I can not breathe. My aunty has a cat. I am allergic to cats. They don't make me sneeze, although that may just be the constant antihistamine pill overdose I've been maintaining. No, cats give me asthma, which invariably develops into a horrible pneumonia type disease. I don't even have asthma, for gods' sake.
Next, and definitely most brilliant news, is that my cousin proposed to his girlfriend on Christmas Eve. As it was also her birthday, they all went out for a meal, and afterwards he popped the question. Definite cause for celebration there.
Now, as today is Christmas, I should say what presents and stuff I got. Lots of acrylic and oil paints, and brushes. Proper art supplies too, a nice step up from the usual stuff I buy from the remaindered book store. Although, of course, an 'investment' present which comes loaded with obligations. All I'm going to hear from my dad for the next few months will be, 'Have you done any painting?' There's no more certain way to destroy any chance I have of making anything worthwhile. I need to train my 'creativity' and 'inspiration' to be slightly less temperamental. And slightly less shy. If anybody takes an interest in what I do, or there is some obligation on me to create, then it fucks off, just to make me look stupid. The excuse of 'artistic temperament can only take you so far.
My other presents were £40 total from various relatives, an irregular pearl and garnet bracelet, and plenty chocolate. Oh, and some fluffy pink fairy lights. That's my room sorted,
We had an awesome Christmas dinner. My aunty didn't serve just a turkey. She served a partridge, in a pheasant, in a chicken, in a turkey. We each had a gift at our place setting. (Aunty's Xmas tradition #2) Most people got one of those alcohol miniatures gift sets. Mine is a little bottle of champagne and truffles. And I am finally allowed to drink more than one glass of wine, without parents breathing down my neck and suggesting that I am about to fall paraletic to the ground after my alloted three units of alcohol. After dinner, my aunty's husband (bear with me, this gets a bit surreal now) came in dressed as Robin (of Batman & Robin), and gave us each another present. (Aunty's Xmas tradition in the making) Him and aunty, his kids, and his wife's son and his new fiance got big shiny boxes, and they had to wait until we had opened our presents until they could open them. My gift was the Firefly box set. I have Firefly!!! Then the mysterious boxes were opened, and inside they got a piece of paper, informing them of their holiday to Florida this Easter. Of course, some shocked overjoyedness all round there. Holidays seem to be the new thing in gift giving. My brother's girlfriend is getting a week in New York for her eighteenth soon. This recession really is starting to bite...
So yes, everybody is happy. Even me. I just have caveats. Like unseemly rage, envy, and dissatisfaction. Spending time with smug rich people whose kids get more presents for one Xmas than I got in a whole year tends to do that. And now of course, they are all talking about Florida and Disneyland, and all the wonderful holidays they've been on, and the incredibly fabulous rich people they know, who have also done hundreds of wonderful things.
I will be spending tonight in an annexe room from my parents' hotel room, to get away from the cats. Sadly, being in hotels with my parents seems to bring out the worst, most childishly offensive parts of my already sullen personality. I hate it.
I have rediscovered my anger. Not the good, rage against injustice, type anger, but the snarl of the terminally bored and disatisfied, raging against nothing and everything in revenge for the person who I've turned into. I actually threatened to 'feckin' smack' my dad yesterday. I get my temper from him. And it's a horrible temper. I don't want to be horrible. Especially not on Christmas.
I've just watched Doctor Who, with a giant Cyberman. It was awesome. But then, we expect no less from the Doctor. Now we're waiting for something else worth watching on TV. I am hiding behind the sofa typing in an unsociable manner. It's that stage of Christmas where nobody can be bothered, the old people are watching Dancing on Strictly Soap Opera X-Factor Ice, and you realise that none of your presents have any immediate entertaainment value. I think I'll go find something to drink, and then watch the new Wallace and Gromit: Loaf and Death. Sounds suitably inoffensive and festive.
utterly depressing whining. So business as usual really. After waking at seven, eating chocolate, and then a breakfast of pink champagne and smoked salmon (Aunty's Xmas tradition #1), this may be somewhat incoherent. It was a lot of pink champagne.
First, and most pressing news alert can be that I can not breathe. My aunty has a cat. I am allergic to cats. They don't make me sneeze, although that may just be the constant antihistamine pill overdose I've been maintaining. No, cats give me asthma, which invariably develops into a horrible pneumonia type disease. I don't even have asthma, for gods' sake.
Next, and definitely most brilliant news, is that my cousin proposed to his girlfriend on Christmas Eve. As it was also her birthday, they all went out for a meal, and afterwards he popped the question. Definite cause for celebration there.
Now, as today is Christmas, I should say what presents and stuff I got. Lots of acrylic and oil paints, and brushes. Proper art supplies too, a nice step up from the usual stuff I buy from the remaindered book store. Although, of course, an 'investment' present which comes loaded with obligations. All I'm going to hear from my dad for the next few months will be, 'Have you done any painting?' There's no more certain way to destroy any chance I have of making anything worthwhile. I need to train my 'creativity' and 'inspiration' to be slightly less temperamental. And slightly less shy. If anybody takes an interest in what I do, or there is some obligation on me to create, then it fucks off, just to make me look stupid. The excuse of 'artistic temperament can only take you so far.
