hmmmm.
*sigh* this is certainly not hobbycraft.
the boy with the hair of win is not returning the handi messages.
which makes me feel fail.
and rival cat girl is being annoying with the staying of the offline so i cant even stealy the flippin' addy off of her.
why why why must i be living in this perpetual state of loosing (and loosing of the game also).
stop with the mind thinking!
*sobs*
oh House save me please save me.
sweet sweet Hugh. how i love thee, more than hair-win-boy.
okay that was stupid.
i dont care i needed to get it out and well i am ashamed so i wrote it in pathetic geek teenager speek.
hura.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
a continuation of PP.
this carrys straight on:
I walked on, followed by the melancholy harmony of Evelin’s quiet sobs and Grimiver’s broken groans. Annoyance visited fleetingly my mind as I found my heart uncharacteristically bleeding for them. But only for a second as I wandered aimlessly on down the halls allowing my mind free reign over ever whimsical thought that flirted with my current fancies. I listened to the nothing between my footsteps and watching the dust float fae-like, around the candles. Dancing in the warm currents above and sinking low only to be burnt up in the awaiting and indifferent inferno. You often find that it is when you are walking with no aim that you stumble on you destiny. Such is the infallible irony of life. Or so the literature has told me, and as a result it came as no surprise that rounding the corner casting long shadows in my wake I found the door. There is no question as to the significance of doors. For all the wonders in the world are guarded by them in one form or another. Secrets are kept behind locked doors, happiness through open ones, love and hate are standing waiting for their cue just behind that door, The theatre is kept behind doors.
There have only been two doors in my life. The door that began my first breath and the door leading me to the wings of this stage. And now it had become three.
The door to Casper’s room was the burgundy red of a playful wine when held up to the fading light. The red that congers images of lips and breasts and blood that boils in rage and ecstasy. The dark heavy red of the velvet curtains circling the stage, woven with as much mystery as fabric and as much love as colour. Almost a brown in the tainted light of the passageway but unmistakably red. The door itself was small the panels delicate but plain. the paint flaked at each ridge and edge so the décor itself was framed with the light brown of the tired wood beneath. Small flecks of the paint were peeling off but I didn’t dare touch them. It seemed almost blasphemous to alter even the tiniest part of this entrance. I felt as if I was standing before times greatest creation. The door knob was a dead gold, and could be no longer called a circle so battered was it with use. It reflected the light lazily and half-heartedly back at me the many dips and dents and scratches brought into sharp dark contrast with the dun shine.
I thought of the thousands of hands turning it just that trivial fraction to the left that would allow them enter to a place I had only ever dared to think about dreaming. And because all the world is a stage, and because we are but merry actors, and because there was nothing else I could do but open this door, I did so. It felt warm in my hand and turning it was stiff. The locks mechanical parts were rusted and I heard them slide against each other
I walked on, followed by the melancholy harmony of Evelin’s quiet sobs and Grimiver’s broken groans. Annoyance visited fleetingly my mind as I found my heart uncharacteristically bleeding for them. But only for a second as I wandered aimlessly on down the halls allowing my mind free reign over ever whimsical thought that flirted with my current fancies. I listened to the nothing between my footsteps and watching the dust float fae-like, around the candles. Dancing in the warm currents above and sinking low only to be burnt up in the awaiting and indifferent inferno. You often find that it is when you are walking with no aim that you stumble on you destiny. Such is the infallible irony of life. Or so the literature has told me, and as a result it came as no surprise that rounding the corner casting long shadows in my wake I found the door. There is no question as to the significance of doors. For all the wonders in the world are guarded by them in one form or another. Secrets are kept behind locked doors, happiness through open ones, love and hate are standing waiting for their cue just behind that door, The theatre is kept behind doors.
There have only been two doors in my life. The door that began my first breath and the door leading me to the wings of this stage. And now it had become three.
The door to Casper’s room was the burgundy red of a playful wine when held up to the fading light. The red that congers images of lips and breasts and blood that boils in rage and ecstasy. The dark heavy red of the velvet curtains circling the stage, woven with as much mystery as fabric and as much love as colour. Almost a brown in the tainted light of the passageway but unmistakably red. The door itself was small the panels delicate but plain. the paint flaked at each ridge and edge so the décor itself was framed with the light brown of the tired wood beneath. Small flecks of the paint were peeling off but I didn’t dare touch them. It seemed almost blasphemous to alter even the tiniest part of this entrance. I felt as if I was standing before times greatest creation. The door knob was a dead gold, and could be no longer called a circle so battered was it with use. It reflected the light lazily and half-heartedly back at me the many dips and dents and scratches brought into sharp dark contrast with the dun shine.
