Bottle of champers drunk: check
Big ass chocolate martini in hand: check
Chocolate on the table: check
Crying at The OC: check
Friday night out dancing at 24 Hour Party People: oh wait….
I thought that ‘Extreme Home Makeover’ would clear me out properly. You know, you watch some cheesey ass tv, cry and cry and cry – even five minutes into a show when they’re introducing the family and you’re tearing up and it’s like “GREAT!” because you think that will be that, and you’ll purge for the rest of the week, but apparently that doesn’t count.
Bloc Party on Rove. I should be out dancing at 24 Hour Party People right now. I should have also learnt by now that I NEVER make it to this gig, or to Atomic, but I guess being so sick for so long made me forget that even when I’m well I don’t actually ever make it out. I don’t do exciting things.
I got a phone call from Katy today on behalf of a friend, whose parents have apparently been looking for her name online and coming up with bad stories on my website. The thing is though that I searched for her name on Google, and then on Yahoo, and I couldn’t find any dirt – unless you count drinkign vodka as dirty. But I suppose I will search further and replace her name with an initial. At what stage does one accept that the Internet is dead? I mean, I get these emails at work from Quality Assurance telling me that certain links are dead – but those links were from a news page in 2002, so it kind of makes me go “yeah duh”. That’s not talking bad about work is it? I don’t think so. I mean it’s not like I said THE DRUG CELEBRITIES ARE… Heh.
It’s just, I dunno. I thought I was over this. I mean, tonight, Seb was on my lap, and he was looking at me every time I made a noise, and I made noises because that’s what I do, and he was so worried, and hey, he’s a cat. So this means I can’t have human children, because I couldn’t handle it if they looked at me like that. And I would be a target for postal natal depression – or, you know, post-natal, even. Oh, and not to mention that it takes at least two to tango, and also some sperm to make babies.
Okay, so in searching out Said Friend’s name, I come across sentences like “And besides, Diane didn’t wanna share me with him and how could I go against that? ” and I’m just like “omg wtf?” because when it’s hard to articulate yourself, it’s ALWAYS best to use acronyms, right? LOL. Haha, I never actually say LOL. BUt it’s strange to be reminded of these people and these things. It’s also strange because I used to actually have a life, and it’s funny reading entries from the end of 2001 when I had this huge crush and I was all “wow, it’s so strange, I like him so much I don’t even know how to hit on him istead of just asking him for a fuck” and I’d laugh at that phrase except that’s actually what I used to do – and be quite successful at. What was the difference between now and then? Many kilos, but also many pills. Oh the pills. Maybe I decided that maybe I should go back on them because maybe they would help me get laid again.
My favourite entry that I’ve come across in the search is this one April 10th, but I just found the punch line and it makes me want to punch someone.
My sister must be super girl smelly for me to have finally had two periods in a row.
(friend) says: and I’m pretty quick so your rsi would be fine – Aww shucks.
Also: ha ha, I’ve rediscovered reading this old entry that my PR friend and I used to write notes to each other about a boy we thought was cute who ended up on the cover of a magazine professing his love for a particular celebrity – not one of the cocaine drug fiends, but friend-of. Heh. Anyways. Also, in this week’s New Idea is Penny’s wedding (Err, that’s Samantha and Kevin to you).
Double Also: I hearby declare that despite how lonely I am (and holy fuck, I’m lonely) I hereby pledge not to get to know anyone whose name I already know intimately. You’d better get yourself a nickname, stat. Too many people with the same names.