My other presents were £40 total from various relatives, an irregular pearl and garnet bracelet, and plenty chocolate. Oh, and some fluffy pink fairy lights. That's my room sorted,
We had an awesome Christmas dinner. My aunty didn't serve just a turkey. She served a partridge, in a pheasant, in a chicken, in a turkey. We each had a gift at our place setting. (Aunty's Xmas tradition #2) Most people got one of those alcohol miniatures gift sets. Mine is a little bottle of champagne and truffles. And I am finally allowed to drink more than one glass of wine, without parents breathing down my neck and suggesting that I am about to fall paraletic to the ground after my alloted three units of alcohol. After dinner, my aunty's husband (bear with me, this gets a bit surreal now) came in dressed as Robin (of Batman & Robin), and gave us each another present. (Aunty's Xmas tradition in the making) Him and aunty, his kids, and his wife's son and his new fiance got big shiny boxes, and they had to wait until we had opened our presents until they could open them. My gift was the Firefly box set. I have Firefly!!! Then the mysterious boxes were opened, and inside they got a piece of paper, informing them of their holiday to Florida this Easter. Of course, some shocked overjoyedness all round there. Holidays seem to be the new thing in gift giving. My brother's girlfriend is getting a week in New York for her eighteenth soon. This recession really is starting to bite...
So yes, everybody is happy. Even me. I just have caveats. Like unseemly rage, envy, and dissatisfaction. Spending time with smug rich people whose kids get more presents for one Xmas than I got in a whole year tends to do that. And now of course, they are all talking about Florida and Disneyland, and all the wonderful holidays they've been on, and the incredibly fabulous rich people they know, who have also done hundreds of wonderful things.
I will be spending tonight in an annexe room from my parents' hotel room, to get away from the cats. Sadly, being in hotels with my parents seems to bring out the worst, most childishly offensive parts of my already sullen personality. I hate it.
I have rediscovered my anger. Not the good, rage against injustice, type anger, but the snarl of the terminally bored and disatisfied, raging against nothing and everything in revenge for the person who I've turned into. I actually threatened to 'feckin' smack' my dad yesterday. I get my temper from him. And it's a horrible temper. I don't want to be horrible. Especially not on Christmas.
I've just watched Doctor Who, with a giant Cyberman. It was awesome. But then, we expect no less from the Doctor. Now we're waiting for something else worth watching on TV. I am hiding behind the sofa typing in an unsociable manner. It's that stage of Christmas where nobody can be bothered, the old people are watching Dancing on Strictly Soap Opera X-Factor Ice, and you realise that none of your presents have any immediate entertaainment value. I think I'll go find something to drink, and then watch the new Wallace and Gromit: Loaf and Death. Sounds suitably inoffensive and festive.
Merry Xmas!
Yes, it's been Christmas for 9 whole minutes. Now to sit and wait until I get to open my presents...
Wednesday 24 December 2008
Christmas Eve
Oh dear. Everything is ready, the presents are all wrapped. I stayed up late enough for it to be the start of Christmas Eve. It's 1:50am. At 9am I wake up/will be forcibly awoken, and then at noon, we travel.
My aunty's house for Christmas this year. She's been phoning us with regular updates about the preparation for 6 months. For the last 2 months, these have been daily calls. Everything will be perfectly prepared, with only the best, most perfect foods and decorations. Everybody must be on their best behaviour. And this being my aunty, if anything goes wrong, at all, then the whole meticulously planned edifice of Christmas Day will come crashed down, ruining the entire year. So yes. I will try and refrain from smoking and swearing. Even I am starting to be shocked by the filthy gutter language that comes out of my mouth. And indeed, I will try to be sociable. I seem to conveniently have hit a patch of low mood, just in time for the festivities.
I hate Christmas. Apart from the obvious and oft-repeated reasons of tackiness and expense, I have my own unhappy associations with this event. During Christmas dinner, hosted by this same aunty two years ago, we got a phonecall saying that my grandad was ill. This turned out to be the stroke which devastated his life so totally. A year later, he was mute and paralysed in a nursing home. Two weeks after that, he died. You know life has dealt a harsh hand, when you are glad that somebody you love has finally gone.
However, I do know that he would want us all to have a bloody great Christmas.
My aunty's house for Christmas this year. She's been phoning us with regular updates about the preparation for 6 months. For the last 2 months, these have been daily calls. Everything will be perfectly prepared, with only the best, most perfect foods and decorations. Everybody must be on their best behaviour. And this being my aunty, if anything goes wrong, at all, then the whole meticulously planned edifice of Christmas Day will come crashed down, ruining the entire year. So yes. I will try and refrain from smoking and swearing. Even I am starting to be shocked by the filthy gutter language that comes out of my mouth. And indeed, I will try to be sociable. I seem to conveniently have hit a patch of low mood, just in time for the festivities.
I hate Christmas. Apart from the obvious and oft-repeated reasons of tackiness and expense, I have my own unhappy associations with this event. During Christmas dinner, hosted by this same aunty two years ago, we got a phonecall saying that my grandad was ill. This turned out to be the stroke which devastated his life so totally. A year later, he was mute and paralysed in a nursing home. Two weeks after that, he died. You know life has dealt a harsh hand, when you are glad that somebody you love has finally gone.
However, I do know that he would want us all to have a bloody great Christmas.
Tuesday 23 December 2008
Friday 19 December 2008
Emo kids, eat your hearts out
Because I am sat here alone, on the last Friday night before Christmas, listening to Sigur Ros and Jeff Buckley, and crying like the pathetic failure I am.
I slept all day, exhausted and ill, and with no one to blame but myself and the stupid lifestyle I've been living. I'm too tired to go out. I thought about it, but my parents practically killed me for even voicing the idea. Then, at nine, when I'm too tired to do anything, they tell me that they would have let me go if they knew I wanted to so badly. Liars. I've been screaming, punching walls, so angry and frustrated. I know I couldn't even survive the walk into town, let alone any socialising or chemical intake. The aches in my body let me know that I need a break. I don't want a fucking break. If I take a break, then everything stops, and everything falls apart.
Today is Jake's 18th, and a gathering at the Nag's. People are home from uni now, I wanted to see them. I desperately need to see people, the ones I care about, who I've known for ages. No. Not going to happen.
