-Check out this punk-ass turtle. This sexy bitch brought her wheels in for a tune up, and now she's scoring with all the turtle dudes. That's the kind of news I like to hear! It'd be great if she was on Pimp My Ride. They'd spray some badass flames up on that shell.

-I've been to a couple job interviews this week, and I think that in my next one I should pretend to be an illegal alien. Y'know, as a social experiment. "I work register, clean floor, build nice conservatory in back. Cheap. You pay in cash only!" HIRED!.. Also, if I worked in McDonald's I could ask "Do you want any graphic design with that?" And hide business cards in their food.. or something.
-I don't like summer. It's fucking horrible. Winter is my favorite time of year. Bring on the snow and sludge.
-I will be here tomorrow afternoon:

Feel free to call in and annoy me. There's a painting of Maud Gonne on the wall, which looks exactly like me, even though I look nothing like the woman herself. That painter must've sucked ass.
-I've had one cigarette in the past 5 days and I think I'm going to die. Anyway, tomorrow there will be cash. It'll be fine.
-I went out with my brother on sunday night. We drove around for a bit and went to see a movie. Then we bitched about people till 2am. Ha.
-The pubs are all "glamorous joints" now, instead of seedy dives. The classics are disappearing. WHERE'S THE DANK GONE? You can't get rid of the dank..
-People who don't like King Diamond just have issues... GRAAAANDMAAAAA!
-I don't think I can use an adjective in a mood context, but phsssht. Fuck y'all. Damn haters.
JEALOUS OF MY SYNTAX.

If I've taught you people anything about Le Europe, the most important part to remember is this: The Enemy must not be referred to as "British People". Don't give them the satisfaction. It's "The English", with a bitter scowl as you furrow your brow and stare into the distance, where the sun will be setting over a vast field. Song for Ireland will start to whisper in the breeze, and an old woman will grasp at her shawl, remembering her son who was shot down outside the GPO in 1916.

This will happen every time you mention "The English". No matter where you are, at the mere mention of The Enemy, your surroundings will automatically convert into a field in Connaught, 1918. The process will last between four and sixteen minutes, depending on whether the song is the extended version. Sometimes Mary Black will do a Bodhrán solo. She may or may not be accompanied by Shane MacGowan. If Shane is present, there will be a trip to the pub afterwards. You may never return.

If you do make a successful journey back from the netherworld, you will now have gained fluency in both the Irish language and Bodhrán playing. You will be missing at least five teeth and have an inexplicable desire for a bag of Tayto crisps. You will only drink Smithwicks for the rest of your life.

Godspeed, my bbs.

You guys..

Life totally sucks.

And lying around, crying, listening to Jawbreaker is a huge punk cliché, right?!
Ok i'll just go to the liquor store for some breakfast instead.

I hope this shit gets better soon, cause I am like Mary Poppins' evil twin. You know, if she was into hardcore and hitting kids instead of singing lullabies and shit. She's all "it's a hard knock life, bitches!" And crushes all their expensive toys with one stomp. "In my day all we had to play with was the used syringes and methadone bottles on the sidewalk."

That reminds me of Joe's Apartment, the movie with the singing cockroaches. You remember the one.. Anyway, the kids are outside playing in the dirt and it pans to this little house they've made out of all the needles lying around. "Look, we made a craft house!" Terrible... but so funny.

Here's Funky Towel, soundtrack to my 1996 and IT KICKS ASS


Don't try to hide your love for it. It's shamefully good and you fucking KNOW it.
----------------

Argh. I feel like shit today. I should start robbing houses or something, and then blame my failures on the government. That's how the pros do it, right? Plus I'd look good dressed in ninja garb, stealing diamonds from rich old women with names like Lady Beatricia Goodman-Frost.

My eyes hurt.
Gah! Die Augen! Sie verletzen!

