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Archive for February, 2008

Dildo.

I bet you a man made up that word. Could you find a less threatening, silly sounding word for a penis substitute?

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PM Kevin RuddI ran away from work today. Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting that considering someone I know in an unforseen universe of cool people that I don’t work with might take the time out of their day to stop sucking client cock and spend more time wanking over my brilliant literary feats. But as I know no one who actually wanks over this blog, (with the exception of Johnny who most definitely does not care whether I am at work or not) all I have to say is “ha! suckers!” to everyone else. And, just in case you want to fire me, I should clarify that while I ran away from work, I am still working … remotely, in a space station of coolness that is not called the agency. (more…)

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I’m one of those weird girls who don’t really enjoy shopping. It might have something to do with being a midget, or that I have no money, I don’t know – your guess is probably more accurate than mine. If guessing was graded at school, I would have got a doctor’s note from my psychiatrist so I could nap instead because guessing makes me nervous and I’m already prone to panic attacks. Plus I’m not very good at it, absolutely useless at having a gamble. My mind can’t remember the basic rules of poker lest I am accidentally lured into a smokey room full of dodgy (but oh so sexy) looking gentlemen who are dealing. Or something like that. My parents have always told me that practise makes perfect, but somehow I just don’t think I’ll be doing that any time soon. I suppose if I practised more shopping, then I wouldn’t end up with a pair of pale yellow jeans. Euw, I know, they sound hideous – and I think they very well might be. You see, not being very accomplished when it comes to shopping, I don’t really understand the process behind it. I either wander around and get nervous when well-meaning sales assistants say hi, or else I mistakenly buy the same pair of jeans I got a few months ago. True story: I have two pairs of black Sass & Bides, bought 2 months apart, that fit for about an hour after they come out of the dryer, then the arse gets saggy. Right, so a few months ago I got an awesome pair of skinny bright blue jeans. It was after a ballet class and before one of those interminably long afternoons I used to spend at Pacific Coffee at IFC (yes, I know I’m allergic to coffee, I had tea instead) and the colour caught my eye. It took me twenty minutes to figure out my size, and muffin-top-to-stretch-ratio (new jeans are always too tight, but then they stretch out and sit more comfortably so it’s always best to get them snug – as I obviously didn’t learn with the two pairs of Sass) and whether I would love or feel too self conscious about the colour. I eventually got them and have loved half the colour away. Sad. In a random turn of events, I ended up at the very same place today, and lo and behold there was a pair of jeans in my size, on sale! Wow! They were yellow. I bought them, can’t return them and not sure if I should wear them. They’re awfully, well, unusual. And they’re sitting on the couch next to me and I can’t look away – it’s like a car accident. Although I don’t like looking at car accidents, I have an amazing ability to turn away from things when I so desire – like Edison’s peen on the internet. Never looked, cross-my-heart ‘n all that. I have a feeling that these yellow jeans are going to be the equivalent of personal-turned-public soft porn antics – a dire warning not to dabble in what you might be mortally embarrassed about in the future.

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