I can't even talk online because the internet keeps breaking. I only need a minute of working connection to upload this blog, but that's all I can get, making conversation impossible. The only person texting me is a man friend, who seems to be either lonely or just bored. I'm going to have to call off our arrangement soon. He seems to be getting too close. Too interested. I can't have that. It makes me weary.
The final straw, as usual, is my parents. My backup plan for tonight was the TV. Masses of really good comedy on. The IT crowd, Frankie Boyle, Dara o'Brien, Eddie Izzard, all sorts of stuff. But no. They have taken over the living room, to write cards, and taken over the TV, by watching a DVD of a TV series from the 80's which they have seen before. They don't even get why I'm upset. I've already had them staring at me the whole night, my dad asking 'What's wrong with your face? Eurgh look at all those spots.' Yes I know I look like a fucking crackhead or something, an ugly mess, even worse than usual, but it isn't fair to comment on it. I can't believe how bad I look. I'm supposed to be seeing a guy tomorrow, but he's going to take one look, and turn round and leave. I'm horrible.
I don't know why I'm so stressed. What a freaking idiot. There is nothing unusual happening right now. I think I've been sober for too long. If this is what sober is like, then fuck it. I'm pouring myself a vodka right now. How can anyone live?
I slept all day, exhausted and ill, and with no one to blame but myself and the stupid lifestyle I've been living. I'm too tired to go out. I thought about it, but my parents practically killed me for even voicing the idea. Then, at nine, when I'm too tired to do anything, they tell me that they would have let me go if they knew I wanted to so badly. Liars. I've been screaming, punching walls, so angry and frustrated. I know I couldn't even survive the walk into town, let alone any socialising or chemical intake. The aches in my body let me know that I need a break. I don't want a fucking break. If I take a break, then everything stops, and everything falls apart.
Today is Jake's 18th, and a gathering at the Nag's. People are home from uni now, I wanted to see them. I desperately need to see people, the ones I care about, who I've known for ages. No. Not going to happen.
I can't even talk online because the internet keeps breaking. I only need a minute of working connection to upload this blog, but that's all I can get, making conversation impossible. The only person texting me is a man friend, who seems to be either lonely or just bored. I'm going to have to call off our arrangement soon. He seems to be getting too close. Too interested. I can't have that. It makes me weary.
The final straw, as usual, is my parents. My backup plan for tonight was the TV. Masses of really good comedy on. The IT crowd, Frankie Boyle, Dara o'Brien, Eddie Izzard, all sorts of stuff. But no. They have taken over the living room, to write cards, and taken over the TV, by watching a DVD of a TV series from the 80's which they have seen before. They don't even get why I'm upset. I've already had them staring at me the whole night, my dad asking 'What's wrong with your face? Eurgh look at all those spots.' Yes I know I look like a fucking crackhead or something, an ugly mess, even worse than usual, but it isn't fair to comment on it. I can't believe how bad I look. I'm supposed to be seeing a guy tomorrow, but he's going to take one look, and turn round and leave. I'm horrible.
I don't know why I'm so stressed. What a freaking idiot. There is nothing unusual happening right now. I think I've been sober for too long. If this is what sober is like, then fuck it. I'm pouring myself a vodka right now. How can anyone live?
Keeping Count
Most things in life, I do not keep track of. But some statistics I have kept, and they make for bad reading. Numbers have never been my friends. But to sum up a life in figures...
19 years, 117.5lbs, Yes(11+3=14)you are a slut, 177 blog posts, 10 GCSEs, 0 real qualifications, 2 parents, 1 brother, 1 surviving grandparent, 0 regular friends, 98 Facebook friends, 1 best friend, 0 boyfriends, 5 ex-boyfriends, 0 girlfriends, 53.8% pure, 500+ scars, 11 piercings, 1 tattoo, 0 finished novels, 0 published/exhibited works, 5 empty vodka bottles hidden, 2 illegals used regularly, 17p in the bank.
Not encouraging, really. I hate maths.
19 years, 117.5lbs, Yes(11+3=14)you are a slut, 177 blog posts, 10 GCSEs, 0 real qualifications, 2 parents, 1 brother, 1 surviving grandparent, 0 regular friends, 98 Facebook friends, 1 best friend, 0 boyfriends, 5 ex-boyfriends, 0 girlfriends, 53.8% pure, 500+ scars, 11 piercings, 1 tattoo, 0 finished novels, 0 published/exhibited works, 5 empty vodka bottles hidden, 2 illegals used regularly, 17p in the bank.
Not encouraging, really. I hate maths.
Thursday 18 December 2008
Scabette's Guide to Xmas Part 2
Now, here is the really important, meaning of Christmas stuff: SHOPPING!
Xmas shopping can be both brilliant fun, and a terrible ordeal. Searching every shop in existance for an elusive suitable gift is possibly the most disheartening experience known to man. Shopping is hard work. My own preferred strategy is massive amounts of stimulant drugs, but coffee, Red Bull and sugar also work well. Now that the shops open late to catch the desperate and time-poor Xmas shoppers, you do not have to wake up early to fit in a full day of shopping. However you still have to make sure you leave enough time. Two hours is not enough to buy considerate gifts for everybody. Unless you are one of those people who just buys everyone a box of chocolates, but then, you don't need this guide.
REMEMBER that there is an evil law working against you at this time of year. During all other months, when you are in any kind of retail environment, you will see a lot of things which you will look at and vaguely think about how they would make a great gift for X person. When you are actually looking for X's present, then nothing with appear remotely suitable, and you will have to search high and low for hours. Learn to accept this. There is nothing you can do to change it. While you are present shopping on a tight budget, you are also guaranteed to see thousands of things which you desperately want. If you have been searching for a nice top, then only now will you find one. Set aside some money for this eventuality. If you follow my budgeting advice, then you may have enough to buy yourself a small treat. However, this may mean sacrificing an intoxicant or two. Your choice.
