hi
lily allen – smile
for all you lunatic bitches and shitty bastard boyfriends, totally watch this life lesson video and enjoy.
Monthly Archives: June 2006
i just saw the break up and i cried a lot and then when we got up to leave i leaned forward too far and smashed the bridge of my nose into the seat in front of me and dragged/hit my entire nose against the seatback all the way from the momentum of getting up then i fell back into my seat and my eyes exploded into pain tears immediately and i yelled out and lise turns and is like what the fuck are you ok? and i’m just sitting there with my entire face covered in tears and my nose is totally red all the make-up scraped off and mascara running down my cheeks.
gay fucking gay.
remember how i use to complain about that faggy acoustic guitar music we could hear through the wall late at nite? yes it’s still happening but we’ve decided it’s some sort of gay relaxation tape or something. i guessed it might be some stupid hippie waterfall with one of those terra cotta on its side pots that pumps out music when it’s turned on and a bunch of foliage? the other nite i punched the wall twice they turned it down then turned it back on again then i found the wall’s sweet spot and fucking slammed it again three times.
ps the lady next door i saw her in the laundry room and she was wearing a ratty long t-shirt with holes in it and so worn that it was kinda see-thru and then she tried to talk to me.
i’m so use to everyone in this building being snotty to me that when someone actually acknowledges me i don’t know how to turn off automatic defensivity. yesterday this lady came out of the dentist and was going toward the elevator and i had all these groceries and she says I’M GOING DOWN YOU WANT TO RIDE WITH ME? and i just said NO turned around and yelled over my shoulders I’LL JUST TAKE THE STAIRS.
what the fuck was that who am i?!
well, she kind of barked the I’M GOING DOWN at me no hi no half-wave, fuck her. plus i had an armful of groceries and she only had to carry a thousand dollar change purse the size of my palm, oh no there lady i’m totally fine waiting in the lobby while you go down to the basement in a fucking elevator ONE FLOOR in fact, i’ll dig into my purse without dropping my bags and get the key to the stairwell and walk up a flight, totes no problem!
i don’t know why she couldn’t just walk down the stairs, it takes longer to wait for elevator and it wastes electricity. you know stairs still exist right?
lite brite fun
bored as hell?
EXCERPT FROM BOOK I AM WORKING ON NOT YET TITLED
Marta had a date last night!!!!$$&*& So Larry cooked! It was, uh, very Larry. French fries broiled in the oven, burnt and crispy, frozen peas and microwave macaroni. Somehow he managed to even fuck up the macaroni, so we ordered Chinese.
Then we watched Larry check his Myspace email and got trashed on Bailey’s. Larry projected his desktop onto the wall so we could recite all of his outgoing potential courtship responses in funny accents. Then we read my blog that way also, until we all had peeing-pants fits. Reading my blog wasted is pretty funny ‘cos I caps lock sentences for emphasis and my grammar is just terrible and lazy so when you’ve had several drinks everything is all jumbled and hurried and you are like what?
And then when you make your voice affected it’s ten times more hilarious, doooooooood.
Larry has a thing for Asian women, he’s got three different ones on the go and soon we will be meeting two of them. Separately of course.
One is 23! Her name is Minnie. Ha-ha.
The other one is 39! Her name is Desire. I am not lying.
A few months ago I mixed up these two other Myspace conquests of Larry’s so he had to dump them. He wasn’t too angry with me. He said it was good material for his screenplay.
“Larry, you’re writing a screenplay?”
“Yes, is that so hard to believe, Penny?”
“…”
“Ok fine, I’m writing a porn.”
“!”
“Ok fine! I’m putting it in the wank failure bank.”
So this time I know better not to get loaded and insist that I fully remember being told that < ___ > is the manager of her department in bla bla bla sales something boring tra la la and has two dogs, one named Cody the other named Myrtle. Man that was awkward.
Sam plays wingman, well, sort of, and I sometimes play spinster hag. We’ve decided Sam can’t really be wingman anymore ‘cos then Larry’s lady’s friend gets way into Sam and I get way into red wine and then I blow everyone’s cover.
Anyway after Myspace and blogs, we went home around one. I wonder how Sam’s hangover went for him today.
father/son race
father’s day sunday guys
ASK RAYMI
Hi Raymi,
I saw your advice columns and figured I would take a shot on a question. I’ve been dating a girl for 3 months now, things are going well, we have fun together and really hit it off. However, I’m slightly concerned that I’m doing too much of the work in the relationship. I’m constantly the one who is making plans, usually paying for dinner, tickets, events, gifts, etc.
She shows affection (and occasionally splits the bill), but she really hasn’t decided to come out and do anything for me yet. I have expressed to her that I want to avoid being taken advantage of as in past relationships, and she understands and seems pretty genuine, but I want to make sure she somehow gets the hint that we both need to be doing things for each other for it to work.
Don’t get me wrong, sex and everything else is great, I just get the feeling sometimes that she doesn’t think of doing things for me sometimes. I really like this girl so I don’t want to shake things up too bad, but would welcome your advice on this one.
Thanks,
GPT
Boston, MA
Hey GPT, first of all, go red sox. secondly, this slut is totally using you. you’re a chump and should’ve given up ages ago. as soon as the gifts stop rolling in this girl is dunzo, sorry. she simply ain’t feeling you anymore. before you end it try and get a big ole fight in there where you’re yelling at 3 in the morning and your hair is standing up cos you’re so stressed and she’s all why baby whyyyyy and you’re like YOU ARE DEAD TO ME TARA. fun.
good luck next time, doormat.
