3rd April 2012

I just made a very long post about Ebay, but tumblr keeps cutting out a huge section of it, but teases me by allowing in the last line. What is up with tumblr?!

2nd April 2012

My Other Home

While I’m home, I’m working on my old bar a while, so the last post wasn’t completely entirely true. I’m home, by the way, so that’s cool. Nice to have some time off and all that. I’m probably going to play a little football tomorrow, perhaps followed by a nice cold pint of good, west country cider. No better way to spend my hometime.

During my long shift today, some grey haired fella’ was telling me all sorts of things that I completely zoned out on, which quickly became a conversation (a monologue with interjections, rather) about night clubs, unsafe drinking habits and the choices us ‘young people’ make, clothing-wise. Id est girls wear skirts to “here” - indicating I presume roughly where the tip of his penis falls to, because he’s clearly bitter about this subject so he must have a really, really small penis - and this is a bad thing.

I described what I often see when I go out in my other home, Uni, since my real home isn’t so guilty of this ‘crime’, and he described my other home as a “whorehouse”.

This is a “whorehouse”:

In all seriousness, the thing about a place where sex is sold is that, as with any shop, the thing being sold must not be crowded by the thing buying. If you can’t see the product, you wont buy it. Lots of sheep, two men.

This is where an enjoyable, inexpensive venue that sells alcohol differs from an expensive, soul crushing venue that sells sex. Nightclubs are a central part of social interaction for 18+ year olds in the UK, where men roughly equal women and everyone generally enjoys themselves. It’s unfair to call an apartment block a ‘murder block’ because there’s one man who lives there who killed another man sometime in the past.

Bitter old men drinking pint ales and moaning. It’s what I do. Naturally I didn’t argue with him, because on the other hand the girls in my Uni home are rather more, well, roaming than girls in the rest of the UK. Worded as politely as possible; they’re not so up tight about sex.

He sort of inadvertantly suggested that I’ve chosen to live, work and play in a ‘whorehouse’, then - which is a compliment I couldn’t hope to have equalled yet.

30th March 2012

Dear You

I just had a little flick down my blog on my homepage. I would like to thank you for listening to my very many stories about what happened at work, I posted rather a lot of them. In hindsight, it was working in a bar that gave me the most to talk about, and since I left the job I haven’t been writing any interesting stories, or dramatic over-the-top rants, or any hilarious anecdotes at all, leading me to suggest that perhaps they may have been somehow linked.

I left my job behind that extremely fashionable bar a few months ago, some time in January, I don’t remember my last shift or what happened, but I do remember the exquisite feeling that leaving a job immediately gives. That weightless, care-free feeling that we’re always looking for, which, although soon followed by desperation for money, was totally worth it. I now need, on top of the list of things I listed a long time ago about needing, the following:

• A job

So lets hope I have one soon.

While we’re waiting, here are some other things that happened to me recently, in no particular order. Of course they’re all relevant to this blog in some way. This isn’t an autobiography.

The Awkward Car Journey

I had a car journey, approximately an hour in length, sandwiched very inappropriately between a gay person I don’t know, and an underage, underdressed girl. We all got on well, but it was a very small car…

The Boyfriend

My flatmate’s new boyfriend once wore her dressing gown. He’s a large army man, she’s very small. It was something to behold.

The Nightclub

Regrettably, I slipped a finger into a girl on a dancefloor. It was busy and no-one saw.

The Akward Train Journey

Similar to the Awkward Car Journey, I happened to spend half of a two hour train journey next to a very large man, and the other half next to a very strange man. The seats are quite close together. I just wanted to be alone. This isn’t about sex, or films, or anything that I enjoy writing about, but I wanted to tell you.

The Old ‘Booty call’

It’s a vulgar phrase. Anyway, I went home for a weekend, and we hooked up.

The Fat One

I don’t need to say more. Not a highlight of the year so far. Ginger, too.

The Fit One

This has yet to happen, duh…

So, until next time,

Best wishes,

Me X

29th March 2012

whatafuckinfamilypicture:

I have never been turned on by anything. Like I literally have never been horny in my entire life. Want to test me? Send me the dirtiest pics of yourself and I won’t even respond

Classic.

20th March 2012

A girl is being played a fool, turning up to school to sleep against her hand while her teacher, man, a little bland, innocent but dirty mind seems to find enjoyment when she sits afront the class. Only he can see under her desk.

A girl is being played a fool because the boy she wants to call wont talk to her, wont look at her, wont even masturbate for her, yet he’s stringing her along, his flowing voice an endless song to take her to where she belongs but only in her mind.

A girl is being played a fool, her daddy gives her all these rules and makes her go to school on time and do the cooking all the time, mother left before her time. The girl’s a fool, her dad’s a drunk, a fucking useless piece of junk, he wants to fuck his daughter. His place is in the slaughter.

The young girl now is all grown up, older and wiser but if you look deep inside her, you’ll notice her heart cannot love. Violated as a girl back then destroyed all her for future men. The girl who once was played a fool, is now a slut, a dirty tool for all their eager fantasies.