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[27 Apr 2008|12:35am] |
Well, Rebecca was here again, tonight. Once again, it was during work, and once again, I missed her. Once again, work ruins my life. I had the badge. Stuart showed her, this badge. It was quite amusing. Apparently, her reaction was "Aw, bless!".
A reaction that suggest to me that she regards it merely as a cute gesture, rather than a manly gesture. I'd show her my manly gesture, if I got the chance. Still, I was out of the kitchen far too late to catch her, and her image was gone.
Bloody hell. I think this job is seriously ruining my social life.
And I like her, godammit. I really do. I won't feel this way always. Maybe i'll be there one day when she's there, and I won't be working. I don't know. I just think obstacles are always put in the way. Either my shyness, or this. Work. Fucking work.
I can tell you, Rebecca, that if you gave me a sign that you liked me, I would be intensely, and passionately, yours. My balls and my brain, how about that?
Dammit.
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[27 Apr 2008|01:13am] |
One of those films catskulls sent me today I talked about earlier, and it was well wicked. A great film. And in it was Sophia Myles, who I reckon is the first celebrity i've fancied in ages. Let's face it, being single, I am fully entitled to indulge in such things, and I did. She's got intense, blue eyes, and an incredible smile.
I might have to do some hilarious Victoria Stilwell style letters. She's well yum! She's a good actress too. Big wide eyes, witty, and grins a lot. Sign me up, gonad! Hey, FUCK You man! FUCK YOU!
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[27 Apr 2008|03:58pm] |
I think I might get my hair cut soon. I don't mean a little, I mean, almost all of it. Gone. As in an inch long. I think it would be quite good about that length, and slightly spiky. I don't know, yet. I've had this hair for four years. It's been through a lot, give or take the odd snip.
So it would be a very big thing. I just cannot go on having to wear that cap, and the uncomfortable summers in that kitchen. Plus, it looks shit at the back and the sides. All these little tufts.
That is all I have to say. Back to work, you slags.
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[27 Apr 2008|11:10pm] |
That was a nice change of scene. At eight fifteen, Dan phoned me up and suggested that he, Tash, and myself take a trip to the Rising Sun, a pub out of the way in lovely Stourmouth. That we did, and I discovered to my pleasure, that i've been there before. In 2004, I think. I went there once with Gordon, and Graham. It's a very nice place, the kind of place that is full of nice art and nice music, and books line shelves. Such a refreshing change.
We played pool, and talked about stuff. Relationships, confidence, the psychology of "Asking someone out on a date", the confidence factor, marriage, and fate. And Mariah Carey. Yes, even she slipped into the conversation. I don't quite know how. Legendary friends and family will know that she is, inexplicably, one of my peculiar fancies. That however is not how we got onto the subject of her. However, I shall write a piece on Mariah. If you were a psychologist, Mariah Carey would be a stunning subject matter. She's clearly nuts, and yet, I still want to ram one up her fork in the road.
The best way of describing her is, as her breasts get bigger, her music gets shitter. An odd anomoly. Anyway, a fun night, that ended with some Snow Patrol singing in the car on the journey home.
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| Hold onto your labias, it's another fucking mess of "Good Letter, bad letter"! |
[27 Apr 2008|11:23pm] |
Good Letter:
"Dear Rebecca,
With fingers of rose, and eyes of tulip, you flower my earth, you heap upon my heart a mountain of joy, every dance of your dress is like music to me, every carress of your lips I crave, every utterance of your mouth is like a goddess singing."
Bad letter:
"Your mole hole makes me piss spunk. If I could, i'd melt ice cream and fuck it up your goal hole. Christ, you make me so moist I could kick a kidney through a door. I would paint you with white milky piss, you mucky girl. Say you were a crisp and I was a hungry tramp, you'd be crunched down so small you would be crumbs in my mouth. I could happily push my gonad stack into your fuckpost gash and shit a starry silk hammer into your naughty black chicken farm. I fuck you in dreams made for a thief!"
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