Why hello there.
It's been a while, you droves of folks who don't actually read my journal. In my head there are droves, I assure you.
I had amazing dreadlocks for 13 weeks.
I had some issues and combed them out. A control problem where everything was going wrong in my life and I needed to take control of something. Apparently combing my hair = taking control. Really it just = watching a fuckton of old anime and drinking like 3 large slurpee's in one night. I'm sure you can imagine the pee fest that came after that little shindig.
1 min until M is due to call and we can hang out and eat Chinese food and watch the IT crowd. I want to do wrong things with what'shisface. The not irish guy. Yeah. I must deflower him. MUST. Oh yes.
Just used a 'greenlight" match to light my ciggarette. Dunno. Not much to say there.
MOSS! That's his name. The character's name. The character on IT crowd that I would do nasty things with/to.
The dreadlocks have returned. They're now at the point they were at 4 weeks last time I started. If you can suss out wtf I was trying to say there, then yay.
Speaking of dreadlocks. HEY another community I ditched.
I spent some money on amazing boots. They are... fucking amazing. Immediately after I ordered my boots, manbeast came home with a flat tire. Now I need to buy some unamazing tires.
I'm using the sleeve of a t-shirt as a headband to hold back the little catterpillar dreadling babies.
Banshee is a little traumatized and lives in the computer room now. The trauma came from rolling around in some glue traps and having half of her fur sheared off as a result. Of course it was about 4 am. Maybe half an hour after I got to sleep? Two hours before manbeast needed to wake up? Yeah. Crankiness. We held her down under a blanket and snipped gluey fluff for a good hour.
The flea wars continue, but I've won most of the battles so far.
That legless boy that I mentioned a few entries ago. He has his metal leg. I'm happy. The lady across the way is dead now though, so I hear. She apparently was not the one who was wailing either. I'll need a new person with superb false limbs to be inspired by now. Maybe I'll just have to stop letting the boys in my stories lose limbs.
The new neighbor is the midwestern equivalent of a chav.
If you were to look at the tabs I have open in my browser you would find google searches for IT crowd, chav, equivalent, and intersex.
M needs to get his ass over here NOW before I gorge myself on lemon cookies.
I keep glancing to my side where there is a sketch for a coat I want to make. Every time I glance, I see a penis first. It must be the hood. Penis coat. Dani will be happy. I'll be going to her show this month. It's called "Dicks on the Dancefloor." Dancefloor is because the gallery is also one of our studios on the other side of the river. She asked my advice a few days ago. She wanted to know how I would feel looking at a painting of a plate of spaghetti with a penis sliced up and tossed with red sauce. I told her that I would feel sad. It's honest enough. Sad, and a queasy. I can make spaghetti, but the thought of it really grosses me out for some reason. And now this poor diembodied penis is swimming in the crap? What a waste. Poor weenie.
I think I'm done talking now. Mizmar music is on and it's driving me away. I could change the song, but then there goes my excuse.
I had amazing dreadlocks for 13 weeks.
I had some issues and combed them out. A control problem where everything was going wrong in my life and I needed to take control of something. Apparently combing my hair = taking control. Really it just = watching a fuckton of old anime and drinking like 3 large slurpee's in one night. I'm sure you can imagine the pee fest that came after that little shindig.
1 min until M is due to call and we can hang out and eat Chinese food and watch the IT crowd. I want to do wrong things with what'shisface. The not irish guy. Yeah. I must deflower him. MUST. Oh yes.
Just used a 'greenlight" match to light my ciggarette. Dunno. Not much to say there.
MOSS! That's his name. The character's name. The character on IT crowd that I would do nasty things with/to.
The dreadlocks have returned. They're now at the point they were at 4 weeks last time I started. If you can suss out wtf I was trying to say there, then yay.
Speaking of dreadlocks. HEY another community I ditched.
I spent some money on amazing boots. They are... fucking amazing. Immediately after I ordered my boots, manbeast came home with a flat tire. Now I need to buy some unamazing tires.
I'm using the sleeve of a t-shirt as a headband to hold back the little catterpillar dreadling babies.
Banshee is a little traumatized and lives in the computer room now. The trauma came from rolling around in some glue traps and having half of her fur sheared off as a result. Of course it was about 4 am. Maybe half an hour after I got to sleep? Two hours before manbeast needed to wake up? Yeah. Crankiness. We held her down under a blanket and snipped gluey fluff for a good hour.
The flea wars continue, but I've won most of the battles so far.
That legless boy that I mentioned a few entries ago. He has his metal leg. I'm happy. The lady across the way is dead now though, so I hear. She apparently was not the one who was wailing either. I'll need a new person with superb false limbs to be inspired by now. Maybe I'll just have to stop letting the boys in my stories lose limbs.
The new neighbor is the midwestern equivalent of a chav.
If you were to look at the tabs I have open in my browser you would find google searches for IT crowd, chav, equivalent, and intersex.
M needs to get his ass over here NOW before I gorge myself on lemon cookies.
I keep glancing to my side where there is a sketch for a coat I want to make. Every time I glance, I see a penis first. It must be the hood. Penis coat. Dani will be happy. I'll be going to her show this month. It's called "Dicks on the Dancefloor." Dancefloor is because the gallery is also one of our studios on the other side of the river. She asked my advice a few days ago. She wanted to know how I would feel looking at a painting of a plate of spaghetti with a penis sliced up and tossed with red sauce. I told her that I would feel sad. It's honest enough. Sad, and a queasy. I can make spaghetti, but the thought of it really grosses me out for some reason. And now this poor diembodied penis is swimming in the crap? What a waste. Poor weenie.
I think I'm done talking now. Mizmar music is on and it's driving me away. I could change the song, but then there goes my excuse.