NEVER leave your shopping to the last minute. Christmas Eve is not a good time to do anything except get drunk and watch stupid Christmas films. Oh, and in our family, we always eat pork on Xmas Eve. It's a good tradition. But no, you idiot, unless you are only released from prison, or an 18 hour workday on the 24th of December, do not hop now. Indeed, try and get your shopping mainly done by about a week before Xmas. Then bask in the freedom of the holidays.
Xmas shopping can be both brilliant fun, and a terrible ordeal. Searching every shop in existance for an elusive suitable gift is possibly the most disheartening experience known to man. Shopping is hard work. My own preferred strategy is massive amounts of stimulant drugs, but coffee, Red Bull and sugar also work well. Now that the shops open late to catch the desperate and time-poor Xmas shoppers, you do not have to wake up early to fit in a full day of shopping. However you still have to make sure you leave enough time. Two hours is not enough to buy considerate gifts for everybody. Unless you are one of those people who just buys everyone a box of chocolates, but then, you don't need this guide.
REMEMBER that there is an evil law working against you at this time of year. During all other months, when you are in any kind of retail environment, you will see a lot of things which you will look at and vaguely think about how they would make a great gift for X person. When you are actually looking for X's present, then nothing with appear remotely suitable, and you will have to search high and low for hours. Learn to accept this. There is nothing you can do to change it. While you are present shopping on a tight budget, you are also guaranteed to see thousands of things which you desperately want. If you have been searching for a nice top, then only now will you find one. Set aside some money for this eventuality. If you follow my budgeting advice, then you may have enough to buy yourself a small treat. However, this may mean sacrificing an intoxicant or two. Your choice.
NEVER leave your shopping to the last minute. Christmas Eve is not a good time to do anything except get drunk and watch stupid Christmas films. Oh, and in our family, we always eat pork on Xmas Eve. It's a good tradition. But no, you idiot, unless you are only released from prison, or an 18 hour workday on the 24th of December, do not hop now. Indeed, try and get your shopping mainly done by about a week before Xmas. Then bask in the freedom of the holidays.
Scabette's Guide to Xmas Part 1
Yes, the Festive Season. A horrible time. Compulsory joy, cheer, and visiting relatives. And yes, it is compulsory. Unless you are a devout believer of a different religion, you have no excuse. The whole of the Western world is celebrating right now. Atheism is no excuse. as any religious content has long since been replaced by plastic trees and confectionary. In many ways, the ancient pagans have won again, as we forget all about that Jebus dude and simply throw a mass party to try and forget how crap Winter is.
Sadly, though, Xmas is not yet just a massive party. It is an obligation, entailing chores, forward planning, deep thought, and of course spending huge amounts of money.
BUDGETING: You will think about how smart it would be, to start putting money aside for Christmas early. You will not do this. Nor will you be sad enough to buy all of the next year's presents in the January sales. Instead, you will reach December, think 'Oh shit, it's nearly Xmas!' and then see how much money you can get hold of. Your festive budget must be divided like so:
Gifts, cost the bare minimum you can get away with. This varies between recipients. Do not cut this too fine, unless you want to cause bitterness and resentment when you give a scented candle to somebody who gave you £20 worth of well-chosen CD. If you make an effort with presentation, then you can get away with rubbisher gifts. However, DO NOT rely on 'hilarious' novelty gifts. These are fine, but you MUST, ALWAYS give a real gift as well. As for which gifts to buy, you know your friends and family. But don't be too worried. Even if you make an epic screw up and give somebdy a really crap present, they won't hate you for it. If you think that they would actually hate you, then just don't get them anything, because they are obviously a bastard.
The Rest of The Money should be used as a survival fund. December is a horrible month, and therefore must be spent in a pub. Drugs, alcohol, chocolate, whatever your comforting poison is, then you should spend a lot of time with it. It might also be wise to spend some money on warm clothes. Although I really hope you don't need me to tell you that Winter is cold, wrap up warm or you'll catch a chill. And where are your mittens?
WARNING: Drink, drugs and compulsive shopping are almost guaranteed to ruin good budget intentions. Keep some money aside, or have a paycheck waiting, so you are not utterly skint by the 20th December. I do wonder, why I am giving out budgeting advice.
DISCLAIMER: If you follow my advice and end up skint, dead, or a social pariah, then it's really not my fault.
Sadly, though, Xmas is not yet just a massive party. It is an obligation, entailing chores, forward planning, deep thought, and of course spending huge amounts of money.
BUDGETING: You will think about how smart it would be, to start putting money aside for Christmas early. You will not do this. Nor will you be sad enough to buy all of the next year's presents in the January sales. Instead, you will reach December, think 'Oh shit, it's nearly Xmas!' and then see how much money you can get hold of. Your festive budget must be divided like so:
Gifts, cost the bare minimum you can get away with. This varies between recipients. Do not cut this too fine, unless you want to cause bitterness and resentment when you give a scented candle to somebody who gave you £20 worth of well-chosen CD. If you make an effort with presentation, then you can get away with rubbisher gifts. However, DO NOT rely on 'hilarious' novelty gifts. These are fine, but you MUST, ALWAYS give a real gift as well. As for which gifts to buy, you know your friends and family. But don't be too worried. Even if you make an epic screw up and give somebdy a really crap present, they won't hate you for it. If you think that they would actually hate you, then just don't get them anything, because they are obviously a bastard.
