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Aug. 1st, 2002 12:27 amI don’t like drunk people. I hate drunk people. They are too loud, they are irritating and they talk too much.
Aug. 1st, 2002
Girls who like boys who like girls...
Aug. 1st, 2002 11:55 amMtv, clip classics. I love that show..only songs from my sentimental happy (?) childhood. [In some ways you can say I had a happy childhood, and that it was better than what I have now. But in some ways you can say it was worse. I guess they weigh eachother out]
Last night to the pub with The dreamwalker and his sister. I went early and cycled by Patricks house who was >> what a fucking surprise << not at home. We shot pool, there were pictures of the Rammstein concert (all hands and arms, luckily none of the shots I was really afraid of: Jimmy-spike) and one where I was posing near a ‘cursing will get you nowhere’- sign with The Dreamwalker where I could see why some people find me hot. Good picture. They’ll scan it for me.
Merrick was harassed by some drunken dude who really really wanted to go with her to a concert. He must have felt I was in a really bad kick-ass mood because he steered way clear of me after the first few remarks. Drunk people piss me off. Loads. They think they’re so damn funny, that they’re the greatest fucking superhero in the world and that you, beyond all doubt, want to go out with them/ like them/want to have sex with them. While it’s scientifically proven that if you drink beer you’re bound to have more trouble getting it up, and if you drink a lot of beer for a long time your penis will actually shrink (not to mention the increase in liver, and thereby tummy, size).
Besides that, alcohol, just as any other drugs, enhance the mood you’re in. If you’re feeling bad, you’ll feel lousy. Feel lousy? -> suicidal. And the other way around. No big surprise that I didn’t drink beer last night. I think beer and other liquor should go with happy times, chilling with friends in the garden next to a barbecue, and not with the bad times, when you’re in a pub just not to be at home.
Just in case you are wondering…when I’m ranting in real life I use the same complicated sentences, yes. They just…form.
Damn I’m a vamp today. A bitter bitch.
Last night to the pub with The dreamwalker and his sister. I went early and cycled by Patricks house who was >> what a fucking surprise << not at home. We shot pool, there were pictures of the Rammstein concert (all hands and arms, luckily none of the shots I was really afraid of: Jimmy-spike) and one where I was posing near a ‘cursing will get you nowhere’- sign with The Dreamwalker where I could see why some people find me hot. Good picture. They’ll scan it for me.
Merrick was harassed by some drunken dude who really really wanted to go with her to a concert. He must have felt I was in a really bad kick-ass mood because he steered way clear of me after the first few remarks. Drunk people piss me off. Loads. They think they’re so damn funny, that they’re the greatest fucking superhero in the world and that you, beyond all doubt, want to go out with them/ like them/want to have sex with them. While it’s scientifically proven that if you drink beer you’re bound to have more trouble getting it up, and if you drink a lot of beer for a long time your penis will actually shrink (not to mention the increase in liver, and thereby tummy, size).
Besides that, alcohol, just as any other drugs, enhance the mood you’re in. If you’re feeling bad, you’ll feel lousy. Feel lousy? -> suicidal. And the other way around. No big surprise that I didn’t drink beer last night. I think beer and other liquor should go with happy times, chilling with friends in the garden next to a barbecue, and not with the bad times, when you’re in a pub just not to be at home.
Just in case you are wondering…when I’m ranting in real life I use the same complicated sentences, yes. They just…form.
Damn I’m a vamp today. A bitter bitch.
Read by the ones that were once silent
Aug. 1st, 2002 04:28 pmGassy has enrolled herself for a house. There was a letter from the building corporation saying "Evidence of enrollment" (bewijs van inschrijving). I've been in school so long I can't think normally anymore.
People read my livejournal and then mail me with their support. Well, that's real nice and thoughtful of them...but still.
Yeah, my life is tough at the moment. I get bitchy vampy and I can bite. So deal with it. Most of my rants will be like that and you'd better get used to it. I don't really need a mail in which you all say you're so damn sorry for me and that you'd like to be there for me.
Excuse me, I'm fixing this but I have no idea how. I've less then two weeks to move out. Do you know how fucking scary that is? To realise you could be on the streets? I don't think so. So I just live, I breathe. I only get up in the morning because I know there will be a day that everything's going to be fine.
