We have the flat back to ourselves now that Heli and Krista have gone down to Griffith for a few weeks. By the time their job is finished down there Ross will be back from Finland, so they’ll be able to go back to his place I assume. I’m still slowly working my way through the chocolate cake. I’ve already eaten too much chocolate for one day as I feel sickly. I think I’m addicted to the sensation of this sweet, sweet sorrow.

Today I’ve told myself I have to make the effort to go and find some kind of African-esque apparel for this “Out of Africa” theme 21st party on Saturday night. I really fucking hate finding costumes. I’m hoping I can find a pith helmet (yeah, right) and a yellow scarf or something so I can just wear that off-khaki yellow colour and look like an explorer. I might need a yellow scarf, too. Maybe I’ll just wear leopard print. I’m sure that’ll be a big hit. Hmm. Time to raid tofu’s underwear drawer.

Oh. I forgot. I’m meant to be working on this database for Electric Lady today, too. I also need to send out some emails that are about 4 weeks overdue. Maybe more than 4 weeks. Whoops. I’m over this whole idea of functioning. It’s too much work.

In what I think is a mature attempt at being pro-active, I arranged to work an extra shift at work each week as my hours had been slightly cut back and my funds have gradually decreased over the past couple of months. In a bid to stay in the black I decided to meet the problem early, rather than string it out until after Christmas and New Year and be flint. This little boy must be growing up! Either that or I was just happy to sell out. Whatever.

For those of you who were concerned: I shaved my neck. Yes, I know I left you all hanging for a while there but you have to admit that the anxiety build-up was well worth it, don’t you?

Oh yeah, you know it.

I thought I’d try making it look more square rather than following my jaw. Next time I’ll have a spirit level ready as it took way too long for my finnicky self to be satisfied/mildly confident that it was straight on both sides (not to mention the same thickness).

Fascinating, fascinating.

I’m quite proud I don’t have something hanging out of my nose in that picture. I forgot to check before I took it. Today is a good day.

I scribbled down the names of various artists on a sticky note at work last night. Musical artists, that is. I do that from time to time as I listen to the radio at work. Oh. The purpose? Why, to remind me to acquire their music of course! The hard part is walking downstairs to my bag to fetch the paper. It could be time to hire some help.

On Tuesday night the four of us present in the flat watched The Shining. It was about the fourth time I’ve seen it and I still can’t make sense out of half of it. Maybe it’ll take eight viewings. Better yet, someone explain it to me. Another question I have: how the hell can Shelly Duvall be so unattractive but at the same time appear kind of hot? I’m quite disturbed.

I can’t remember if I mentioned the handful of Queenslander 16 year old girls that randomly added me to MSN a few weeks ago. I use the terms “16 year old” and “girl” loosely. I’m beginning to suspect they’re multiple accounts belonging to the same person. That person being a rather strange man who wants to screenshot me showing my dick over a webcam.


11 thoughts on “Flugabug.

  1. You are going to a 21st? Crap I feel old.

    What a nice neck you have.

    Shelly Duvall, huh? Maybe it is just that whole woman in peril thing going to your head.

    I wrote an essay on The Shining earlier this year. I could possibly explain it to you but then I would wish I were dead and that cannot be good (or can it?).

  2. Yeah, I’m going to a 21st and I’m closing in on 23. I feel old, too. :/

    Thanks. I shaved it myself!

    I think it might be her haircut. Or the knife. The jury’s still out.

    It depends. Can dead people interpret movies more easily? If the answer is “yes”, proceed.

  3. Shelly Duvall can’t spell her surname right. It should be “Duval”. Robert Duvall can’t spell his surname right either. David Duval the golfer gets it right though.

  4. I’m not sure. The name “Duval” is French for “from the valley” (presumably my ancestors lived in a valley in France once upon a time), so spelling it as “Duvall” makes no sense to me.

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