Last night I dreamt I was in Silent Hill, with my eyelids glued almost shut and my head stapled to my left shoulder as i fought off horrific creatures with a knife and tripped over black holes in the ground because my legs were almost paralyzed. Eventually it ended in a school, where my friend's mother was standing with Michelle Obama, writing "Lies" in a speech bubble on the blackboard.
MUTHA FUUUCK..

Anyway. Fashion inspiration time, you bad bitches! Uncle Buck. No, not John Candy, although that hat he wears is pretty badass.. No, this time it's wots-er-face, the punk-ass 1980's cure-head oldest daughter. She's got it all. The disaffection, the nastiness, the black beret and long dark coat, the perm, the black coffee drinking just-to-impress. Totally hilarious caricature. You just KNOW she sits in the dark and plays depressing records to the light of a single candle. Yesss. Her and Lydia from Betelgeuse. Only Lydia was a character styled with a more obvious stereotype in mind.


Here she is, angsty and almost pseudo-gothic. Rockin' the coat.

NEXT!
I applied to about 15 jobs, today and yesterday. Was sober for almost 40 hours. That's a one month record. Explains my bad mood earlier and last week. That and gender-related predisposition. YEAH. I just used that as an excuse. Don't give me shit for it or I'll bite your dick off. Siouxsie will too. When I was 15 I had some important end-of-year exams. One of them was in Irish (Gaelic) and I had to write a story or letter of some kind. The general rule is that Irish names are used for any characters. I named all mine after skanky English* punk bitches, the main character being Siouxsie, of course. Yeah I didn't get good grades that year.
Did very well in art class though. Figures..

*The enemy of the Free State! Tiocfaidh ár lá!

-Best place on earth? The Pub, man. No contest. And whatever sad bastard decided alcohol is a depressant clearly wasn't drinking enough. I managed to spend all day in the pub yesterday and today without paying a cent. I scored cider, beers, gin, veggie fajitas, smokes and more booze. People are suckas in general, right? ALSO, today i wangled another €30 out of other people's pockets. Apparently my charm or lackthereof (replace charm with underhanded tactics) works well. Although as a result, my liver and kidneys have been kinda sore lately.
-Ice cream does not mix well with my hair, but it's nice with cider for breakfast. Things not to put in my hair: egg, ice cream, soco, bleach, fire. Burned off some of my left eyebrow a while ago.
-Cheap vodka is horrendous. I've avoided it for years, but lately it's been swirling through my veins, killing everything it touches inside me. Really, it takes mighty balls to do battle with this terrible shite. It'll beat you down with vigor. It'll caress your skin at first, make you feel like everything's fine... But THEN it strikes. I admire anyone whose body has adapted to accept this wretched filth on a regular basis.
-There's an old broken stereo in the house that plays tapes and radio at the same time. It's fucking ace! Carcass mixes well with john lennon.
-I need some kind of outlet. I really feel like punching some throats and kicking ears. Either that or some skin-on-skin. it's always one or the other. in an "eat, drink, mosh, fuck" kind of way. i mean, at it's most extreme.
-I wish we had ESPN here. I'd never leave the house.
-My brother called over earlier. We had pizza and beers and watched top gear. They converted a pickup truck into a boat and sailed across the english channel to france. Fantastic stuff. Then we watched long way round, (you know that show with ewan mac gregor and charley boorman?) Anyway, they were passing through mongolia and had some testicle stew with the locals. Goat or cow balls i think. Fucking NASTY. 200 balls in a cooking pot, all freshly..picked? plucked? urggghh..
-My brothers friend was in galway this weekend and met Chris Pontius. He went up to him and said "hey man, thanks for hurting yourself on television for our entertainment." dude is all like "no problem! and we're gonna keep doing it for you guys". Nice. He lives in Ireland now with his wife, apparently.
-Tony, my retro neighbor likes to drive around in a red 80's sportscar whilst blasting abba and similar tastless artists out the windows. The other night he had the stereo cranked to eleven in the house, around 3am. Another neighbor called in and screamed at him to turn that shit off. Rightly so.


