Now i try not to have regrets but admittedly, when you adore alcohol as much as i do, you are bound to hav a few. Just a few.
Nevertheless i can usually see a mortifying incident in an entertaining light as often the most embarrassing stories turn out to be the best. And im a sucka for a good story even at the cost of my self respect. Sadly James hadnt even supplied me with that. I didnt even have a good story to justify having to endure James' love-sick, post-coital antics. I was understandably put out and to make matters worse, Dutchy was walking around giving himself literal and figurative pats on the back believing his master-mind, match-making skills had been the reason the depraved act had occured. I really wanted to wipe the smug look of his face and tell him that getting me into bed these days was not exactly a task of monumental proportions.
James' shortness immediatly became a MASSIVE issue and i went to great lengths to ensure we were never standing next to each other in order to possibly delude myself about his unfortunate vital satistics. I was not about to do a Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise. That really is not my style.
Even worse was how comfortable he suddenly became in front of me. I think he thought we had bonded or something. Lord knows what gave him that impression. He now felt it necessary to inform me everytime he decided to go for a wank, which i normally dont mind from my guy friends or even 'lovers', but James even reminding me he had a penis had me wanting to sew up my vagina and move to a convent. I was really mad at my little badger and she was equally mad at me.
Worse still was his suden desire to talk about his 'number twos' not directly to, but around me which is just as bad. Now i knoew blokes discuss this type of thing and my guy friends back home make no effort to hide this topic from my delicate ears but me and James (as far as he was aware) were still in the early stages of courtship. WHAT WAS THIS GUY ON?
DO the Scotts not understand that the morning after the night before is a hugely delicate situation and under no circumstances must 'wanking' or 'number twos' be mentioned. I mean it, even if you are about to come in your pants/shit yourself you do not mention either of these two topics. They are strictly taboo. WHat would you do if the girl you had just bumpd uglies with came downstairs and stated 'shit i've run out of tampons and im literally GUSHING right now.' Exactly. You see my point. I didnt think this would need explaining but i suspect James (having confessed he had been at a strict all boys boarding school all his life) had not socially evolved and i certianly did not have time to help him grow up.
Sadly things were going to get worse before they got better.
Friday, 10 September 2010
FREEDOM TO SCOTLAND
It soon became clear from my first day at the hostel in St Kilda, Melbourne that potentials were running low. It appeared that 'Scottish James',a fairly well built, if a little stocky, rugby player was my best bet. Being short had always been a deal breaker for me, but i wasnt planning on sleeping with him. I merely wanted to indulge in a little innocent flirtation.
He wasnt exactly charming but he was sweet enough and the accent obviously helped his cause immeasurably (this wouldnt be the last time i let an accent blind me from the blatently obvious physical and social flaws of a man). Sadly our blossoming romance was hindered significantly by the interferance of 'dutchy' whose accent almost became as annoying as his personality itself. With Dutchys help i was suddenly transported back to prep school where flirting and the act of seduction in general was carried out through a series of Chinese whispers across the playground. 'James really likes you' he would constantly tell me. I resisted the urge to bitch-slap him in his greasy face before explaining 'Dutchy, i would have to be either blind or socially retarded not to know James likes me due to the fact he gets a massive errection everytime he talks to me'. This was no joke. And a massive turn off. After a while i became concerned for James' health. i didnt know if one could suffer from dick strain, but if you could, James was definatly going to. I also deeply judged myself when, on the odd occasion he didnt go stiff on sight, i got offended. Seriously, how insecure can i get???
Furthermore James' flirting skills were not exactly up to par. He acted sober how i would act after a bottle of vodka. Inappropriate touching of the knee, whispering cring-a-licious sweet nothings in my ear and just general invasion of personal space. I've always mantained i would hate the drunk me. And this just goes to show.
What caused me to get with him then remains a mystery of Poirot proportions. I suspect the unjustified amount of alcohol i consumed that evening had something to do with it but then, one can always play the alcohol card. Its too easy and totally unfair. After all you werent complaining when those two glasses of red got you to second base on your HOT date last week. And you werent full of hate when you found that bottle of gin in the cupboard after whats his name broke up with you, were you? Nah didnt think so.