The Rest of The Money should be used as a survival fund. December is a horrible month, and therefore must be spent in a pub. Drugs, alcohol, chocolate, whatever your comforting poison is, then you should spend a lot of time with it. It might also be wise to spend some money on warm clothes. Although I really hope you don't need me to tell you that Winter is cold, wrap up warm or you'll catch a chill. And where are your mittens?
WARNING: Drink, drugs and compulsive shopping are almost guaranteed to ruin good budget intentions. Keep some money aside, or have a paycheck waiting, so you are not utterly skint by the 20th December. I do wonder, why I am giving out budgeting advice.
DISCLAIMER: If you follow my advice and end up skint, dead, or a social pariah, then it's really not my fault.
Sunday 14 December 2008
That One Thing Which Sticks in Your Head
Something about how I used to be cool. Unique. Something. We were both wasted. But I'm not cool anymore. We've known each other for ages, so I actually pay attention to his opinion. Then the pill-induced paranoia sent this opinion spinnig out through my mind.
I am not good any more. I have become less than I used to be. And considering that I have never been that cool or unique or whatever, then whatever I have degenerated into must really suck.
I know that when I hang round with this particular guy who thinks I am not cool, it's usually with a massed group of random people, so I don't talk too much. But still... I know that something has changed with me, but good change or bad change? Does the opinion of a stoner matter so much to me? We used to reminisce about how cool he used to be.
Yeah, irony.
I am not good any more. I have become less than I used to be. And considering that I have never been that cool or unique or whatever, then whatever I have degenerated into must really suck.
I know that when I hang round with this particular guy who thinks I am not cool, it's usually with a massed group of random people, so I don't talk too much. But still... I know that something has changed with me, but good change or bad change? Does the opinion of a stoner matter so much to me? We used to reminisce about how cool he used to be.
Yeah, irony.
Saturday 13 December 2008
Parties And Pre-Party Parties
Wake up warm and naked in a strange bed, heart pounding from last night's pills. Ask the age old question: 'Where the fuck are my clothes?'
Realise that most of last night has been forgotten. The remaining memories are fuzzy images of laughing, cool people, smoke and drink and pills. Oh, and toast. We had toast.
The day before, wake up cold on a sofa, in the same house. Next to me is a guy, fast asleep, kneeling on the floor, his face resting on the sofa. We wonder how he sleeps like that.
The preceding night, walk for miles, picking up, sorting out, rounding up the select few for the pre-party. Bottle of whisky, coke, and cans of Stella. Lots of weed. Great people to just chill with, and to cover with star and smiley-face stickers. A beautiful night.
Realise that most of last night has been forgotten. The remaining memories are fuzzy images of laughing, cool people, smoke and drink and pills. Oh, and toast. We had toast.
The day before, wake up cold on a sofa, in the same house. Next to me is a guy, fast asleep, kneeling on the floor, his face resting on the sofa. We wonder how he sleeps like that.
The preceding night, walk for miles, picking up, sorting out, rounding up the select few for the pre-party. Bottle of whisky, coke, and cans of Stella. Lots of weed. Great people to just chill with, and to cover with star and smiley-face stickers. A beautiful night.
Thursday 11 December 2008
Me Me Me
I am a horrible person. Aside from the fact that I have a blog in which I write exclusively about myself, I am also generally unpleasant to know. I set out to get some insight and self-awareness, to find out who I am, but the answer sucks. I feel like a badly drawn film character, the cliched 'damaged girl'. The easy to fall for, vulnerable, naive, insecure young woman who gradually reveals herself to be more and more damaged, and far less pleasant than she first appeared. I'm not quite up to the boiling bunnies category, but still. I am a health hazard. I should be kept in isolation, and let out only for special occasions.
I am far too demanding. And far too self absorbed. I don't know what I want. I act out, I fuck around, I put on a show. I act dumb but in my head I'm calculating every move. I take too many risks. I want somebody to tell me not to, somebody to hold me away from the edge. But God help the fool that tries. I ignore advice. I am convinced of my own superiority. I bitch and whine about everything. Even things which are 100% my own fault. I deliberately do dumb things, just so I will have something new to cry about. I am terminally bored.
I want attention, validation, adoration. I want to do a porn shoot. I may actually do a porn shoot. And then blog about it in the hope that everyone will be jealous or outraged or something. I like reactions. I already blog obliquely about th stupid things I do, dropping hints and wondering how many people pick up on them. I do not speak plainly or concisely. I use an unecessarily extensive vocabulary. I am a shameless slut. I abuse substances too much to be able to mix in normal society. I have completely given up on mainstream society. I will not do regular mainstream porn. I have screwed up sleep patterns, and spend way too much time asleep. I think I am hardcore but I'm actually a weak little pussy who cries and whines about stupid things and can't even take pain properly.
Why the fuck is this list so long? This was going to be a really short post, but as I wrote each reason, I thought of so many more reasons. I should have made a list, it would be easier to read. If I get even more bored than I already am, then I may repost this as an easy to read, bullet pointed list.
Returning to the reasons why I suck: I think I have several mental illnesses, none of which is backed up by a diagnosis. I am a hypochondriac. I talk to strangers. My mood changes so frequently that it is impossible to know what to do with me. I pay too much attention to my own mood.
I write blog posts about how much I suck as a person, and somehow expect this to help. Actually, I just want everyone to leave me comments saying how awesome I am, and how of course I don't suck. I won't believe them, but hey, you can always try. Feed the ego! Feed it now, before it runs amock and eats the innocent instead...
I am far too demanding. And far too self absorbed. I don't know what I want. I act out, I fuck around, I put on a show. I act dumb but in my head I'm calculating every move. I take too many risks. I want somebody to tell me not to, somebody to hold me away from the edge. But God help the fool that tries. I ignore advice. I am convinced of my own superiority. I bitch and whine about everything. Even things which are 100% my own fault. I deliberately do dumb things, just so I will have something new to cry about. I am terminally bored.