"Here's lookin' atcha!"

Hairy eyeball beer. I really want to try this. 9% abv and i hear it's brewed in cali.
Not sure whether this affects it's distribution/availability.. anyhow, that label is quality shit for sure.

-Yesterday i sat around drinking vodka until i became inspired. Painted my toenails neon blue, put a big plastic frog in my hair, wore a jacket made of feathers and a pair of goggle-glasses, standing on a chair in the kitchen singing/shouting and climbing up onto the sideboard, peeling an orange and aiming/throwing the peels at the bin on the other side of the room. Nice weather affects me in strange ways. Dave's Syndrome innit? Grabbed the smokes and breezed out to Mickey D's with Resident Nag.


Pictured with Resident Nag, 2005.

-I live near a haunted castle. There's five ghosts and a banshee in the library.
-I've an itch to start doing arty things again. Expect drawings and shit to appear before your eyes within the next few weeks. They'll be better than that crap above, i swear. And i wont ruin them with block color where it doesn't belong.
-With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables.
-Get crazy with the cheese whiz.
-If you don't like Beck's golden charms you obviously have mental issues and should speak to a psychiatric professional about it.

-Come on then, tell me about your day. Regale me with your tales of wonder, mischance, tragedy et cetera.
You know you want to. I'm still lying here in bed at 2.30pm, eating cakes and smoking cigarettes, thinking about my art. "C'est RUBBISH!"

There's a blind dude who drinks and smokes at one of the bars a couple miles from here. He drinks whiskey all day until he's completely incapacitated and left with no co-ordination whatsoever.

If i had some cash i'd totally fuckin book and get the hell out of this city. It's dying. The price of Guinness is set to increase by ten cents soon. We're all doomed. It's the rapture! Everybody out! I'm starting to enjoy this decade's end. Economic decline, hallmark of our generation? Bring on the food stamps and unemployment benefit.

My father refers to Ireland as "England's toilet"

I used to be friends with a painter from Stockholm. He was pretty rad, but not hot. His friend was though, that got interesting until about 4am one night when he decided cheating on his long-distance girlfriend was actually a very bad idea. I halfheartedly concurred. It was awkward. We no longer speak. I nearly broke my thumb in a door that night, too. Hmm. But I stole one of his cds.. and there was jello shots as well. It was an ok time i guess.

The first horseman refers to the antichrist, who will be given authority and will conquer all who oppose him.
The second horseman refers to terrible warfare that will break out in the end times.
The third horseman refers to a great famine that will take place, likely as a result of the wars from the second horseman.
The fourth horseman of the apocalypse is symbolic of death and devastation. He will bring further warfare and terrible famines along with awful plagues and diseases.
We were never taught any of this as catholic children. It doesn't apply to me now, of course, but still..
The antichrist seems like a role model of sorts. Never apologize, never explain. Mwah hah haaah!
I would totally date him. Death too, he's pretty cute. And you just KNOW he's into metal. Satan is trickier, like Al Pacino in Scent Of A Woman..
I do realize these are fictional characters. Don't nag the atheist.
Fry from Futurama is hot too though. For an animated dude, I mean.


There's Betsy after we gutted her for scraps. My dad reconditioned her engine and she lives on in our white 1991 240 GLT sedan. I miss her. 1976's greatest, and I grew up riding around in that beautiful car. Nobody else had a car that retro and i thought we were the shit, blasting metal out the windows at age ten with a drumkit, guitars and amps shoved into the back on the way to some rehearsal space with my brother. There's also a polaroid of me sitting on the hood, age six, that my dad took. I can't find it, but it totally rocks.

