train of thought

I need to do laundry. And the dishes. And wash the bathroom. And a dozen other things too, now that we’re at it. And since J is coming over TOMORROW, I also need to clean the bed in the front room, which could seriously use a good tidal wave (unless I want him to find things his pure pederasting eyes don’t want to see*), yet all I’ve been doing all morning is downing coffee with Pringles (that’s some hell of a breakfast, by the way, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) and reading blogs.

Shit. It’s 12:15 already. I should’ve been out of the house an hour ago.

We have a wine tasting at work later, which means I would have to haul my ass there earlier than usual. Without pay. Tch.

In normal circumstances I would’ve poked my own eyes out giddily to ‘taste’ wine for free, but with all the things I need to be doing I think I’ll need to pass on this one. The thought is more painful to me than it is mentally healthy.

No matter. I can always drink and clean at the same time – it’s all about multitasking here, people!

Pip pip!




* Luvs, dahling, but there’re just certain things friends don’t need to visualise, ahem...*winks seedily*

little bunny foo foo

Wine is good. Wine is my friend. Makes me happy without the headache. Very good.

Blond Monkey is setting up a blog for his artwork at the moment and for some reason it makes me queasy. The reason might be that, oh I don’t know, he is not exactly aware that I also have a blog. Myself. And when he asks me what I think about layouts, whether I’m familiar with html or not, or if I have blogger account, well, I’m not quite sure what to say.

I end up lying, obviously, because, tch, I’m far from being sane enough to have him know every single thought that farts through my brain. The much that he knows is more than I ever imagined letting anyone have to hold against me as personal information, or believed laudable with such loving indulgence, really. I’d rather not push it. He, however, freely gives me his passwords & pin numbers, and I’m not sure if that makes him utterly naïve or me a complete untrusting biatch. Or both. Opposites attract and all that. Or perhaps birds of the same flock as we are both a little screwed up?

Ooh! Pizza’s here!

Cannot process more coherent thought now.
Am officially drunk.

Buhbye!

the beast and dragon, adored

Just for the record, things aren’t ‘bad’ in London. Shocking, I know, from recent [and most, to be honest] posts in this here blogue.

It’s just that when things are ‘good’ you’d rather enjoy it rather than sit & shit it away through your fingers. Because the more you write about the ‘good’ things, the more you dwell on them, and the more you pick at them, and the more you tear them apart. Until you effectively kill them.

So you don’t describe how incredibly cool double-decked buses are without thinking about the maddening traffic or insane driving. And you don’t mention your favorite restaurant with the friendliest staff without worrying about the precarious financial situation that living in The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD breeds. And you don’t rave about the innumerable art wonders available at your fingertips to wipe away a bad day without hanging an equal amount of pretentious ‘arty’ wankers pestering the sites. And you definitely don’t want to talk about how freakishly awesome things with the boyfriend are... without ignoring the overwhelming fear when comes the imminent day you will need to part.

So yeah, I’d rather not write about the ‘good’ stuff, thank you, but that’s just me.

For the record.