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Unholy boredom

has led me to create a tumblr –
find me at GinCat from now on 😀

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collarbonezzz

1. I have an itchy trigger finger and it’s pointing my PayPal directly at a leather corset. NO. BAD GIRL. NO MORE BUYING *THINGS*.

2. My eyeliner sharpener has completely vanished and my eyes look really big, blank and sad. Basically I look like a vacant ghost-lady. Not fun.

3. I have this strong urge to turn my hair vivid wine-red. Ohh if bleach wasn’t so cruel to curls – !

When I found these convos on my girls page I died inside.

Ahaha.

Now that’s ensured more views (seriously), I’m going to inflict INJUSTICE upon your eyes.

Maybe not.

I’m supposed to be packing and washing up but I have accomplished neither, awesome. I DID, however, watch four episodes of The Simpsons. Fabulous.

…I don’t know why.

Headlong, outta control

My new iPod arrived! RIP Siegfried, you were loyal for five years, and then you died a slow, painful death. Osric – prettier, skinnier, shinier – will take your place at my breast. So long, farewell.

I JUST SAW We Will Rock You. It was quite fucking awesome. Don’t know what all the critics expected when they first reviewed it and panned it, it wasn’t trying to be clever. It’s just fucking hilarious/cheerful/awesome. FEEEEEEEELGOOD, if you will.

I’m quite tired and I’m blogging this in the bathroom and I need to sleep, so more later 😀

A Quickie

All those people becoming fans of “Remove Yourself From Those Scammy ‘Become A Fan To See The Picture’ Groups” – you’re a total disgrace.

Most of those aforementioned groups deal with embarassing or upsetting sitatutions – my personal favourite is When I Found THESE CONVOS on My Girls Page I DIED INSIDE. So you want to see what caused this reaction so damn badly you a) Become a fan to see it and b) Have a whinge when it’s all a scam and you don’t get your injection of smug detached laughter? I don’t particularly care about people, usually, but when two types of stupidity collide, I have an issue.

Mind your own damn business, or else wake up and don’t become “fans” of detrimental shit. You really want to see people “failing” THAT badly? Kind of twisted, not in the fun way.

Shooga.

YOU KNOW WHAT PISSES ME OFF?

I HAD A PACKET OF STRAWBERRY CABLES.

I ATE OF MY STRAWBERRY CABLES.

NOW I HAVE NO STRAWBERRY CABLES.

(I’ve eaten my weight in sugar this weekend, just call me Augustus Gloop.)

It’s REGINA SPEKTOR SUNDAY!

or so I’ve just decided.

Frivolity Bites

http://www.sporcle.com/games/micah/shakespeare_characters – which of Shakespeare’s characters has the most lines?

Hint: It’s probably not who you think it is.

Kothermucking!

LOOK LOOK LOOK WHAT IS ON MY BOOBS

Ahem.

So there’s this Almost Alice tie-in album for Burton’s AiW and most of it is meh to average. Special mention goes to the atrocity that is Kerli’s song, Tea Party, which tries to make sexually-loaded lyrics clever and cute and still acceptable in what is essentially a teen CD. The video is packed full of aristos laden with lace and feathers and looking very Emilie Autumn, which is never, ever a bad thing, but when this Gaga lookalike starts inviting you to “pour me out,” it gets a bit shit. Kids over fourteen will be all, “HA this is fucking hilarious”; kids under fourteen will have their ears muffled by their parents.

Shinedown’s Her Name Is Alice is a bit of all right: it takes me back to my early teen affairs with Nickelback and the rest of the soundalike gravelly-voiced rawk bands. The song is pretty awesome, though.

BUT. Oh yes, “BUT,” ladies and loons, there is one hidden gem.

May I present to you Robert fucking Smith, covering Disney’s Very Good Advice, in the weirdest,  most scrumptiously whimsical fashion you could possibly imagine:

Happy place has been reached for this evening, a-thank you.

Self-deprecation is wank.

today I hate the fact I have consumed 1 1/2 400g bars of Dairy Milk in a WEEK, BY MYSELF, I can feel that I’ve put on weight and because I have no self-control I cannot let the chocolate just lie there. It is on my desk, next to the Pink Cards.

The Pink Cards are the birthday cards I got from my family. All of them are pink. Not hot pink. Not nearly-purple-pink. Actual Barbie, congratulations-on-your-new-baby-girl Pink. The people who have had a full 20 years to realise I hate pink and will not wear it unless a) paid large amounts or b) for charity (more on that in a later post, I feel…) got me pink cards. I am 20, not 2. Unfortunately.

I also laughed at the card from my parents which told me I had “my own style”… yep, the style you tried to stop me having throughout my late teens. I.e., black and pretty much not giving a fuck what other people thought.

My brother told me how my mum confided in him that she was worried about me not showing interest in having a boyfriend and how she thinks I should get one because it would be good for me, or something like that. This both cements My Resolution further AND makes me wonder WHY she wants me to get myself an awkward appendage. From an astonishingly large part of passive experience, I have found that Friends that become Boyfriends also become insufferable in the process.

What do I do with all these cards?