That's my front yard, by the way. There's a '97 940 volvo wagon in the driveway now, and the '91 is parked on the grass. Clearly, we are volvo people. I also think the brown 240 in Spun is fucking beautiful. Dirrrty, beat up and staggering on. At the end of days, Betsy had to be lifted over the wall to go to the scrapyard. We WERE going to give her to a dude who ran a stockcar type situation, but that engine had to be dismantled and reconditioned, so he never got the car. BUT I HAVE HER LICENSE PLATES! Awesome.

-I found a shitload of old videotapes at the back of the cupboard under the tv. MTV circa '98. Beastie Boys weekend recorded on tape. U.K Headbangers Ball, 1996? Entire Nirvana unplugged show. Pure gold. WHEN DID MTV TURN TO SHIT?
-I've got this entire show on tape. Totally awesome. Glasgow '99.

-I want to wear hand painted t-shirts and baggy pants to job interviews and roll around in the grass like I'm eight again. Design school turned me into a fashion freak.
-My desire to create art has returned. It's not just a goddamn chore anymore.
-I dreamed last night that my sister joined the british army and was killed in afghanistan. Whatever.
-I want to go on a zombie walk. Y'know, where we dress as zombies and march through the streets moaning BRAAAIIINS! BRAAAIIINS! I marched in protest against the Iraq war years ago, but it wasn't as fun. Plus I missed the one in London and had to hit up the Dublin protest instead.
-The SuperRock is on this tape. There's a ton of nirvana. Go figure. I think these shows used to be broadcast really late at night or something. Also, the sound is muffled. It gets louder, pops and gets soft again. The tapes are pretty worn out. My brother and I used to regularly dismantle the old VCR and clean the dust and dirt off the heads because the old videos just destroyed it.
-Hey, Ricki Lake's on tv. Haha today's topic: "BACK OFF, HE'S MINE!" Fantastic.
-So, I've actually been pretty ill for the past couple days. On tuesday i got drunk, kicked off a bus, passed out. Woke up with back pain, neck pain, kidney pain, liver pain, a burned hand, sick stomach. Whatever. I slept for 14 hours last night. Sleep debt, right? Sleep for 4 hours one night, and make it up the next..
-I've a daily ritual of watching Murder She Wrote, even though I can't stand Jessica Fletcher. Bitch is a writer, but solves crimes? It drives me insane. She's allowed to see personal files and evidence, walk around crime scenes, full authorization with everything.. BUT SHE'S NOT A COP! What the hell?!
-Yeah I'm done. I need to go out to the kitchen to make some food.

Fulfilling requests.
I'll get some photos n shit up this week too.
--------------------------------------------------------------

1) How has LJ changed your life?
You people are fucking great, and I'm not being sarcastic. I don't feel like screaming at a wall anymore.

2) What do you do before bedtime?
Annoy as many people as possible and fall asleep satisfied that I've ruined enough lives for one day.

3) What are you going to have for dinner tonight?
Gin and OJ. Possibly a sandwich and some cake.

4) What is the ONE place you want to go before you die if you had the money and the time?
Go to, as in "never been"?... If not, i want to go back to a shitty outdoor cafe/convenience store thing, on 63rd & bway, the chairs mismatch like they came from a thrift store and the clouds reflect perfectly in the building across the street. Yeah I'm a sap. Anyway, if it's referring to somewhere i haven't been, i want to destroy myself in los angeles.

5) Are you an introvert or extrovert?
A healthy mix of both. It depends who I'm with. Some people bring out the best in me.

6) What do you do in your free time?
Go down to the beach, hang out anywhere i can smoke and it's not cold, apply for jobs, argue, listen to punk bands on myspace. Try to eat more, drink, sleep, watch CSI and movies, charm people into submission.

7) Do you trust easily?
No, but i become attached easily.

8) What personal belonging do you have with you everywhere you go?
iPod, phone, booze, smokes, lighter, passport, keys, lipstick, hairclips. "Belongings" right?...

9) Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?
Unemployment, needing a cuddle, hangovers, missing people, Crazy/Beautiful.