I want attention, validation, adoration. I want to do a porn shoot. I may actually do a porn shoot. And then blog about it in the hope that everyone will be jealous or outraged or something. I like reactions. I already blog obliquely about th stupid things I do, dropping hints and wondering how many people pick up on them. I do not speak plainly or concisely. I use an unecessarily extensive vocabulary. I am a shameless slut. I abuse substances too much to be able to mix in normal society. I have completely given up on mainstream society. I will not do regular mainstream porn. I have screwed up sleep patterns, and spend way too much time asleep. I think I am hardcore but I'm actually a weak little pussy who cries and whines about stupid things and can't even take pain properly.
Why the fuck is this list so long? This was going to be a really short post, but as I wrote each reason, I thought of so many more reasons. I should have made a list, it would be easier to read. If I get even more bored than I already am, then I may repost this as an easy to read, bullet pointed list.
Returning to the reasons why I suck: I think I have several mental illnesses, none of which is backed up by a diagnosis. I am a hypochondriac. I talk to strangers. My mood changes so frequently that it is impossible to know what to do with me. I pay too much attention to my own mood.
I write blog posts about how much I suck as a person, and somehow expect this to help. Actually, I just want everyone to leave me comments saying how awesome I am, and how of course I don't suck. I won't believe them, but hey, you can always try. Feed the ego! Feed it now, before it runs amock and eats the innocent instead...
Nobody actually gives a fuck.
People care. I get that.
But most people who I count as friends would hardly notice if I died. Which is nice.
I don't know why I'm looking to other people to validate my existence. It isn't their job. But who cares? I my as well get wasted, take those pills, make that video, fuck those people. What the hell else is there to do?
People care. I get that.
But most people who I count as friends would hardly notice if I died. Which is nice.
I don't know why I'm looking to other people to validate my existence. It isn't their job. But who cares? I my as well get wasted, take those pills, make that video, fuck those people. What the hell else is there to do?
Drunken Slut FTW
If an activity is considered bad, morally wrong, and harmful to the participant, then it is almost guaranteed to be fun. Sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, drinking, staying up late, smoking, teasing, kinkiness, girl-on-girl, swearing, porn, vampirism, video games, even chocolate fits into this category.
I can't remember the last day when I was not either drunk or stoned. I have a lot of fun. And yes, I still have a freakish patch of no skin on my hipbone. But still, there is a nagging sense of confusion and dissatisfaction. I could just be being a needy bitch here. It could be that the puritans and God-botherers are right, and happiness can never be found when one engages in supposedly immoral hedonistic activity. Or it could be that abnormal pleasures really do kill the taste for normal ones. Oops, pretentious references to Anais Nin. *kills self* I haven't even read the book, or seen the film, from which that is taken. But hey, it's an awesome quote. And I will buy the book or film soon, honest.
I don't honestly believe that anything I do is particularly immoral, but still, I feel bad...
Really, I'm just looking forward to Friday. A party. The last time I went to a party at this place, it was epic. All the drugs and alcohol you could ask for, chaos, sex, nudity and police raids. This time, there will be pills. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I can't remember the last day when I was not either drunk or stoned. I have a lot of fun. And yes, I still have a freakish patch of no skin on my hipbone. But still, there is a nagging sense of confusion and dissatisfaction. I could just be being a needy bitch here. It could be that the puritans and God-botherers are right, and happiness can never be found when one engages in supposedly immoral hedonistic activity. Or it could be that abnormal pleasures really do kill the taste for normal ones. Oops, pretentious references to Anais Nin. *kills self* I haven't even read the book, or seen the film, from which that is taken. But hey, it's an awesome quote. And I will buy the book or film soon, honest.
I don't honestly believe that anything I do is particularly immoral, but still, I feel bad...
Really, I'm just looking forward to Friday. A party. The last time I went to a party at this place, it was epic. All the drugs and alcohol you could ask for, chaos, sex, nudity and police raids. This time, there will be pills. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Tuesday 9 December 2008
Slightly Aimless
I have no idea what to blog about. There are too many disparate and contradictory themes running through my mind right now. I don't know whether to smile, whimper, or scream.
Smile: Life is good right now. I have all the basic things I need, like food, shelter, and vodka. I also have cool things, and can do cool things like writing and painting. I can even do Guitar Hero on medium now. I have ideas for stories, and a whole lot of sketches I can develop into proper art pieces. I even have a giant map of a world which I've created, which will occupy my mind for a while. I have no need to be bored.
Whimper: The continuing fail of having a burn on my hipbone, where my jeans will always rub against it, so it will take forever to heal. The fact that I will have to unbandage said burn, which is going to hurt, a lot, in the slightly less fun way. Made slightly more fun by the fact that I let someone burn me.
Scream: The parents. Are driving me insane. They are upstanding, hardworking citizens of the corporate greyworld, I am a semi-nocturnal waste of space. Conflict is inevitable, and is always blamed on me. Whenever I try and raise an issue with them, like asking them not to turn off the internet at 11pm because I work after that time, it always ends with me wanting to cry and smash things, and them comfortable in the belief that they are right anyway. My feelings and beliefs are constantly dismissed. Does anyone get how horrible that feels?
Maybe I'll just pour another drink. A million broken thought fragments are impaling my brain and scratching their way through my insides. Nothing is clear anymore. Oh, and a guy added me on Facebook specifically to tell me that it's nearly the end of the world. Seems even so-called shamans are prey to End Times paranoia. Yes, I think that drink is what I need.