To be honest, we were skinny dipping prior to the incident so i suppose in my ever efficient head i thought the hardest part was already done. Plus i was fooking freezing and what better way to warm up? Besides, i wouldnt be able to tell how short James was when on my back. We could do this,i decided, but standing up was out of the question.
So we clothed up for the sake of a few straglers on the beach and legged it down to the end of the pier. I was immediatly impressed. It was cold. Freezing in fact but Scotish James was packing. His muscular body certianly did the trick and he continued to dock his boat in my harbour for over an hour. FREEDOM TO SCOTTLAND.
Afterwards we went to bed where i got involved in some Lady of the Night action by sneaking off as soon as he fell asleep/passed out. I was dying to pass out myself and forget the whole affair, which was quickly becoming something i knew i should regret. Even in my drunken state i was aware of the effect waking up naked next to James would have on me. I needed at least two cigs before hearing that accent.
Funny how quickly a shag can change ones opinion on a whole nation.
He wasnt exactly charming but he was sweet enough and the accent obviously helped his cause immeasurably (this wouldnt be the last time i let an accent blind me from the blatently obvious physical and social flaws of a man). Sadly our blossoming romance was hindered significantly by the interferance of 'dutchy' whose accent almost became as annoying as his personality itself. With Dutchys help i was suddenly transported back to prep school where flirting and the act of seduction in general was carried out through a series of Chinese whispers across the playground. 'James really likes you' he would constantly tell me. I resisted the urge to bitch-slap him in his greasy face before explaining 'Dutchy, i would have to be either blind or socially retarded not to know James likes me due to the fact he gets a massive errection everytime he talks to me'. This was no joke. And a massive turn off. After a while i became concerned for James' health. i didnt know if one could suffer from dick strain, but if you could, James was definatly going to. I also deeply judged myself when, on the odd occasion he didnt go stiff on sight, i got offended. Seriously, how insecure can i get???
Furthermore James' flirting skills were not exactly up to par. He acted sober how i would act after a bottle of vodka. Inappropriate touching of the knee, whispering cring-a-licious sweet nothings in my ear and just general invasion of personal space. I've always mantained i would hate the drunk me. And this just goes to show.
What caused me to get with him then remains a mystery of Poirot proportions. I suspect the unjustified amount of alcohol i consumed that evening had something to do with it but then, one can always play the alcohol card. Its too easy and totally unfair. After all you werent complaining when those two glasses of red got you to second base on your HOT date last week. And you werent full of hate when you found that bottle of gin in the cupboard after whats his name broke up with you, were you? Nah didnt think so.
To be honest, we were skinny dipping prior to the incident so i suppose in my ever efficient head i thought the hardest part was already done. Plus i was fooking freezing and what better way to warm up? Besides, i wouldnt be able to tell how short James was when on my back. We could do this,i decided, but standing up was out of the question.
So we clothed up for the sake of a few straglers on the beach and legged it down to the end of the pier. I was immediatly impressed. It was cold. Freezing in fact but Scotish James was packing. His muscular body certianly did the trick and he continued to dock his boat in my harbour for over an hour. FREEDOM TO SCOTTLAND.
Afterwards we went to bed where i got involved in some Lady of the Night action by sneaking off as soon as he fell asleep/passed out. I was dying to pass out myself and forget the whole affair, which was quickly becoming something i knew i should regret. Even in my drunken state i was aware of the effect waking up naked next to James would have on me. I needed at least two cigs before hearing that accent.
Funny how quickly a shag can change ones opinion on a whole nation.
AUS HERE WE COME (by 'we' i do of course mean myself and my badger but by 'come' i do not mean orgasm)
Having sufficiently disgraced myself in New Zealand it was time to move on. I was thoroughly dissaponted in the native talent and seeing as i had failed to bag myself a mouri/all black i was more than ready to try my luck 'down under' to improve my luck 'down under'. I hadnt come all the way across the world to simply frolick with yet more English boys. I could barely look myself in the eye such was the extent of my resentment. I promised my little badger as we boarded the plane that we would no longer waste our time with any Tom, Dick or Harry. Juan, Pablo and Francois HERE WE COME.
