Happy fucking November.
I couldn't decide whatto listen to, so I just hit play.
Apparently,the computer decided that I need to listen to Cowboys From Hell. Nice choice, Senor Scrapheap.
My legions of non exsistant readers and fools alike, I can't say that I have missed you. I'm in high spirits right now. I just shit out a fucking sewage truck this weekend, but my spirits aren't dampered by the sudden illness.
So how have you been, little blog? You're almost three years old now. Three whole documented years of my life sprawled across your pages for no one to read. It's a sense of accomplishment sortof. It's a bit of exhibitionism, isn't it? It's here and in the open for people to see. Only one person whom I never wanted to see it saw it, and well I guess that's my fault. So, sorry I guess for that, You Know Who, but you're still a uptight bitch. (:
Qi is getting spayed on Friday. The magically depressing holiday season is closing in on us once more. Maybe I'll make another request for Mr. Grinch to come out and delay it. I don't even want presents. I don't know what I want.
I've been reading romance novels lately. I don't why it makes me roll my eyes. The women in them are always delicious and deliciously complicated. Always slight, perfect with thier perfect lovers and complications that fleshes them to be more than just words.
That doesn't happen to women like me. Sometimes it suits me just fine. Men are trouble. But I do have emotions. It stings sometimes. It passes though.
I should go buy some new clothes. My shit hangs off me like burlap sacks. Not very attractive. I made an effort this summer to change myself at work a bit. Wow. I actually wore skirts and dresses, with heels instead of baggy pants that are inevitably too long for me because my legs are short. It amuses me that so many pant makers assume all overweight women are also 5'11" 1/2 Amazons. Fuck dude.
I have no clue what I am babbling about.
Whatever. (:
I'm in a good mood tonight. Weeds is on in a few minutes so I must be going. Happy November.
Apparently,the computer decided that I need to listen to Cowboys From Hell. Nice choice, Senor Scrapheap.
My legions of non exsistant readers and fools alike, I can't say that I have missed you. I'm in high spirits right now. I just shit out a fucking sewage truck this weekend, but my spirits aren't dampered by the sudden illness.
So how have you been, little blog? You're almost three years old now. Three whole documented years of my life sprawled across your pages for no one to read. It's a sense of accomplishment sortof. It's a bit of exhibitionism, isn't it? It's here and in the open for people to see. Only one person whom I never wanted to see it saw it, and well I guess that's my fault. So, sorry I guess for that, You Know Who, but you're still a uptight bitch. (:
Qi is getting spayed on Friday. The magically depressing holiday season is closing in on us once more. Maybe I'll make another request for Mr. Grinch to come out and delay it. I don't even want presents. I don't know what I want.
I've been reading romance novels lately. I don't why it makes me roll my eyes. The women in them are always delicious and deliciously complicated. Always slight, perfect with thier perfect lovers and complications that fleshes them to be more than just words.
That doesn't happen to women like me. Sometimes it suits me just fine. Men are trouble. But I do have emotions. It stings sometimes. It passes though.
I should go buy some new clothes. My shit hangs off me like burlap sacks. Not very attractive. I made an effort this summer to change myself at work a bit. Wow. I actually wore skirts and dresses, with heels instead of baggy pants that are inevitably too long for me because my legs are short. It amuses me that so many pant makers assume all overweight women are also 5'11" 1/2 Amazons. Fuck dude.
I have no clue what I am babbling about.
Whatever. (:
I'm in a good mood tonight. Weeds is on in a few minutes so I must be going. Happy November.
posted by Xiporah at 9:35 PM
4 Comments:
STFU before I cut some bacon off your back :)
I like how people immediatly go for fat jokes when they have nothing intelligent to think or say.
Spoken like a true bulimic headcase. Why don't you do something useful? I'm sure there's some lines of coke you could snort or trains you could jump in front of. After all, it's not like anyone would cry for you, certainly not your parents, right?
And P.S.
Stalker much?
Yes?
Post a Comment
<< Home