I thought of the thousands of hands turning it just that trivial fraction to the left that would allow them enter to a place I had only ever dared to think about dreaming. And because all the world is a stage, and because we are but merry actors, and because there was nothing else I could do but open this door, I did so. It felt warm in my hand and turning it was stiff. The locks mechanical parts were rusted and I heard them slide against each other
Monday, November 12, 2007
Grimiver Gables.
The hallway was cold again as I had no merriment to warm it for me and the torches burnt low in their sockets like guilty eyes. I wandered aimless and surprised to find that each corridor I turned down yielded nothing but empty air and shadows. Not a soul did I encounter in my undestined journey through the wallpapered catacombs and my footsteps were unaccompanied as they dislodged the dust that had settled on the stained floorboards. You could get so easily lost backstage, as you could get so easily lost in a story or a play. Tumbling blindly through the intricate workings of the authors mind and dreams. So it did not worry me that I was. Very much alone.
It stayed like this for a while and I was satisfied with the company of my own musings, trailing my hand along the walls feeling the rips and tears in the worn wallpaper. It had been tattered by the thousands of people like me, running their hands along it absentmindedly, catching their rings on it and destroying it slowly so that now it supported a great streak of grime rubbed deep into its fabric at hand level. The floorboards were knarled and uneven, chipped and wonderful. A varnished pine that had been pounded and battered by the feet of the gods and mortals of this play house.
‘I was told that to die would be an adventure’ a voice snuck round a corner and seeped into my bones. Grimiver Gables followed like a faithful dog or an echo and lurched towards me like a man about to relive himself of his last meal.
‘but now I find it is not’ he lamented and approached ever closer. He was tall but the years has bent him almost double and his spine poked so violently out of his back you felt that with just another move it would burst through the paper thin skin stretched tightly over it and glint in the low lighting, joyous at its release as the old man collapsed beneath it. White hair jutted out in tufts from under his battered top hat as crippled and crocked as its bearer, it had faded with age and now was like his skin, a shadow of its former glory, a dirty grey.
The light was enough to see how dull his eyes were, but it could never have reached into the depths of the deep wrinkles that carved their way about his face in strongly defined lines of laughter and woe in equal measure.
‘It is a pity’ he croaked trailing like I had, and the thousands before me, a single hand along the wallpaper.
‘I loved these walls, I guess it is fitting they should be my prison, if I were acting my character in some great play I might have called it’ he searched for the word.
‘ironic’ he sighed and continued
‘not that it really matters, poor wenches can’t hear me anymore. My words are as my spirit, gone from their world, along with it would seem, the condition of my clothes’ he opened his arms wide revealing filthy garments that were more rags than anything, mere ghosts of expensive finery. A waistcoat inlayed with silver thread that would have been quiet magnificent had the silver not become unravelled and fallen into a threadbare mess, patches of a white shirt that was frayed at the cuffs and moulding a sick grey pocked through were the fine silk was no more than a hole.
‘Dust, that is what I am. Disregarded and unwanted, ignored. Nothing more than a film that protects the unused from false hope, gently lulling them into the acceptance of time. Time that will eventually welcome them into warm archaic arms and crush them in an embrace. I float, unnoticed from place to place a speck, a folly, a nuisance that is swept up and forgotten. That is what has become of me. All my years. My beautiful wife. And all I count for. Oh well, not that I accounted for much in their life. But still ‘tis an awful shame, I had half a bottle of brandy left under my bed. One would have hoped that their god almighty would have let his poor mortals finish off the Bourbon before he relived us of our mortal coils’ he paused
‘wasn’t that a whisky?‘ he came to a stop in front of me and continued with his apathetically sorrowful monologue.