FAMOUS. LAST. FUCKING. WORDS
FAMOUS. LAST. FUCKING. WORDS
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Welcome to 'Who's the Daddy' with your host Angelina Jolie
Loose is up the duff. Shes got a bun in the oven. Shes fucking PREG.
This is concerning.
I have never known anyone in our situation (by that i mean under 25) to get pregnant. I dont even need to ask if she's going to keep it. Loose is so completly inept that at 20 years old her father still locks her in her room until she tidies it. I would usually find this TOTALLY uncalled for except things in L's room tend to get so bad living organisms begin to sprout. Objects seem to gain lives of their own, so is the depths of her opposion towards hygeine.
This method of control often backfires on her father who once went as far as to offer up the ultimatum 'tidy your room or you're out'. Much to the amusement of me and Ez she went upstairs, packed a bag (being careful not to actually tidy) and left the house. Our amusement was short lived as she moved in with us and objects in our room (by that i mean Ez' room where i usually reside) started sprouting legs too.
Anyway, It transpires that the father could be one of three contenders.
There's Tommy: the dashing rugby player who i believe missed out a few stages of evolution in the brain organ department. I truly believe that if he went for an MRI scan doctors would pronounce him brain dead. He is essentially a walking corpse.
Andy: The objects of L's desires for near on a year. Although she assures me they were once an 'official item' i am sure he never saw it as anything more than a casual shag. Possibly because all they ever did was get drunk and...shag.
Or finally, and this one really takes the cake: Jack her personality-less husk of an ex boyfriend who finally stopped ignoring her calls and literally running away whenever he saw her to grant her one night of 'pleasure'. That worked out well for her didnt it.
Its like some warped 'blind date' instead the winner not only gets a date but an illegitamate child and the presneter would definatly have to be someone like Monica Lewinsky or, depending on the budget, Angelina Jolie. Now there is a gameshow i'd like to watch.
The funny thing is that when i rang L to ask her how she was and who was looking after her she reeled off a list of her uni friends who had all been through the same thing before. This blew my mind. L didnt have one girlfriend at uni who wasnt just out of private school and wasnt a complete sissy. A lot of them didnt even use the work 'cunt'. Pussys. I wonder what 'Daddy' would say if he knew. I then scolded myself for being so grossly sterotypical. It doesnt take a certain type of person to make a mistake like getting pregnant. I'm just lucky it hasnt happened to me. It so easily could have and me and the ex had a couple of scares.
However, if you look to the media i think this is the sterotype they project. Underage Mums must be 'jobless','chavs' basically no hopers. I love 'underage and pregnant' a documenary on BBC3 which does exactly what it says on the tin. But Not once have i seen an episode where the underage mum-to-be is a middle class, daddys little princess who was simply unlucky. Its easy to forget how easy these mistakes are to make sometimes...it doesnt just have to be an irresponsible drunken fling, it could be the breaking of a condom or the failing of a pill. It could happen to any of us and i bet it has happened in your friend group more than you could ever have imagined.
Im glad Loose has friends around her who know the drill.
It really is a shitty sitch.
This is concerning.
I have never known anyone in our situation (by that i mean under 25) to get pregnant. I dont even need to ask if she's going to keep it. Loose is so completly inept that at 20 years old her father still locks her in her room until she tidies it. I would usually find this TOTALLY uncalled for except things in L's room tend to get so bad living organisms begin to sprout. Objects seem to gain lives of their own, so is the depths of her opposion towards hygeine.
This method of control often backfires on her father who once went as far as to offer up the ultimatum 'tidy your room or you're out'. Much to the amusement of me and Ez she went upstairs, packed a bag (being careful not to actually tidy) and left the house. Our amusement was short lived as she moved in with us and objects in our room (by that i mean Ez' room where i usually reside) started sprouting legs too.
Anyway, It transpires that the father could be one of three contenders.