Smile: Life is good right now. I have all the basic things I need, like food, shelter, and vodka. I also have cool things, and can do cool things like writing and painting. I can even do Guitar Hero on medium now. I have ideas for stories, and a whole lot of sketches I can develop into proper art pieces. I even have a giant map of a world which I've created, which will occupy my mind for a while. I have no need to be bored.
Whimper: The continuing fail of having a burn on my hipbone, where my jeans will always rub against it, so it will take forever to heal. The fact that I will have to unbandage said burn, which is going to hurt, a lot, in the slightly less fun way. Made slightly more fun by the fact that I let someone burn me.
Scream: The parents. Are driving me insane. They are upstanding, hardworking citizens of the corporate greyworld, I am a semi-nocturnal waste of space. Conflict is inevitable, and is always blamed on me. Whenever I try and raise an issue with them, like asking them not to turn off the internet at 11pm because I work after that time, it always ends with me wanting to cry and smash things, and them comfortable in the belief that they are right anyway. My feelings and beliefs are constantly dismissed. Does anyone get how horrible that feels?
Maybe I'll just pour another drink. A million broken thought fragments are impaling my brain and scratching their way through my insides. Nothing is clear anymore. Oh, and a guy added me on Facebook specifically to tell me that it's nearly the end of the world. Seems even so-called shamans are prey to End Times paranoia. Yes, I think that drink is what I need.
Monday 8 December 2008
Good
I have vodka, guitar hero, paper and pencils for drawing and writing, and fairy cakes.
What more could I need?
What more could I need?
Paranoia
There is a conspiracy going on. They are trying to steal my sleep. My dad sees that I am still awake at 3am. He then makes a special effort to tell my mother to wake me up as early as possible.
I have had 4 hours sleep. I've not had a proper night of restful sleep for a long time. I'm so tired I want to cry. I would go back to bed, but I can't sleep now. So instead I wander around, cursing humanity and swearing like a navvy. Since when was it acceptable to deny somebody sleep? Don't they use sleep deprivation as a form of endurance torture? Why the fuck is my dad so obsessed with making me wake up in the early morning? Is it intrinsically 'right' to do so? He seems to think that being semi-nocturnal makes me a bad person.
Actually he just straight up thinks I'm a bad person. Fuck it, I am a bad person, but why do people have to go out of their way to piss me off? Do they think it's funny? Do they think it makes them better people through some extensive and flawed chain of logic?
My head fucking hurts. I want some more vodka. Way to become an alcoholic, daft bitch. And my skin is black and falling off a 2 inch scald mark on my hip. I try and ask anyone who I can find at 3am how to fix this, but all I get is bollocks from random people who don't even know me, have never even met me, but still think they can judge me. I didn't even do this to myself.
And what kind of fucking selfish cunt am I anyway? I got told. 'My friend who died of cancer aged 18 would have given anything for the chances you have.' Ergo I must not harm myself in any way. Strangely, this did not have the motivating effect desired. Though luckily I think I've finally got bored of actual self harm. Not that I'm living a pure and healthful life, but I'm not actually attacking myself with knives, which I guess is progress.
I don't regret anything much. But sometimes peoples' reactions make me regret meeting them. People who say, in a portentious voice, 'You're going to have those scars forever.' You think I don't fucking know that? Do you think I'm so fucking stupid that I slashed myself up and expected it not to scar like a bitch?
See, normally I can put up with all this stuff. But right now I'm in a grouchy and just straight-up vindictive mood.
The basic point of this post is that humanity are fucking twats who should all go jump off a freaking cliff and straight into Hell where they belong.
I don't even believe in Hell. Fucktard. Just shut up now.
I have had 4 hours sleep. I've not had a proper night of restful sleep for a long time. I'm so tired I want to cry. I would go back to bed, but I can't sleep now. So instead I wander around, cursing humanity and swearing like a navvy. Since when was it acceptable to deny somebody sleep? Don't they use sleep deprivation as a form of endurance torture? Why the fuck is my dad so obsessed with making me wake up in the early morning? Is it intrinsically 'right' to do so? He seems to think that being semi-nocturnal makes me a bad person.
Actually he just straight up thinks I'm a bad person. Fuck it, I am a bad person, but why do people have to go out of their way to piss me off? Do they think it's funny? Do they think it makes them better people through some extensive and flawed chain of logic?
My head fucking hurts. I want some more vodka. Way to become an alcoholic, daft bitch. And my skin is black and falling off a 2 inch scald mark on my hip. I try and ask anyone who I can find at 3am how to fix this, but all I get is bollocks from random people who don't even know me, have never even met me, but still think they can judge me. I didn't even do this to myself.
And what kind of fucking selfish cunt am I anyway? I got told. 'My friend who died of cancer aged 18 would have given anything for the chances you have.' Ergo I must not harm myself in any way. Strangely, this did not have the motivating effect desired. Though luckily I think I've finally got bored of actual self harm. Not that I'm living a pure and healthful life, but I'm not actually attacking myself with knives, which I guess is progress.
I don't regret anything much. But sometimes peoples' reactions make me regret meeting them. People who say, in a portentious voice, 'You're going to have those scars forever.' You think I don't fucking know that? Do you think I'm so fucking stupid that I slashed myself up and expected it not to scar like a bitch?
See, normally I can put up with all this stuff. But right now I'm in a grouchy and just straight-up vindictive mood.
The basic point of this post is that humanity are fucking twats who should all go jump off a freaking cliff and straight into Hell where they belong.
I don't even believe in Hell. Fucktard. Just shut up now.
What kind of twat gets drunk on their own on a Sunday night?
What kind of twat asks for help? What kind of utter fucking idiot says things like that? Who talks to strangers? What kind of loser is awake at 4am? Why would anybody talk about stuff like that to somebody they don't know? And what kind of freak checks up on their friends behind their backs?