‘If only I could just’ he trailed away and raised his hand. A hand so bent and knurled and wizened with arthritis that it was a claw that hooked in a threatening crescent articulated with swollen knuckles and hanging with loose powdery skin that was cracked with wear and relentless age. As he reached out I almost heard the bones creak in protest at this uninvited movement, joints screaming and squealing as each finger unfurled in a one slow painful action. Until it finally came to a stop when I breathed a sigh of relief for the man, the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek. It felt like leather, smooth but broken in wrinkles and hard with over use, but the flesh was warm and alive.
‘I wish I had not died, I had so much left to do. Who is left to drink if not I?’ he frowned and fresh wrinkles fell into practiced place over weak watering eyes.
‘I joke, but no one laughs, it’s lonely, it’s cold and there is no merriment left on my lips. Why am I still here? Have my feet not filled their quota of steps? Oh what I wouldn’t give to be visited by the sweet taste of my lady again, or the fire of a good wine. Where are my angels to raise me to my own cloud were I can sit and wait for all eternity and spit on the mortal ants as they busy about thinking how very important they are. How robbed am I? it seems god has the last laugh indeed. So for now I shall spit on him’ he looked around for a second, his pupils edging towards the ceiling lit up in guilt.
‘Okay perhaps I was too harsh on you? I take it back?’ he traced a cross over his sunken chest and waited, nothing happened. He sighed and mumbled
‘no, of course not, too much to hope for’
Suddenly his eyes bulged, hugely and luminous in the tired light. Panic stricken as he groped at his neck which hung with slack skin. I had encountered Grimiver many times and come to regard him with a fondness so allowed him to continue his little fantasy. As he fell slowly to his knees in front of me gasping for the air that was so readily available only one name played on his lips. And only in this moment of terror was the truth scared out of him.
‘Evelin, oh Evelin Gables you are the one I miss most’ and with that his eyes closed and a sound of what could really have been his last breath rattled about his hollow chest. I stood there regarding his body crumpled on the floor half propped up by the wall with mild interest but nothing more. Grimiver was a good man, but good men no matter how far they have sunken into the depths of deep depression are still at their souls good men and therefore of nothing more than fleeting interest to me. Casper is not a good man. Suddenly a whirlwind tore down the hall and flung itself onto the still body of Grimiver Gables. Awakening me from my thoughts and buffeting me to the side as it proceeded to issue shrieks and wails at high pitches.
‘Grimiver Grimiver!’ it cried pawing and shaking the limp body.
‘Grimiver Grimiver, wake up I beg of you wake up and come back to me!’ she slapped his face and beat his chest in such a frenzied manor that I was sure she would crush it and his chest having been staved in by his loved one, Grimiver Gables would truly be dead. This effort yielding no fruitful result the woman turned her disparate and enraged attention onto me.
‘You beast, you monster, you devil, you foul contemptuous conceited whelp!’ she screamed, her wide face red and wet with the effort of her tears.
‘How dare you look on in such indifference as my husband dies before your very feet, neih even the gods have not had that pleasure so you little whoreson, will not have it either! I should beat you for your arrogance and your dispassion!’ she finished her speech with an exasperated shriek and thumped Grimiver one last time hitting his sternum straight on.
He awoke with a great gushing of air into his dry crackling lungs and his mouth opened into a comical ’o’ of surprise. A small gasp issued from between cracked lips and he sat up in time to be knocked over once more by his distraught lover.
‘Evelin?’ he managed through her thick sobs.
‘Evelin my darling, why must you cry over me so?’ he looked at her quizzically and stroked her thinning hair in slight bemusement.
‘Why cry as if I were dead?’ he chuckled and his thin shoulders shook and his bones jangled.
‘No such luck I‘m afraid my dear, I am here to stay’ Evelin calmed herself into a wretched sob every now and again wiping her tear stained ruddy cheeks stubbornly with the palm of her hand. Grimiver took her into his arms.
‘what day is it?’ he asked
‘no, more to the point, what time is it? And will the world think me a drunk if I drink at this hour?’ Evelin climbed up using the wall lit up in flickering candle flame as support, her lank hair falling down in front of her worn face.
‘you are a drunk my dear’ she taunted half heartedly, too relived to put any force behind her playful jibes. Grimiver smiled and I half expected dust to trickle from the cracks in his lips.
‘oh yes, I had forgotten about that, well then don’t deprive a man of what he does best, I do believe there is half a bottle of Bourbon under our bed’ he himself got up. It was a spectacle, like watching an old ruin unfurl itself from mossy grounds and grow to if only half its former glory, but still to renovate impossibly some more of its being back to working order.