There's Tommy: the dashing rugby player who i believe missed out a few stages of evolution in the brain organ department. I truly believe that if he went for an MRI scan doctors would pronounce him brain dead. He is essentially a walking corpse.
Andy: The objects of L's desires for near on a year. Although she assures me they were once an 'official item' i am sure he never saw it as anything more than a casual shag. Possibly because all they ever did was get drunk and...shag.
Or finally, and this one really takes the cake: Jack her personality-less husk of an ex boyfriend who finally stopped ignoring her calls and literally running away whenever he saw her to grant her one night of 'pleasure'. That worked out well for her didnt it.
Its like some warped 'blind date' instead the winner not only gets a date but an illegitamate child and the presneter would definatly have to be someone like Monica Lewinsky or, depending on the budget, Angelina Jolie. Now there is a gameshow i'd like to watch.
The funny thing is that when i rang L to ask her how she was and who was looking after her she reeled off a list of her uni friends who had all been through the same thing before. This blew my mind. L didnt have one girlfriend at uni who wasnt just out of private school and wasnt a complete sissy. A lot of them didnt even use the work 'cunt'. Pussys. I wonder what 'Daddy' would say if he knew. I then scolded myself for being so grossly sterotypical. It doesnt take a certain type of person to make a mistake like getting pregnant. I'm just lucky it hasnt happened to me. It so easily could have and me and the ex had a couple of scares.
However, if you look to the media i think this is the sterotype they project. Underage Mums must be 'jobless','chavs' basically no hopers. I love 'underage and pregnant' a documenary on BBC3 which does exactly what it says on the tin. But Not once have i seen an episode where the underage mum-to-be is a middle class, daddys little princess who was simply unlucky. Its easy to forget how easy these mistakes are to make sometimes...it doesnt just have to be an irresponsible drunken fling, it could be the breaking of a condom or the failing of a pill. It could happen to any of us and i bet it has happened in your friend group more than you could ever have imagined.
Im glad Loose has friends around her who know the drill.
It really is a shitty sitch.
Loose morals
I recieved an email today from my friend Lucy aka Luce aka 'Loose'. It read;
'I have just woken up to find 2 used condoms on the floor and noone to claim them. FML'
This kind of gem is commonplace with Loose so please dont be concerned that i was neither shocked nor appalled and simply replied;
'This confirms what i have long suspected of you. That your birth was merely the result of an inbred sympathy fuck. You are retarded.........and slutty.
Have a good day x'
I have no doubt in my mind that Loose knows who the condoms belong to and that she is either claiming she doesnt for A. entertainment value or B. because she is ashamed. This is the kind of warped logic i have to work round with Loose on a daily basis where she believes that fucking someone and not knowing who the next day is better than fucking someone ugly. I couldnt be bothered to yet again explain that while the latter is still highly unfortunate and not acceptable of a facebook status update, it is nevertheless the lesser of two evils and that everyone experiences the effects of beer goggles at some point.
I know we all struggle at times to put names to faces but i still stand by the opinion that we should all be able to put names (or faces) to condoms. Especially when they are used and lying on our bedroom floor.
'I have just woken up to find 2 used condoms on the floor and noone to claim them. FML'
This kind of gem is commonplace with Loose so please dont be concerned that i was neither shocked nor appalled and simply replied;
'This confirms what i have long suspected of you. That your birth was merely the result of an inbred sympathy fuck. You are retarded.........and slutty.
Have a good day x'
I have no doubt in my mind that Loose knows who the condoms belong to and that she is either claiming she doesnt for A. entertainment value or B. because she is ashamed. This is the kind of warped logic i have to work round with Loose on a daily basis where she believes that fucking someone and not knowing who the next day is better than fucking someone ugly. I couldnt be bothered to yet again explain that while the latter is still highly unfortunate and not acceptable of a facebook status update, it is nevertheless the lesser of two evils and that everyone experiences the effects of beer goggles at some point.
I know we all struggle at times to put names to faces but i still stand by the opinion that we should all be able to put names (or faces) to condoms. Especially when they are used and lying on our bedroom floor.
