note to self: *burp!* SOS

O HAI! hey, why does the above image remind me of a badly-drawn Magritte? dunno? nah, i dunno either. but back to present-time, yeah, i think i'm still here (that is, last time i checked) but i've been pretty much out-of-it lately. y'know how it is — busy, busy, busy tryna find another soul-eating job and then, after each and every day of going through the motions; like an automaton tryna pass for normal, it's just soooo easy to drug drink myself into oblivion, detach what remains of my mind and then, fall out, kinda like in a coma, but unfortunately for me not. if the foregoing is way too lengthy for comprehension, suffice it to say, i chose Criminality as the best and most profitable way to spend my time over the Winter and Spring hols.

OK nah, SOS ain't a cry for help not yet, at least, it's *snigger* Same Old Shit. rather, Same Shit, Different Day (your mileage may vary). and like i said last night when Gemma, Liz, Teresa, Rooney and Danny stopped by to cut the gigantic rock of neige to test shit out, when asked why i wanted 'in', i glibly quoted Susan Traherne who said it best: 'I have a weakness... I like to lose control'.

truer words! *rolls eyes in a rarely lucid moment* thank fuck these people don't really know me! *cough* anyway, alla that couldn't have fallen upon more eager ears especially when i caught my bosses' 'looks' in re: me, looks from which i read: 'Mah kinda grrl — no way will she work for us, sans clothing, sans long nails and/or doubly masked or not' but let's move on cause the less said about that, the better. and so... all i can gasp out is 'meh!' *feigned nonchalance* score 1 for boss-man and score like 10+ for the oh-so-clever SG, all of that due to their most obvious oversight and underestimation of my own little resources (and i do mean 'little').

LOL, who's LOLing now, douchebags d00ds? you ain't the ones whose faces are squished in the fettucine (yet i am... *puke* and all... hey, didja ever notice how Parmegian smells almost exactly like human vomit? nah? yah? no matter... but i *puke* digress.

moving right along down the ol' Cryptic Highway, thanks to popular demand, thanks to getting kicked outta L's car and bouncing on my ass nearly 100 foot i found these on one 50 metre stretch as i dragged myself way painfully home.




yep, y'all get whut y'all see: they're all 'normal' windows with no hidden agenda to be found. but what flipped me out is (think: Easily Impressed Bloody American), they were all within a tiny curved street whose buildings ran the gamut of a shitload of disparate architectural styles, so hah! take that gritty boring Manhattan grids and other way banal more mundane shit, nyah! oops, soz! (not very bloody likely really.)

and so, in closing — hey, look over there: it's one of my fave Hunter-LOLCats again. and lest you've forgotten, he carries a message which totally stands the test of time as well as the epitome of his attitude. and dig: he's tawkin Scots! clever kitty, does your intellect hold no bounds?


fun-fact/did you know?: 'Repetition works, David... repetition works, David.' *in a Robert Downey Jr voice* and IMO 'repetition is tantamont to shoving whatever shit down people's throats for the upteenth time', and there y'all have it. :-)

nb: post no. 354, written whilst wasted — is there any other way? helpful hint: do not (i repeat) do not attempt to find coherence or reason within cause you'd be hard-pressed to find either and you'll only end up wasting more time.

OK — *hic!* — my work iz dunnnne...*urp* hey, is this thing on? cause i gotta hugeass hairball that's just dying to come out — hur- *puke* ewww... i'm so verily disgusting. *preens*

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un-fuckin-fortunately present

yup (she sighed, with shitloads of dismay, that which can't be translated into my typically nauseating diarreah-of-the-mouth over-verbiage). but why the prolonged silence? *mirthless laughter* hah! — totally not up to yours truly but at the request — nay, the command — of those way hipper-than-thou me (and enough said about those motherfuckers theyze all, the better for us all. in the long run. hmmpf...

anyhoo, if things go as planned (and let's not fall back on that over-used phrase, apart from i did, so ignore me please — fanks in advance), i intend to be back 'shortly' with multitudes of explanations all the way up the wazoo (as stated in similar veins, the kinda veins one might care to employ using the now-too popular, much maligned — yet totally true — cliche' describing The Revolving Door Of Paris Hilton's Vagina (as well as every single chick espousing the 'sharing' of her 'love'), so here's hoping, y'all! i mean 'hoping' not to thee nor me, but 'hoping' as long as every Tom, Dick and Harry hailing from Bum-Fuck Nebraska get the general idea. can we say 'Hoo-Er?' shurr we kin — an' wit' gusto.