10) What is your best quality?
I'M A HOT PIECE OF ASS... kidding, you bastards.

( The rest )

Good morning. How are you feeling today?
Please, do tell. Get involved, chickatees!
I'm still in bed, i'm hungry, my shoulder hurts, and i'm feeling rather jesty.

Breathe, and let the yack yack yack of England soothe your morning woes.
This show just fucking slays me.


I just spilt an entire tub of cake icing on the keyboard and now it tastes of sweeeeeeeeeeets.
The left apple key is jammed up with frosting.


This little yellow bastard here is my personality type, apparently.

"Spontaneous Idealists are creative, lively and open-minded persons. They are humorous and dispose of a contagious zest for life. Their enthusiasm and sparkling energy inspires others and sweeps them along. They enjoy being together with other people and often have an uncanny intuition for their motivations and potential. Spontaneous Idealists are masters of communication and very amusing and gifted entertainers. Fun and variety are guaranteed when they are around. However, they are sometimes somewhat too impulsive in dealing with others and can hurt people without really meaning to do so, due to their direct and sometimes critical nature...."

click on said bastard for the rest, and do tell me yours. c'mon, i'm curious. aaand, you might win a prize.
well, no, you wont. BUT, i don't mind sending you some sweets in the mail anyway. or some macbook keys covered in delicious frosting.

-There's some truth in that title. I do tend to prefer the company of men. Being a dollface helps.
-It's 3am, I'm watching a Seinfeld marathon, eating a tin of biscuits. Biscuit is the real word for cookie, therefore YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL WRONG WITH YOUR TERMINOLOGY. I mean, WE invented the damn language.
-I'm gonna open my own Ebay store. It'll have a ton of vintage clothes from my closet and the contents of 'The Under-The-Stairs' (cue haunted house music): Hockey stick, skateboarding helmet, lego, toys, dust, spider legs etc... all the classics from my 90's childhood. Anybody wanna buy my childhood? Bargain price, I'm tellin ya. Death of mother not included. HAHA only I would find that hilarious! I'm a sick freak.
-I wish I had cable tv so I could watch more Cricket. It used to be shown on Channel 4, but the bastards moved it to Sky Sports. I have since concluded that this is the reason England was beaten in the 06/07 Ashes. They cursed the team. The Ashes returns to England next summer, and I'll be damned if I don't watch the whole thing from start to finish. Cable or no cable. I'll find some poor sucker to leech off. I always do.
-I can't believe Ian MacKaye has a child now, that completely zoomed by without my noticing. Seriously, WHO KNEW?! And it's not a hoax this time, right? Otherwise that dead dude's got super sperm.
-I'm going to see the unemployment officer tomorrow, to sign on. The way I see it, I cant lose. I'll either get the checks, get a job, get on a paid training course, or land back where I am right now. They can't make my life any worse.
-There was Russian cyrillic on my friends-page today, from the Gogol Bordello community. I got a total kick out of it. Being a graphic designer, typography gets me hot. Gogol Bordello gets me hot too, but for different reasons. Damn gypsy punx got it goin on.
-I should go to sleep, it's late.
-Also what's up with Wall E? It's Johnny 5, mothafucker's still aliiive! So stop fucking with the classics!

ok, that's it. i'm going to bed. goodnight my lovelies.

i have not been THIS DRUNK in a LONG time. backspace is my best friend.
almost all the booze from the north has been drained. we have the wine. and the gin. i am happy.
dandcing around the house to hello nasty. best. album. ever.
yeah i say that about everything i listen to.

there was a jazz band out playing in malahide today (posh town i live neadr, very nice, shops, cafe's etc..)
it felt like i was in france - sitting outdoors at a european cafe smoking a hole into my throat i was soo content. yay.

so, i did one of those personality/drunkenness test things whilst semi sober and got this result:

Which drunk are you? You're hungarian kinda drunk You're playin` the accordeon all night for family and friends and spreading drunken joy around you, you are a mentor to all of us pathetic losers...