Monday, 16 August 2010
Auckland attraction
I arrived back in Auckland at around 4pm, significantly rested and somewhat aroused at the prospect of a night out. It had only been 3 days since my last drinking extraveganza but i wasn't going to slack off. Not since i was having such a good run.
I was meeting an old school friend who i hadn't seen since we finished school over 8months ago. Meeting Laura was the equivalent of eating the last slice of cheesecake when you're already full. You are completly satisifed without it, but you eat it because it's there. I hadnt missed Laura, or actually given her a second thought since our last interaction but now i knew she was in the same city as me, the otherside of the world, i was filled with genuine excitement. I was also hugely eager to see if her 6months in Aus had relaxed her anally retentive self.
At prep school me and Laura had been inseperable. Then, as so often happens when relinqished from its repressive grip, we drifted apart. Our intrests drastically changed and while Laura became obsessive about hockey,i was more concened about concealing the affair i had started with a 6th former from his girlfriend and her blood thirsty friends. When said 6th former finally ended his relationship and ours could be made public the expression donned by Laura whenever we engaged in conversation was one which could only have been brought on by anal penetration. Perhaps she accidentally sat on her hockey stick, giving a new meaning to 'stick up ones ass'.
I believe the reasons for her sudden resentment towards me were two fold; firstly there was my sudden physical flourish into woman hood and while my height had denied me any chance of romance or even a dance at the prep school discos, it had secured me under-age entry to clubs in my first years of the senior school ( i was just 14 when i danced on my first bar top). Furthermore, to add insult to injury, not only did my once lanky deformaty gain me noteriety as 'legs' in the senior school but i also caught up with, perhaps overtaking Laura in the tit department. Only a year before Laura had been the Pamerla Anderson of the school, flaunting her 34 B's with increased fervor at every opportunity. Disco's, cinema trips...even all-girl sleepovers. They were the holy grail of popularity, gaining her the respect of every 12 year old boy, and most of the girls in our year. However, in the senior school breasts were a dime-a-dozen and certainly didn't count for much if you failed to be able to shift the baby fat that plagued her until she was 16. This was never something that i had to worry about and as my parents often reminded me, there was more meat on a half eaten chicken wing than on just one of my arms. I started saving for butt-implants the day i turned 12. Then i turned 14 and spent my savings on a bottle of vodka and my first malboro lights.
Anyway the first night with Laura came and went without any considerable grievences. Besides i had noone to bitch and moan to about the few almost unforgivable comments made, such as, after not being able to squeeze into my body-con mini skirt i was informed 'guys say they prefer a curvier figure anyway'. My slight annoyance towards this little gem of intelligence was significantly diminished when she failed to get into her own body-con mini skirt. I kept quiet through her huffs and puffs of frustration until she picked up my vintage off the shoulder LBD and sneered 'i would try this on but your style has always been a bit...'alternative' for me'. Oh well excuse me miss Jack wills-abercrombie and fitch BITCH, do you wanna take those lemon yellow crocs off and say that to my face??? Resisting the urge to do a round-house kick to her face i simply finished my lipstick and said kindly 'you'll find something. Most people put on weight when they go travelling anyway'.
I was also slightly miffed when Laura instigated the '5 foot rule', similar to that used in the prep school to prevent under-age sexual liasons but this time it was designed to ensure not one single, teeny weeny puff of my cigarette found its way into her squeeky clean lungs. So there i stayed 5 feet away at all times. Whether i was smoking or not. After all, that way i could ensure i was not associated with her when she insisted, over and over again that she would drink 'apple sourz' during a round of sambucca shots. That is really not something i can condone, but did nevertheless take advantage of the spare sambucca each time. Obviously.
I was informed the following morning that i had been found begging a kebab man to let me off 5 dollars for a donner meat. Seeing as the actual price was 5.49, i was essentially asking for free food, which apparently makes me a 'tramp'. I dont know what these people base their opinions on but in my eyes that makes me ecconomical. Apparently i had thought banging my shoe on the counter would make my argument more effective which apparently makes me a 'twat'. In my eyes that makes me assertive.