'mmmm... Hoo-Uhz... glurghlll-drooool... *retch* sho pash the T'unnuhboid... wha? Mogen Dhavid'z wha's lef'? wha-evuh...' *GLUGGITY*


SFX: *hugeass hack-y coughity* whilst above speech is enunciated/slurred with medium-sized phlegm bits which commence flying hither and yon, flung from speaker to audience, majorly spreckling the inner sanctum. in all actuallity, some drip whilst some adhere. but nobody notices (cares?). *shrugs* no biggie. *smirk*

OK, moving right along in a departure from what was witnessed early this AM on the wrong side of town to in other more palatable news, given i've not shown my ugly face here in ages, speculation's totally rife out so don't be daft — have y'all forgotten already? whenever i deign to truth-tell gossip-monger here, i'm totally and irredeemably straight wasted and as such, immovable from Clifton Village 'high' as well and as we all know, my Spotless Reputation is Totally Spotless (so sayeth The Goddess of Slums all of which give me Carte Blanch to write whatever the fuck i wanna with impunity. got problemz with that? there's a support group that meets every wednesday so feel free to vent to your heart's desire i double, nah, i triple dare yiz.

yo, wait — hang on.. where was i? obligatory bleurgh! *puke* ahhhhh... thass better. hey, mind your toes! damn, i toldja not to wear sandals whilst reading but — TSK! would you listen? do you EVar listen? serves yiz fucking right for choosing 'hip open-toe spike-heeled fuck-me sandals instead of more sensible shoes. like Cons, or the more favoured Parachute Jump Boots (extra added protection!). morons. *snigger*

right, almost forgot: d00ds! according to yer too-infrequent mails, i'm not painfully totally aware i've *cough* lost my edge *smirk* (if i ever had one), so hah! cause i take it from whom it comes losers, so do yerselves a biggie and refrain from pointing that shit out (y'know, the obvious) cause yer all so damn wrong, it's laughable. but to be polite, thank yiz all and muchly! this is me SO caring. :-)

oh yeah, i almost fogot the self-absorbed, ego-centric seriousity: yeah, a BOOK. put that in yer pipes and smoke it or whatever and whilst yer at it, sit on it and rotate... NYAH. and quickly. *smirk* so here — you lucky lit-tle fucks... 'my lit-tle monsters' as Lady CaCa oh so condescendingly calls her um... 'fans' — no doubt utilising her newly glommed English-accent in yet another blatant rip-off of her idol Madonna, to both of which i can only point, laugh and shout 'POSEURS!' *smug* thing is, far be it from me to EVar call yiz (or anyone who digs me/or not) ANYthing in a faux British accent. *snigger* can we say 'charlatan'? suuuure, we can. however, way past the phoney accent, i'm not 'big' enough not to impart a very raucous and Schadenfreude-filled NYAH! :-)


anyhoo, next up are the very belated birthday present and Mother's Day photos i took for Mommy but failed to post in time cause i had extralegal things going on (whom, at last count, was 90-goddamned-3 years old (?!?) — dear lord whom-i-don't-believe in, fucking SHOOT ME.

but wait! there's more! i called this one Late, Late, Later for Mommy:


last month found me trekking up Pembroke Road (for reasons i shall not divulge here but believe me, they weren't pretty). what made it all worse was, it was like 21 temperature and 90% humidity and that shit totally didn't add to my typically foul nature but since i found myself pretty much broke for reasons filed under Extra-Legal Nefarious Indulgences i figured i'd take some pics of the one thing guaranteed to send my mother on a header (the 'possibly-break-your-head-and-die-kind').

thing of it is, ever since i split NYC for EU, my mother has taken a number of falls, all of which cracked her skull and flattened her face and all of which needed Emergency hospital attention. the reasons for each of these unfortunately life-threatening mishaps can be deftly summed up in her very own words: 'I was busy admiring Neighbour X's beautiful garden and didn't watch where I was going'. damn, i so admire the elderly — totally thrown (and i do mean 'thrown') for a head-cracking, near-death loop and all thanks to the sight of pret-ty flowers. one can always hope.

now being the loving and helpful first-born i am, i thought she'd adore seeing how they did it here: no manicured gardens, neither in private backyards nor growing up fences, sidewalks and walls, and that's actually sump'n i truly admire. and so, i thought i'd give Mom a taste of that which i see as routine occurrence like every damn day. so here, Mommy — a very belated birthday to you as well as a heartfelt though tiny sample of the bonteous wild, multicoloured vegetation belonging to some of the homes and streets of Clifton Village. take note, Mom — these are givens... no 'biggies' here. and the most lovely thing is, all pics were taken in the space of about 8 or 9 metres. take that, Brooklyn!




hmmm... wouldn't it be great if she (in her own words) 'took a(nother) flop' when viewing any/all the above? holy shit, i totally didn't say that. nah, Mom, i kid. no... i mean, rilly. :-)

nb: i just don't play a piecashit ingrate daughter on the Internetz. i do it in meatspace as well (and believe you me, not only have i got plenty of practise, i've got way too many totally valid reasons). and as usual, just sayin', Ma, i'm totally kidding you. right, Mommy... rilly i do. 'kid', i mean. here, have one of my shit-eating grins, ghostly as it may be. :-)


hey! don't blame me for shite quality — blame Mr Asswipe who took too much MDMA (the pig) despite my bestest and most fervent warnings that when it comes to that shit, i'm totally the Princess of Dosing Em Best. but would they he listen? hah! fuckin' douchebag... }-(

soz, Mom; totally forgot: happy belated birthday and Mother's Day. :-)

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