‘Or was it brandy?’ Grimiver mused over that as Evelin walked at his side, clinging to his arm in those beautiful moments when her husband was inhabiting his right mind. Grimiver was depressed, and his depression had eaten away rotting in the back of his mind for years. It was no ones fault, but that didn’t change anything as it rarely does. The depression had finally driven him mad and he slept in a coma for countless years. He was a relic, as prised as a public statue, forgotten by everyone. Until the day woke up and was dead. He believed he was so, but walked among the living. Evelin, being the strong woman that she was, troublesome but strong no doubt, took to following him around like that lovesick spaniel Helena imitated. Waiting for these moments when he came too. These poor, brief, fragile, wonderful moments. They were breaking her heart. Because inevitably as I watched them walk half way down that dim corridor and his legs buckled from beneath him and a broken yell escaped his lips the depression took hold again. I wandered over as a spectator would follow the sport. Evelin was on her knees, holding his diseased hand as he screamed his sorrows to the world that wasn’t listening.
‘I can feel them, thousands of them, tiny bodies, tiny ruthless bodies burrowing under my dead skin. Eating at my still warm flesh. Writhing there. Feeding off my substance. I am fodder for the worms, the bugs. Hundreds of tiny mouths, hundreds of tiny teeth rendering me but a meal for insects so low they wait for me to die before they feast. I can feel them, oh god, oh please, have mercy, have mercy!’ the last was a broken shrill shriek as he arched his back and flailed brittle limbs and all the time Evelin, ever faithful Evelin, closed her eyes, tried not to listen and thought of the times when he would kiss her with lips as full as their glasses, hold her hand with more than claws and speak to her in a voice that reminded her of spring, not book pages old, rustling and yellowed or cobwebs that have caught nothing more than dust for centuries.
I walked by, I had no curiosity left for this scene and no words to part with and so decided that a parting of company was the wisest course of action. They were both good people with good souls, good uninteresting people.
It stayed like this for a while and I was satisfied with the company of my own musings, trailing my hand along the walls feeling the rips and tears in the worn wallpaper. It had been tattered by the thousands of people like me, running their hands along it absentmindedly, catching their rings on it and destroying it slowly so that now it supported a great streak of grime rubbed deep into its fabric at hand level. The floorboards were knarled and uneven, chipped and wonderful. A varnished pine that had been pounded and battered by the feet of the gods and mortals of this play house.
‘I was told that to die would be an adventure’ a voice snuck round a corner and seeped into my bones. Grimiver Gables followed like a faithful dog or an echo and lurched towards me like a man about to relive himself of his last meal.
‘but now I find it is not’ he lamented and approached ever closer. He was tall but the years has bent him almost double and his spine poked so violently out of his back you felt that with just another move it would burst through the paper thin skin stretched tightly over it and glint in the low lighting, joyous at its release as the old man collapsed beneath it. White hair jutted out in tufts from under his battered top hat as crippled and crocked as its bearer, it had faded with age and now was like his skin, a shadow of its former glory, a dirty grey.
The light was enough to see how dull his eyes were, but it could never have reached into the depths of the deep wrinkles that carved their way about his face in strongly defined lines of laughter and woe in equal measure.
‘It is a pity’ he croaked trailing like I had, and the thousands before me, a single hand along the wallpaper.
‘I loved these walls, I guess it is fitting they should be my prison, if I were acting my character in some great play I might have called it’ he searched for the word.
‘ironic’ he sighed and continued
‘not that it really matters, poor wenches can’t hear me anymore. My words are as my spirit, gone from their world, along with it would seem, the condition of my clothes’ he opened his arms wide revealing filthy garments that were more rags than anything, mere ghosts of expensive finery. A waistcoat inlayed with silver thread that would have been quiet magnificent had the silver not become unravelled and fallen into a threadbare mess, patches of a white shirt that was frayed at the cuffs and moulding a sick grey pocked through were the fine silk was no more than a hole.