I had just finished tying the noose from which i desired to hang myself as LAura reminded me yet again how 'un-cooth' my behaviour had been the previous night and that even a kebab man deserved respect. This outraged me no end and i quickly assured her that in my opinion the career of a kebab man is sacred like buddahs very fat rolls and that my determination to get my donner meat had only been indicative of my deep respect for the work they do.
However, our dispute was brought to an abrupt end when Tim, my current scouser crush burst into the room and upon seeing Laura, burst into hearty laughter. Keen to know what the laughter was about i said 'oi Tim, what the fuck are you laughing about' and his reply gives me a smug tingling in my loins to this very day. Pointing at Laura he gasped 'when she got in last night she burst into tears and said 'oh my god i just let some guy go down on me and i dont even know his name'. I could have laughed, i could have scorned but I believe i took the high road after this and didnt even smile.
Instead i simply initiated a cheerful rendition of 'and i dont even know his last naaaaaaaaame' by carrie underwood, obviosuly adjusting the lyrics to 'and i dont even know his first name', everytime she walked in and out of the room. Cooth shmooth.
I was meeting an old school friend who i hadn't seen since we finished school over 8months ago. Meeting Laura was the equivalent of eating the last slice of cheesecake when you're already full. You are completly satisifed without it, but you eat it because it's there. I hadnt missed Laura, or actually given her a second thought since our last interaction but now i knew she was in the same city as me, the otherside of the world, i was filled with genuine excitement. I was also hugely eager to see if her 6months in Aus had relaxed her anally retentive self.
At prep school me and Laura had been inseperable. Then, as so often happens when relinqished from its repressive grip, we drifted apart. Our intrests drastically changed and while Laura became obsessive about hockey,i was more concened about concealing the affair i had started with a 6th former from his girlfriend and her blood thirsty friends. When said 6th former finally ended his relationship and ours could be made public the expression donned by Laura whenever we engaged in conversation was one which could only have been brought on by anal penetration. Perhaps she accidentally sat on her hockey stick, giving a new meaning to 'stick up ones ass'.
I believe the reasons for her sudden resentment towards me were two fold; firstly there was my sudden physical flourish into woman hood and while my height had denied me any chance of romance or even a dance at the prep school discos, it had secured me under-age entry to clubs in my first years of the senior school ( i was just 14 when i danced on my first bar top). Furthermore, to add insult to injury, not only did my once lanky deformaty gain me noteriety as 'legs' in the senior school but i also caught up with, perhaps overtaking Laura in the tit department. Only a year before Laura had been the Pamerla Anderson of the school, flaunting her 34 B's with increased fervor at every opportunity. Disco's, cinema trips...even all-girl sleepovers. They were the holy grail of popularity, gaining her the respect of every 12 year old boy, and most of the girls in our year. However, in the senior school breasts were a dime-a-dozen and certainly didn't count for much if you failed to be able to shift the baby fat that plagued her until she was 16. This was never something that i had to worry about and as my parents often reminded me, there was more meat on a half eaten chicken wing than on just one of my arms. I started saving for butt-implants the day i turned 12. Then i turned 14 and spent my savings on a bottle of vodka and my first malboro lights.
Anyway the first night with Laura came and went without any considerable grievences. Besides i had noone to bitch and moan to about the few almost unforgivable comments made, such as, after not being able to squeeze into my body-con mini skirt i was informed 'guys say they prefer a curvier figure anyway'. My slight annoyance towards this little gem of intelligence was significantly diminished when she failed to get into her own body-con mini skirt. I kept quiet through her huffs and puffs of frustration until she picked up my vintage off the shoulder LBD and sneered 'i would try this on but your style has always been a bit...'alternative' for me'. Oh well excuse me miss Jack wills-abercrombie and fitch BITCH, do you wanna take those lemon yellow crocs off and say that to my face??? Resisting the urge to do a round-house kick to her face i simply finished my lipstick and said kindly 'you'll find something. Most people put on weight when they go travelling anyway'.