Sure, I'd love it if I could just lie in some man's arms and sigh and not think of anything, but at this moment I can't handle any more sympathy mails. I'm not a baby, I don't need to be cuddled every time. All I need is for Patrick to show up and give me the key. That's it.
Yes I'm a fucking bitch and I fucking well can snap at you. This is still my Livejournal and if you don't like my attitude I suggest you go and read some barbie-doll's LJ of her look-at-how-perfect-my-life-is stories. Just don't start bugging me.
People read my livejournal and then mail me with their support. Well, that's real nice and thoughtful of them...but still.
Yeah, my life is tough at the moment. I get bitchy vampy and I can bite. So deal with it. Most of my rants will be like that and you'd better get used to it. I don't really need a mail in which you all say you're so damn sorry for me and that you'd like to be there for me.
Excuse me, I'm fixing this but I have no idea how. I've less then two weeks to move out. Do you know how fucking scary that is? To realise you could be on the streets? I don't think so. So I just live, I breathe. I only get up in the morning because I know there will be a day that everything's going to be fine.
Sure, I'd love it if I could just lie in some man's arms and sigh and not think of anything, but at this moment I can't handle any more sympathy mails. I'm not a baby, I don't need to be cuddled every time. All I need is for Patrick to show up and give me the key. That's it.
Yes I'm a fucking bitch and I fucking well can snap at you. This is still my Livejournal and if you don't like my attitude I suggest you go and read some barbie-doll's LJ of her look-at-how-perfect-my-life-is stories. Just don't start bugging me.
It’s all over
Aug. 1st, 2002 11:34 pmThank goodness for the police.
Let me explain that. I went skating tonight. It was the perfect weather. First I skated to the # 2 to see if Patrick was there. He wasn’t and I skated happily along. After a round (bovenbuurtweg, horalaan, station, pub for a drink) I went back to #2 again. I rang, and saw there was police standing around.
The mail from the box was gone (it was there at 16.30), and I could see light flashing inside. So I rang three times. The police came towards me, looking for number 22. I told the cop in short what had been going on and that I could see light. He pushed away the blinds through the open window and shone his flashlight inside.
[this starts to sound like a real corny movie]
Anyhoo, Patrick finally opened the door in his boxers, the cop left and I went inside. He had this enourmous bullshitstory about not being able to call cellphones (which he demonstrated) and his parents being upset and all. I mean, how old is he? I was real persistant and he gave me three keys. The one of the hallway to the garage, the garage key and the frontdoor key. He said that he would move out entirely this weekend. So Monday is paintday!
I’m so glad that finally shit came together and that we got the keys!
All those things that seemed so far away are now getting closer: the painting, moving out of this place, having the beerfest! (Having to call Guitargod for the beerfest…eep!) Finally meeting Ozjish and trying to get the rent together every month.
Tomorrow another practice-round with Mirror, and then work. Saturday I’ll visit my mom’s cats and make my cloak. Monday start buying and painting. Yeay!
Let me explain that. I went skating tonight. It was the perfect weather. First I skated to the # 2 to see if Patrick was there. He wasn’t and I skated happily along. After a round (bovenbuurtweg, horalaan, station, pub for a drink) I went back to #2 again. I rang, and saw there was police standing around.
The mail from the box was gone (it was there at 16.30), and I could see light flashing inside. So I rang three times. The police came towards me, looking for number 22. I told the cop in short what had been going on and that I could see light. He pushed away the blinds through the open window and shone his flashlight inside.
[this starts to sound like a real corny movie]
Anyhoo, Patrick finally opened the door in his boxers, the cop left and I went inside. He had this enourmous bullshitstory about not being able to call cellphones (which he demonstrated) and his parents being upset and all. I mean, how old is he? I was real persistant and he gave me three keys. The one of the hallway to the garage, the garage key and the frontdoor key. He said that he would move out entirely this weekend. So Monday is paintday!
I’m so glad that finally shit came together and that we got the keys!
All those things that seemed so far away are now getting closer: the painting, moving out of this place, having the beerfest! (Having to call Guitargod for the beerfest…eep!) Finally meeting Ozjish and trying to get the rent together every month.
Tomorrow another practice-round with Mirror, and then work. Saturday I’ll visit my mom’s cats and make my cloak. Monday start buying and painting. Yeay!