‘Dust, that is what I am. Disregarded and unwanted, ignored. Nothing more than a film that protects the unused from false hope, gently lulling them into the acceptance of time. Time that will eventually welcome them into warm archaic arms and crush them in an embrace. I float, unnoticed from place to place a speck, a folly, a nuisance that is swept up and forgotten. That is what has become of me. All my years. My beautiful wife. And all I count for. Oh well, not that I accounted for much in their life. But still ‘tis an awful shame, I had half a bottle of brandy left under my bed. One would have hoped that their god almighty would have let his poor mortals finish off the Bourbon before he relived us of our mortal coils’ he paused
‘wasn’t that a whisky?‘ he came to a stop in front of me and continued with his apathetically sorrowful monologue.
‘If only I could just’ he trailed away and raised his hand. A hand so bent and knurled and wizened with arthritis that it was a claw that hooked in a threatening crescent articulated with swollen knuckles and hanging with loose powdery skin that was cracked with wear and relentless age. As he reached out I almost heard the bones creak in protest at this uninvited movement, joints screaming and squealing as each finger unfurled in a one slow painful action. Until it finally came to a stop when I breathed a sigh of relief for the man, the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek. It felt like leather, smooth but broken in wrinkles and hard with over use, but the flesh was warm and alive.
‘I wish I had not died, I had so much left to do. Who is left to drink if not I?’ he frowned and fresh wrinkles fell into practiced place over weak watering eyes.
‘I joke, but no one laughs, it’s lonely, it’s cold and there is no merriment left on my lips. Why am I still here? Have my feet not filled their quota of steps? Oh what I wouldn’t give to be visited by the sweet taste of my lady again, or the fire of a good wine. Where are my angels to raise me to my own cloud were I can sit and wait for all eternity and spit on the mortal ants as they busy about thinking how very important they are. How robbed am I? it seems god has the last laugh indeed. So for now I shall spit on him’ he looked around for a second, his pupils edging towards the ceiling lit up in guilt.
‘Okay perhaps I was too harsh on you? I take it back?’ he traced a cross over his sunken chest and waited, nothing happened. He sighed and mumbled
‘no, of course not, too much to hope for’
Suddenly his eyes bulged, hugely and luminous in the tired light. Panic stricken as he groped at his neck which hung with slack skin. I had encountered Grimiver many times and come to regard him with a fondness so allowed him to continue his little fantasy. As he fell slowly to his knees in front of me gasping for the air that was so readily available only one name played on his lips. And only in this moment of terror was the truth scared out of him.
‘Evelin, oh Evelin Gables you are the one I miss most’ and with that his eyes closed and a sound of what could really have been his last breath rattled about his hollow chest. I stood there regarding his body crumpled on the floor half propped up by the wall with mild interest but nothing more. Grimiver was a good man, but good men no matter how far they have sunken into the depths of deep depression are still at their souls good men and therefore of nothing more than fleeting interest to me. Casper is not a good man. Suddenly a whirlwind tore down the hall and flung itself onto the still body of Grimiver Gables. Awakening me from my thoughts and buffeting me to the side as it proceeded to issue shrieks and wails at high pitches.
‘Grimiver Grimiver!’ it cried pawing and shaking the limp body.
‘Grimiver Grimiver, wake up I beg of you wake up and come back to me!’ she slapped his face and beat his chest in such a frenzied manor that I was sure she would crush it and his chest having been staved in by his loved one, Grimiver Gables would truly be dead. This effort yielding no fruitful result the woman turned her disparate and enraged attention onto me.
‘You beast, you monster, you devil, you foul contemptuous conceited whelp!’ she screamed, her wide face red and wet with the effort of her tears.
‘How dare you look on in such indifference as my husband dies before your very feet, neih even the gods have not had that pleasure so you little whoreson, will not have it either! I should beat you for your arrogance and your dispassion!’ she finished her speech with an exasperated shriek and thumped Grimiver one last time hitting his sternum straight on.
He awoke with a great gushing of air into his dry crackling lungs and his mouth opened into a comical ’o’ of surprise. A small gasp issued from between cracked lips and he sat up in time to be knocked over once more by his distraught lover.
‘Evelin?’ he managed through her thick sobs.
‘Evelin my darling, why must you cry over me so?’ he looked at her quizzically and stroked her thinning hair in slight bemusement.
‘Why cry as if I were dead?’ he chuckled and his thin shoulders shook and his bones jangled.
‘No such luck I‘m afraid my dear, I am here to stay’ Evelin calmed herself into a wretched sob every now and again wiping her tear stained ruddy cheeks stubbornly with the palm of her hand. Grimiver took her into his arms.