I was also slightly miffed when Laura instigated the '5 foot rule', similar to that used in the prep school to prevent under-age sexual liasons but this time it was designed to ensure not one single, teeny weeny puff of my cigarette found its way into her squeeky clean lungs. So there i stayed 5 feet away at all times. Whether i was smoking or not. After all, that way i could ensure i was not associated with her when she insisted, over and over again that she would drink 'apple sourz' during a round of sambucca shots. That is really not something i can condone, but did nevertheless take advantage of the spare sambucca each time. Obviously.
I was informed the following morning that i had been found begging a kebab man to let me off 5 dollars for a donner meat. Seeing as the actual price was 5.49, i was essentially asking for free food, which apparently makes me a 'tramp'. I dont know what these people base their opinions on but in my eyes that makes me ecconomical. Apparently i had thought banging my shoe on the counter would make my argument more effective which apparently makes me a 'twat'. In my eyes that makes me assertive.
I had just finished tying the noose from which i desired to hang myself as LAura reminded me yet again how 'un-cooth' my behaviour had been the previous night and that even a kebab man deserved respect. This outraged me no end and i quickly assured her that in my opinion the career of a kebab man is sacred like buddahs very fat rolls and that my determination to get my donner meat had only been indicative of my deep respect for the work they do.
However, our dispute was brought to an abrupt end when Tim, my current scouser crush burst into the room and upon seeing Laura, burst into hearty laughter. Keen to know what the laughter was about i said 'oi Tim, what the fuck are you laughing about' and his reply gives me a smug tingling in my loins to this very day. Pointing at Laura he gasped 'when she got in last night she burst into tears and said 'oh my god i just let some guy go down on me and i dont even know his name'. I could have laughed, i could have scorned but I believe i took the high road after this and didnt even smile.
Instead i simply initiated a cheerful rendition of 'and i dont even know his last naaaaaaaaame' by carrie underwood, obviosuly adjusting the lyrics to 'and i dont even know his first name', everytime she walked in and out of the room. Cooth shmooth.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Travellers guide to smoking, shagging and sniffing; Part 3
ALWAYS leave room in your back-pack to accomodate for shopping. No matter how much you tell yourself that you already have everything you need and that you will not unnecessarily spend money on things you dont require...you will.
Self deception is a common crime and one that i committ all too regularly. From not shaving your minge before a first date to stop you sleeping with him straight away, to not taking your credit card with you on nights out to prevent you spending your entire wage...more often than not you will sleep with him anyway (and have to run to the bathroom and dry shave before doing so, probably cutting your vag in the process) and borrowing money off your mates to pay for more drinks. We should just save ourselves the bloody trouble.
Ok, so i may not have needed the vintage, leopard print maxi dress i picked up in Whiaheke the other day. But its never about need is it? You didnt need that second piece of cheesecake. You didnt need to shag your best-friends boyfriend. Of course our wants are often the things that get us into the most trouble, but theres nothing wrong with leaving a little extra space in one back-pack.
I am not faced with the heart rendering task of leaving somethings behind. I'm going to have to be cut-throat.
I think my PJ's will be the first to go.
Im planning on sleeping naked A LOT when i get to Aus anyway.
Self deception is a common crime and one that i committ all too regularly. From not shaving your minge before a first date to stop you sleeping with him straight away, to not taking your credit card with you on nights out to prevent you spending your entire wage...more often than not you will sleep with him anyway (and have to run to the bathroom and dry shave before doing so, probably cutting your vag in the process) and borrowing money off your mates to pay for more drinks. We should just save ourselves the bloody trouble.
Ok, so i may not have needed the vintage, leopard print maxi dress i picked up in Whiaheke the other day. But its never about need is it? You didnt need that second piece of cheesecake. You didnt need to shag your best-friends boyfriend. Of course our wants are often the things that get us into the most trouble, but theres nothing wrong with leaving a little extra space in one back-pack.
I am not faced with the heart rendering task of leaving somethings behind. I'm going to have to be cut-throat.
I think my PJ's will be the first to go.
Im planning on sleeping naked A LOT when i get to Aus anyway.
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