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[14 Dec 2004|09:51am] |
Not a bad night at the Bell, laughing at Graham's MASSIVE bump that he recieved from trying to leap his stairs, crashing into a wall in the process. Ian had to attempt to destry any kind of fun I was having though, by repeatedly criticising my hair. The more I think about it, the more angry I get actually. He uses me as fuel for his own position, because he knows I rarely respond. I do not because if I did, I would point out that his wit is so expanded, he can only ever find my hair to make a joke about.
I want to leave next year on good terms, with a decent amount of notice, enough for them to replace me. If this kind of tiresome attempt at "humour" continues, then I will simply just fucking leave. I'm sick to the cunt teeth of this silver haired obnoxious cunt criticising me for daring to have my hair different to the pack of ageing clones that haunt his bar like hell dogs. Fuck OFF, Ian. I can outwit you in a picosecond, if you raise your WIT to a level above every sterotypical landlord in the FUCKING world.
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[14 Dec 2004|11:21am] |
Spent ages staring in the mirror, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I can't tell if i'm looking really good or fucking awful. Ah, the life of a BDD sufferer.
I'm out of here, you loop centrals.
See yer later.
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[14 Dec 2004|04:37pm] |
Finishing late appears to be the norm at the moment. As in, half an hour. Another Christmas party, and this means twenty odd starters, main courses and desserts. Plus umpteen knives, forks, spoons, jack o lanterns, spinning tops, broken bears, and everything else to wash up. Oh, and whoever else happens to be eating. I count about sixty today. I am not full of beans at this point.
Fuck that though! Shopping tommorow. Lots of dancing with bags and coffee. Hopefully. More likely to be walking around depressedly staring at neon lights. Stuart, I reckon definately about 11am in the Bell, okay? If I get no reply i'll phone you either tonight or tomorrow morning.
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[14 Dec 2004|06:04pm] |
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mood |
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On the agenda for tonight; drinking and knocking feet against a bar, whilst Jo and Nikki gossip about everything ever in the world, even the stuff that's happened the next life.
I'm ah...friskily impatient today.
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