‘what day is it?’ he asked
‘no, more to the point, what time is it? And will the world think me a drunk if I drink at this hour?’ Evelin climbed up using the wall lit up in flickering candle flame as support, her lank hair falling down in front of her worn face.
‘you are a drunk my dear’ she taunted half heartedly, too relived to put any force behind her playful jibes. Grimiver smiled and I half expected dust to trickle from the cracks in his lips.
‘oh yes, I had forgotten about that, well then don’t deprive a man of what he does best, I do believe there is half a bottle of Bourbon under our bed’ he himself got up. It was a spectacle, like watching an old ruin unfurl itself from mossy grounds and grow to if only half its former glory, but still to renovate impossibly some more of its being back to working order.
‘Or was it brandy?’ Grimiver mused over that as Evelin walked at his side, clinging to his arm in those beautiful moments when her husband was inhabiting his right mind. Grimiver was depressed, and his depression had eaten away rotting in the back of his mind for years. It was no ones fault, but that didn’t change anything as it rarely does. The depression had finally driven him mad and he slept in a coma for countless years. He was a relic, as prised as a public statue, forgotten by everyone. Until the day woke up and was dead. He believed he was so, but walked among the living. Evelin, being the strong woman that she was, troublesome but strong no doubt, took to following him around like that lovesick spaniel Helena imitated. Waiting for these moments when he came too. These poor, brief, fragile, wonderful moments. They were breaking her heart. Because inevitably as I watched them walk half way down that dim corridor and his legs buckled from beneath him and a broken yell escaped his lips the depression took hold again. I wandered over as a spectator would follow the sport. Evelin was on her knees, holding his diseased hand as he screamed his sorrows to the world that wasn’t listening.
‘I can feel them, thousands of them, tiny bodies, tiny ruthless bodies burrowing under my dead skin. Eating at my still warm flesh. Writhing there. Feeding off my substance. I am fodder for the worms, the bugs. Hundreds of tiny mouths, hundreds of tiny teeth rendering me but a meal for insects so low they wait for me to die before they feast. I can feel them, oh god, oh please, have mercy, have mercy!’ the last was a broken shrill shriek as he arched his back and flailed brittle limbs and all the time Evelin, ever faithful Evelin, closed her eyes, tried not to listen and thought of the times when he would kiss her with lips as full as their glasses, hold her hand with more than claws and speak to her in a voice that reminded her of spring, not book pages old, rustling and yellowed or cobwebs that have caught nothing more than dust for centuries.
I walked by, I had no curiosity left for this scene and no words to part with and so decided that a parting of company was the wisest course of action. They were both good people with good souls, good uninteresting people.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Look into my eyes.
 | ||||||||||||||||||||
What do your eyes reveal about you?(PICS!)Updated created with QuizFarm.com | ||||||||||||||||||||
| You scored as Passion You are very passionate whether that passion is good or evil has yet to be determined. You have great power over others and they seem to flock to your service. You are very competative almost to a fault. Perhaps you should let someone else win for a change?
|
Monday, November 05, 2007
00110100100100101
commiecon was cool. no perry. fucked off.
feel like life is slipping away.
too happy right now.
dont trust feelings.
expect it all to come crashig down soon.
cant fight off this feeling.
feel like life is slipping away.
too happy right now.
dont trust feelings.
expect it all to come crashig down soon.
cant fight off this feeling.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Does Your Mother Know You Kiss Girls?
okay havent written for fucking ages! because ive been out there living the life i should be sat at home blogging >.< ive actually been really buisy. so i ahve compiled a list of things i want to talk about and i shall tackle them one by one, this first part is titled:
convo with mum:
on our way to cheltenham (so i could get into town) mum and i had the most amazing conversation in the car! i started talking about how Grant is bi, and she has some really strong view on that kind of thing, its been too long to quote her, but yeah she said some really amazing stuff. i also know that she has kissed a few girls, and i actually suspect that she has had lesiban tendancies, you know how people argue something so well that they sort of have to have had experiance on the subject to know that much. she also talked in quiet a bitter way about it... maybe thats just me interpriting it wrong but yeah... hmmmm.
