I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
MILF lover K
Yesterday I discovered my work’s new first aid kit. It was like discovering Britney for the first time. The box was shiny and untouched, sorry am now talking about the fresh young virgin I met just 2 days ago. Anyway, only
one seal was broken, shit here I go again, enough of those school girl thoughts. So, the only seal to be tampered with on this bright green briefcase was the ‘emergency tampon’ one. I do not want to know who broke that one, the thought of hemoraging work collegues is enough to put Miss Fee off her love for lumpy ketchup. I love first aid kits. They contain such wonders. Such oddly shaped instruments which can serve no pleasurable purpose and extra long bandages that I haven’t see since I visited the dead person museum. This first aid kit would have done a small ambulance service proud, and still have enough eye patches left over to go round all the gammy eyed people of Aberdeen twice over. That’s a heck of a lot of bandages. The gammy eye is an Aberdonian trait. I had a rummage to see what I could borrow for personal use and thought of all the patch up jobs that could be carried out for the rest of my life. I need never limp into Boots and face the glares from overrated and over suspicious shop assistants again. I came away with a number of ‘moist’ tissues, medicated soap, leg sized plasters and safety pins, to carry out the damage which may or may not require the use of such pilfered items. My night was made.
And in this happy mood I came home, raked through someone else’s freezer and found god three times over. There was chips, there was cheese and there was tomato sauce. I thought that after my packet of opal fruits and marmite
crisps that I didn’t qualify as over eater of the year (it’s not often I fail this achievement) so I whacked them in the oven and waited. So eager was I tuck into this culinary delight that two bad things happened. First I forgot about the usefulness of oven gloves and left the skin of my thumb on the side of the dish (those patches will serve there purpose quicker than I thought). At least I will now be able to rob things and leave no fingerprints. But it got worse. My snack-for-six looked so divine that I did not take into account cooking time. The chips were raw soggy potatoes. My snack was ruined. I cried and then decided to pick off the salvagable bits of cheese and chilli and eat them anyway. It tasted like stringy lard so there had to be a revisit. Trying to pull mozzarella out of your throat when it has already settled somewhere around your arse is a mission and a half. I felt like a comedy sketch but I was the only one laughing. It was either laugh or cry, again, at the demise of my tasty non nutritional snack. Junk food is bad but cheese IS the ultimate enemy.
I also discovered another herbal way to cure my sleeping problems. It wasn’t camomile tea. When I eventually got over my ‘shit I am going to die in my sleep’ paranoia and my heart started beating at a rate more suitable to humans I had a good sleep. Bad dreams but good sleep. Once again I dreamt that a certain person was being all nasty to Miss Fee although thankfully this time there was no attempt made on my life by a VW Golf. This time she smothered me with me overly large coat, well actually the fur hood of it. What a way to go I tell you, choking on fake fur. My new herbal cure is clearly not something that I, Miss Paranoid 2002, should be partaking in alone in future. Or maybe ever again.
Today I also decided, mid herbal cigarettes and pre burning mind syndrome where I envisioned my head exploding for a good hour, that I would do something ‘nice’ everyday. I sent a nice tex to someone last night and it made me feel so good. And they responded with an equally nice tex. What you give, you get. And as one tex msg gave me so much joy I decided that it was good to feel happy and thoughtful toward other people. So, every day I have to be either ‘nice’ or gentlemanly. This may involve simple things such as helping a lovely old person, not swearing at Aberdeen neds (bomber jacket crew 2002), complimenting somebody or maybe even letting a homeless person into my shop without screwing up my face with the smell they leave 2 hours after departure, cos that is just mean. It has to be something that I would not ordinarily do so the options are plenty. I could also allow a person of unable body to walk me across the road and hold my shopping for me. I am going to be a nice person, don’t cross anything in anticipation however as my promises are wide and normally unfulfilled. But if being nice to other people makes you feel good, why does nobody else do it?? Maybe it was my leafy cigarettes talking.
Annoying neds (not sworn at) discussing something dull
Some Indian compilation through someone else’s headphones
Going to class, although it’s dull
Surprise phone calls
Plasters that stay on under water
Black Nails (not varnish)
Smells that remind you of nice stuff
Boy in class who reeks of various pollutedness
People who replace you
3/27/2002 12:08:00 PM
Adventures of Charmin
Ariel Pay it Forward
Come to the Dark Side...
Dirty Little Homos
Fash Mag Slag
Het (aka Quickfit)
Hit the Jag Spot...
Knee Deep In It...
Life and Times of a Desperado
On Top of the World>