Click Here to Take This Quiz< /font> Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

drunk now got this result:

Which drunk are you? You're drunk like me You're suave, sensual, can play the guitar like a mother effing right even after 40 oz of rum, you epitomise what drunkenness should be...

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

i dunno man.

i want to go to tokyo. let s go tomorow. why are you guys never on lj? i miss drurnken conversations at 5am.

argh i can't walk
i cant see.

hit me up tonight.
saturdays are boring when you aint got no cash flow.
oh well, my horoscope says ill be raking in the love an d money this week. it better be right.
.
.
.
I KNOW My music category thingf aint off the same album

-I applied for a job in a liquor store not far from where I'm living. I really want it. It's better than the alternative: Washing trucks down at the docks. NO, I didn't apply for that one. Although I almost considered it..
-I have no interest in using my degree to get a real job. Being a punk ass > facing up to life.
-Went to pick up some lenses on wednesday, optician tells me No cigar, muchacha: "you have to pay 50 bucks for another eye test, yo time is up since the last one." I can't buy lenses here without a valid, up to date prescription. Bitch fleeced me. But, hell, it wasn't my cash I spent, so i don't give a fuck.
-I got loaded and went down to the beach today. The booze distracts from the fact that it's only 60 degrees out. And raining. I HAD NOTHING ELSE TO DO. Fuck this shit. i'm frustrated. i gon' kill the next bitch that looks at me.

*BREATHE*
and put down the stabbing weapon.
...
-potentially embarrassing things i like: Bjork, 'Autumn In New York' (movie), 'You've got mail', meg ryan's documentary on white elephants, dudes who don't eat meat, wimbledon, the olsen twins, devendra banhart's sexy beard, stickers, cuddles, ladybugs.

i think i just ruined my image forever.

i'm bloody starving now. i need a ridiculous snack. something from the dregs of the refrigerator.
something nasty and disgusting. smutty. obscene. sick. DIRTY. FILTHY. ILLEGAL

what do i have planned for the tomatoes? i hear you ask...
well, it depends if they're bad.

ok i'll stop. hahaha

No, they are not the right lyrics but mine are a shitload more badass, so fuck you!

-So I found all my old Black Flag records. I'm loving the nostalgia. When I was 16/17 I was a major nasty punk bitch. My sister had just gone insane for the first time, and therefore I hated everyone and everything. I wore black sunglasses and ripped thrift store clothes, and treated people like dirt. In short, I was a total asshole. I nearly dropped out of college that winter, instead I just went to new york and put an end to my contempt for life.
-A guy was shot a few times last night, not far from my brothers place. He heard the gunshots and went out about an hour later, the whole place was taped off with cops everywhere. It's adjacent to a really rough area, (my bro lives in a new apartment complex nearby, so don't start thinking he lives in the ghetto, you bitches!)
-Originally the ghetto community was a housing settlement for pikeys. For a while there was a house that flew a huge confederate flag outside. I'm not sure what a bunch of Irish knackers were trying to prove, besides a general "Fuck off or we'll fuck you up" attitude. Also, where there's pikeys, there's horses. Mangy looking beasts tied to a telephone pole by a piece of dirty rope, standing on top of an embankment that shields motorists eyes from the dirt of the area. The local shop was a black metal container with no visible signs of life. I'm almost certain it still operates. The gas station across the dual-carriageway (translation: divided highway) has a barricaded hatch with 24 hour security instead of a normal convenience store. The housing estate has the most elaborate speed bumps I've ever seen. You gotta be doing about 2 miles per hour to get through them - a combination of raised ground, pillars and miniature traffic islands. And there's one every few yards. The best part of it is that last year they built a gigantic Hilton hotel next door to the slums. It's a physical representation of the wealth divide.