crackers:
had an awesome time at crackers, was a bit nervous at first and a bit aprihensive about seeing Rob again, i kinda felt the same way about him as i did Todd, i know im romantisising it, but its kind of a window to a culture that facinates and excites me. anyway i was SO happy when he came up and gave me a hug and a kiss. i know its horrific, but i mean i know you guys wont see me in any worse a light as you do already, but i was secretly (well nolonger secretly) happy he didnt hug jess. i know thats terrible, but, but. yeah. its silly but i always think that guys like Jess more. so it was like a guilty win. anyway. then whilst we were dancing Ellen tryed to kiss me. i knew it was coming to be honest the moment she asked wether i was bi or not. jess said i was and to be honest im not sure if id have denied it. but anyway i closed my mouth and imidiatly knew jess wouldnt be happy about that, though i guess in the long run i won :p
then i proceeded to brood over the fact that i couldnt get to Rob through the sea of girls surrounding him, dam them i thought dam them all to an existance without razors, but also one far away from here! but i won anyway, cause Rob began to dance with me and during what i think was a panic at the disco song (before Ghost Busters came on) he kissed me and i didnt close my mouth. so really mission acomplished. win. and then the meeting of Perry, oh he is SUCH a cutie! i actaully *heart* him and i cant wait to see him tomorrow, though im a little afraid of introducing him to all my friends. andyway he owes me, jess and i gave him a show! yeah hahaha the upside of having a jealous friend, she put out *grin* i cant belive some people thought we were going out. oh well. i also cant belive Chris didnt knotice us kissing, he was sat like THAT far away from us!
grant:
breaky up time with Grant. not fun, really nervous and guilty though not because i kissed three other people in one night whilst stil technically going out with him. it was really fun doing it, but yeah. i dont know i figured if he didnt physically repulse me, i wouldnt have done it. i didnt do it with Will. yup, unfortunatly Ellen happens to want to go out with him so i think she has told him what i did, and i dont think he's best pleased...
oh well, to be honest i dont care...
im a horrible person.
dads girlfriend:
whilst dad was in one of his drunken adoring revealing moods he confirmed that he did have a girlfriend called Pam, who he met over the internet, and like s alot. i have no problem with it and i look forward to meeting her.
saturday rape:
i had SUCH an amazing day on saturday it was wonderful! i spent the day with Steve, Joe, Will, Kit and Chris, i felt like such a whore, i was the kind of girl that a few months ago i would have hated if i walked past her in the street. oh it felt good. oh i love them all so much! i dont know, but i feel closer to alot more guys than i do girls right now. this probably has something to witht he fact that because they ahve a penis i am prepeared to give them the time of day, or it could be because they are just more interesting. oh well. anyway chris and Will had to leave early so Joe Kit Steve and i sat in the beers. Joe then proceeded to spen the rest of his time with us, picking me up and dipositing me in the flowerbeds, or playing with me, the same way he plays with Frankie which i took as a great great compliment. the Kit and Joe grabbed my scaf and pinned me down by the neck and grasping both arms and legs tight the three of them then tickled me for atleast half an hour in which i screamed and begged and noone batted an eyelid. which scared me a little, because, three guys (from a distance) looked like they were 'attacking' a girl who was screaming... its like the car alarm thing, a car alarm goes off and noone thinks, oh god someones broken into a car call the police, they think oh what an annoying noise. oh well, it was awesome fun! and Kit was left with me at the end and we talked for ages and he lied to his mum so that he could sit with me untill dad came to make sure i didnt actually get raped.
lazy with chris:
i thought i liked chris, i dont anymore but anyway when i did, i found it distressing that he didnt like me back in that way... but to be honest i didnt put any effort into it what so ever which also scares me because it means i have gotten into a state of mind were i assume people will just start liking me in that way if i like them. thich is just silly.
oh Cabaret is on, yey *grins*
i must listen to the White Stripes soon or i may very well die.