Fuck up. Total drunken idiot. You ask for trouble and pain and problems. You deserve it. Stupid whore. Why can't you be different?
Why aren't you a good person?
Be a good person, or you'll pay.
What kind of twat asks for help? What kind of utter fucking idiot says things like that? Who talks to strangers? What kind of loser is awake at 4am? Why would anybody talk about stuff like that to somebody they don't know? And what kind of freak checks up on their friends behind their backs?
Fuck up. Total drunken idiot. You ask for trouble and pain and problems. You deserve it. Stupid whore. Why can't you be different?
Why aren't you a good person?
Be a good person, or you'll pay.
Sunday 7 December 2008
Yeah
I bought Guitar Hero. And today, I started playing. And I finished it on easy. This is a great achievement.
The last time I played it, I failed. Even on easy, I failed bad.
But now, I am better. Maybe one day, in the far future, I will actually be good. Oh dear. I'm turning into a person who plays too many games. Now I shall retreat into a haze of dope smoke, electronic entertainment and takeaway food.
Or maybe not...
The last time I played it, I failed. Even on easy, I failed bad.
But now, I am better. Maybe one day, in the far future, I will actually be good. Oh dear. I'm turning into a person who plays too many games. Now I shall retreat into a haze of dope smoke, electronic entertainment and takeaway food.
Or maybe not...
Free Sample
Day 1.
I can't remember. I lost Thursday.
Day 2.
Walk miles in the cold. Meet people. Buy an eighth. Smoke. Walk more. Smoke more.
Day 3.
Bitten, beaten, burnt.
"You fuck well. You're an experienced whore, aren't you?'
I can't remember. I lost Thursday.
Day 2.
Walk miles in the cold. Meet people. Buy an eighth. Smoke. Walk more. Smoke more.
Day 3.
Bitten, beaten, burnt.
"You fuck well. You're an experienced whore, aren't you?'
Friday 5 December 2008
Wednesday 3 December 2008
Summarised.
I am a vapid and despicable creature. My life is meaningless. And nobody likes me.
I also start too many sentences with 'and', even though it is grammatically incorrect to do so.
I also start too many sentences with 'and', even though it is grammatically incorrect to do so.
More Sex
A couple of days ago, I blogged about my solitary nun-like existence.
Now I seem to have fallen down a very odd nymphomaniac rabbithole. Why does so much weird shit happen to me?
Now I seem to have fallen down a very odd nymphomaniac rabbithole. Why does so much weird shit happen to me?
Tuesday 2 December 2008
A strange life
Well I got my inspiration and imagination back, so I have ideas to work on again. I also got my magical je ne sais quoi back. And this morning it snowed.
While I was having a shower and getting ready, somebody who shall not be named went through my underwear drawer. I wonder if he stole anything...
I went to Belper, and the bus driver gave me half fare, even though I didn't even pretend to be young enough. And who should be on the bus, but a guy who was in the psych ward with me? I paid in my 'too mental to get a job' money at the bank, so possibly, soon, I will not be skint! Indeed, I will be rich enough to afford some clothes and fun things. Oh, and Christmas presents. I'm not just thinking of myself, honest.
And now, time to carry on drawing my map on a giant piece of paper. Oh, I have such a fun life.
While I was having a shower and getting ready, somebody who shall not be named went through my underwear drawer. I wonder if he stole anything...
I went to Belper, and the bus driver gave me half fare, even though I didn't even pretend to be young enough. And who should be on the bus, but a guy who was in the psych ward with me? I paid in my 'too mental to get a job' money at the bank, so possibly, soon, I will not be skint! Indeed, I will be rich enough to afford some clothes and fun things. Oh, and Christmas presents. I'm not just thinking of myself, honest.
And now, time to carry on drawing my map on a giant piece of paper. Oh, I have such a fun life.
Monday 1 December 2008
Coincidence Happens to Sluts Too
While I was writing Sex, I got a random MSN message. And who should it be, but my kinky sex buddy from the past? How very convenient...
Sex
I realised that this blog is shockingly low on sex. This may be a reflection of my solitary, nun-like existence, but even when I am getting all sorts of crazy action, it just never appears on here. Blogging about your own sex life is too undeniably sordid. However, if you are attractive and upper class, it can lead to a lucrative book deal, a la Catherine M. and Girl With a One Track Mind. But seeing as I am neither of those things, I may exercise some self-censorship.
Yes, society's attitudes to sex are stupid, hypocritical, etc. etc. I really can not be bothered to go in to those arguments, go read some feminist literature or something if you really want to hear it.
What I am actually thinking about is how sex is essential for life; continuation of all human life, and fulfillment on a personal level, all come down to having a good fuck.
Unfortunately, being humans, we've managed to turn this fact of life into a hugely complex song and dance routine. See, this rather odd post was inspired by my thinking about how to get laid. Yes, I may not blog about sex, but I do think about itway too much sometimes. Seeing as I have decided to stay well away from relationships, then my options are:
Yes, society's attitudes to sex are stupid, hypocritical, etc. etc. I really can not be bothered to go in to those arguments, go read some feminist literature or something if you really want to hear it.
What I am actually thinking about is how sex is essential for life; continuation of all human life, and fulfillment on a personal level, all come down to having a good fuck.
Unfortunately, being humans, we've managed to turn this fact of life into a hugely complex song and dance routine. See, this rather odd post was inspired by my thinking about how to get laid. Yes, I may not blog about sex, but I do think about it
- The slut way. Dress up, go out, dance dirty, and wake up in an unfamiliar bed.
- The find a sex buddy way. Although friends with benefits is never as simple as it seems.
- The solo way. Because I am better than you.
- The highly improbable become a high-class call girl and get paid for it like Belle De Jour way.
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