-Tomorrow I'm going into the city to drop my resume into some more stores, and to buy contact lenses. I can't afford anything until I start working, right now I'm living on borrowed cash, week to week, which I spend on the bare essentials (ie booze and cigarettes). I've gained 7 pounds in the past few weeks. The semi-anorexic girl in me thinks it's a bad thing, but I'm gonna beat her ass down with a tub of lard, and pelt her with donuts and pizza.

-I feel really dreadful. Started drinking yesterday morning in the shower, didn't stop until a couple hours ago today. total binge. the booze i bought was supposed to last a while, but half of it is gone now. christ. i can't get the dead cat taste out of my mouth.
-Newry worked out very well, as suspected. The 60 mile journey took about an hour each way on the M1/A1. there's restrictions on the fast lane now, apparently it's only for overtaking and one mustn't stay in it for too long. What a jip. We stocked up on cheap drink and then raided the shops. Bought some fantastic clothes for a couple quid, got a lot of funny looks over my accent. Fuck knows what I sounded like to them. Oh dear.
-I can't remember half of my creepy dreams last night, but I'm certain it involved Sweden, the Ha'penny bridge, random people/strangers talking in Gaelic, a huge sculpture of a bell collapsing into the liffey river, dark purple skies, that singer chick Duffy, polaroids and some witches. I woke up at 7am going "What the fuck? Where am I?" Still out of my mind. It was like the NIN video for 'The Perfect Drug'.
-Struggled out of bed at noon, drank half a bottle of southern comfort, DOWN THE HATCH! as they say. Brought more booze along on the bus to Malahide, the driver gave me a strange look. Probably because I couldn't walk in a straight line, but bitches here are stuck up anyway, so fuck that.
-Weather is fabulous. Pomp, the hot semi-homeless guy who sings along to his stereo for money, was out doing his thing. It was nice to see him, the last time we met was in a mental institution. (I was VISITING someone, ok?) Dude has a kind of Dylan Moran meets general scumbag type-look. Not sure what he's on, but it's working wonders. This time last year he was locked up at Ita's. Think he's got some accommodation sorted out now. Nobody knows his real name, and the local area is scattered with 'Pomp Is God' in spraypaint on the walls. It's quite out of place, as the town is pretty rich, huge houses, yadda yadda.
-I think I might go collapse on the lawn in the sunny back yard now, my body feels like it's made of burnt leaves. One poof and I'll disintegrate. I've decided to dye my hair. Was going to bleach it blonde like a young Courtney Love (she rocks, so shut your face), but I'm gonna go darker brown and bleach a flicker of blonde through the ends instead. It'll be hot, I swear. No, I won't look like a tranny, or Christina Aguilera. Or both.
-Apparently tomorrow is the longest day of the year, so all the pagan twats will take over Stonehenge to chant about goddesses of light, discuss the healing power of twine, and exchange their recipes for nettle tea. Bastards.
-Wimbledon starts monday! Hurrah! I always get psyched up over it, then fail to watch half the matches. Oh well.
Slán libh, fuckers.

i think my life has hit a new low. i'm eating a bag of skittles, watching a video of dreamboat doherty having a bath, the headphones work in one ear if you hold it at the right angle, and the skittles keep falling into the couch. half the bag must be under the cushions by now. the point of today is to wait out tomorrow. see, tomorrow i'm going to the north to buy booze and marvel at the little non-irish things they have there. like asda. today i need to get dressed to go around to the shops. to buy a bottle of cheap plonk. or, failing that, some cheap cider. WHY do skittles always have more reds and purples? the yellows are my favorite. i ate half a twix for breakfast in bed this morning. re-read the bit in 'Running With Scissors' where they tear down the kitchen ceiling for the laugh.

my sister ran out of the house screaming this morning.. to get her nails done. bitch is on seroquel. i'm lying here in my own filth, considering whether the sweets are giving me cavities. the rain is relentless. there's no food, no-one did any shopping this week. i would've, but i'm broke as fuck. the great thing about this house is that it's like a time warp to the 80's. nothing has been remodeled, there's cobwebs everywhere, the curtains are literally disintegrating. the mortgage was paid off two decades ago. since then it's been like living in a mental institution with no rules. we all pay our way, so no-one really owns the place more than anyone else. now its worth a million dollars. literally. the housing market here is INSANE. and it's all location, location, location, as they say. yes, i live in a relatively posh suburb.