Does Your Mother Know You Kiss Girls?: well yeah she does actually, i told her i kissed girls on thursday.
my exact words were: 'well she was right there and i thought meh why not'
she laughed and agreed.
i *heart* my mother
convo with mum:
on our way to cheltenham (so i could get into town) mum and i had the most amazing conversation in the car! i started talking about how Grant is bi, and she has some really strong view on that kind of thing, its been too long to quote her, but yeah she said some really amazing stuff. i also know that she has kissed a few girls, and i actually suspect that she has had lesiban tendancies, you know how people argue something so well that they sort of have to have had experiance on the subject to know that much. she also talked in quiet a bitter way about it... maybe thats just me interpriting it wrong but yeah... hmmmm.
crackers:
had an awesome time at crackers, was a bit nervous at first and a bit aprihensive about seeing Rob again, i kinda felt the same way about him as i did Todd, i know im romantisising it, but its kind of a window to a culture that facinates and excites me. anyway i was SO happy when he came up and gave me a hug and a kiss. i know its horrific, but i mean i know you guys wont see me in any worse a light as you do already, but i was secretly (well nolonger secretly) happy he didnt hug jess. i know thats terrible, but, but. yeah. its silly but i always think that guys like Jess more. so it was like a guilty win. anyway. then whilst we were dancing Ellen tryed to kiss me. i knew it was coming to be honest the moment she asked wether i was bi or not. jess said i was and to be honest im not sure if id have denied it. but anyway i closed my mouth and imidiatly knew jess wouldnt be happy about that, though i guess in the long run i won :p
then i proceeded to brood over the fact that i couldnt get to Rob through the sea of girls surrounding him, dam them i thought dam them all to an existance without razors, but also one far away from here! but i won anyway, cause Rob began to dance with me and during what i think was a panic at the disco song (before Ghost Busters came on) he kissed me and i didnt close my mouth. so really mission acomplished. win. and then the meeting of Perry, oh he is SUCH a cutie! i actaully *heart* him and i cant wait to see him tomorrow, though im a little afraid of introducing him to all my friends. andyway he owes me, jess and i gave him a show! yeah hahaha the upside of having a jealous friend, she put out *grin* i cant belive some people thought we were going out. oh well. i also cant belive Chris didnt knotice us kissing, he was sat like THAT far away from us!
grant:
breaky up time with Grant. not fun, really nervous and guilty though not because i kissed three other people in one night whilst stil technically going out with him. it was really fun doing it, but yeah. i dont know i figured if he didnt physically repulse me, i wouldnt have done it. i didnt do it with Will. yup, unfortunatly Ellen happens to want to go out with him so i think she has told him what i did, and i dont think he's best pleased...
oh well, to be honest i dont care...
im a horrible person.
dads girlfriend:
whilst dad was in one of his drunken adoring revealing moods he confirmed that he did have a girlfriend called Pam, who he met over the internet, and like s alot. i have no problem with it and i look forward to meeting her.
saturday rape:
i had SUCH an amazing day on saturday it was wonderful! i spent the day with Steve, Joe, Will, Kit and Chris, i felt like such a whore, i was the kind of girl that a few months ago i would have hated if i walked past her in the street. oh it felt good. oh i love them all so much! i dont know, but i feel closer to alot more guys than i do girls right now. this probably has something to witht he fact that because they ahve a penis i am prepeared to give them the time of day, or it could be because they are just more interesting. oh well. anyway chris and Will had to leave early so Joe Kit Steve and i sat in the beers. Joe then proceeded to spen the rest of his time with us, picking me up and dipositing me in the flowerbeds, or playing with me, the same way he plays with Frankie which i took as a great great compliment. the Kit and Joe grabbed my scaf and pinned me down by the neck and grasping both arms and legs tight the three of them then tickled me for atleast half an hour in which i screamed and begged and noone batted an eyelid. which scared me a little, because, three guys (from a distance) looked like they were 'attacking' a girl who was screaming... its like the car alarm thing, a car alarm goes off and noone thinks, oh god someones broken into a car call the police, they think oh what an annoying noise. oh well, it was awesome fun! and Kit was left with me at the end and we talked for ages and he lied to his mum so that he could sit with me untill dad came to make sure i didnt actually get raped.
lazy with chris:
i thought i liked chris, i dont anymore but anyway when i did, i found it distressing that he didnt like me back in that way... but to be honest i didnt put any effort into it what so ever which also scares me because it means i have gotten into a state of mind were i assume people will just start liking me in that way if i like them. thich is just silly.
oh Cabaret is on, yey *grins*
i must listen to the White Stripes soon or i may very well die.
Does Your Mother Know You Kiss Girls?: well yeah she does actually, i told her i kissed girls on thursday.
my exact words were: 'well she was right there and i thought meh why not'
she laughed and agreed.
i *heart* my mother
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