( i'm going to blab on now, so here's a cut. )

1) I want a transformation. Move to a different country, look like a completely different person. Permanently incognito. So much so that it becomes me..or I become it. The authentic fake, as Umberto Ecco would say. Transform into one of Luc Besson's femme fatales. Command a certain power. Like Rie Rasmussen. I believe this goal is highly attainable. The question (which I have been considering for quite some time already this year), is should I bleach my hair? The result would most likely be some kind of soft grunge, young Courtney Love-esque look. Opinions required, please.

Angel-A

2) It's been raining this evening. It's warm enough to stand in the garden and not feel chilly, but it's certainly not hot. This, however, makes it very pleasant and magical in the twilight outside. The French call it l'heure bleue. I am enthralled.
3) Stan Winston died today. This is sad news indeed. T-2 has been my favorite movie for the past 17 years, and will continue to be until the day I die. No fate but what we make, bitches!
4) There is no four, not much has happened lately, I've just been ingesting chemicals and going to and fro between college and my house. There's nothing on there either, we were just kickin it on the studio couches, hungover. Getting silly. I'll miss those arty bastards.

-I think I'd accomplish a lot more if I didn't have attention deficit issues, but I don't really give a fuck.
-Sometimes I can concentrate on one particular thing really intensely for a short period of time, but after that it's like pulling the teeth of a hyperactive five year old without Novocaine.
-If I'm reading a book I'll crawl though a chapter, shut the book, reopen, reread, absorb part of it, rethink it, forget what I just read, read the wrong chapter, start it all over again, run off and write something it made me think of, drop the book, lose the book, take five years (literally) to finish the book.. Yeah. I've the attention span of a moth.
-In my experience, all wine tastes like vinegar piss. Say what you will, but I ain't swirlin that shit in my mouth and callin it cotton candy.
-HOWEVER, I will drink any kind of whiskey straight and call it fabulous. Some may argue that wine tastes a lot better than whiskey but these people are PUSSIES.
-It's 2am and I gotta be up and at 'em at nine thirty. I got out of bed around 5pm today. Reapplied for my old job, so at least that'll (probably) be a sure thing.
-Looked up my flights again, it appears I'll be in at least four states and three countries this winter, some of these are just flight layovers, but in my book it still counts. Dublin-Atlanta-La Guardia-Cincinnati-SeaTac-Vancouver. I could fly through Charles De Gaulle (Paris) and pick up some Gauloises too. Not London. NEVER fucking Lndn. Nor Shannon. That shit is for noobs. I'm a seasoned flier, I need my Em power ports and my frequent flier miles.
-I dropped a plug adaptor on one of my littlest toes today, nearly broke it. I've a huge bruise. Our U.K/Éire plugs are heavy and have three huge solid metal pins, unlike U.S plugs, which are light and handy.
-I had a raging argument with my Dad this evening. In his opinion, veganism is wrong. In his opinion, vegetarianism is wrong. I don't bother too much with such ignorance, but it's sad that we don't exactly get along.
-I'm bringing the remains of my family and some friends to my exhibition tomorrow morning. This won't be pretty, as I am not a morning person by any means and the family and I clash over everything. Thankfully there's Mickey D's and lots of cigs at that hour to get me through it. The sculpture show should be good though.
-I'm gonna go up to bed now. I'm marginally tired and I've been wearing these one-day lenses for four days. I know I shouldn't sleep in them either, but until conjunctivitis grasps my soul I shall continue on my path of rebellion against the optician. Suck my dirty eyeballs, bitch.