Ink and Macini are my “co-workers”. My life rules. I slapped a guy in Trafalgar Square about an hour ago. Little American girl CAN take care of herself in big London. I just did. Fucking twat came up to me and as I tried to evasively maneuver out of his path he kept moving towards me reaching for my waist. I was hoping (for his sake) he’s just brush on by, but no, he touched me… so without a second thought I hit him across the face as absolutely hard as I possibly could, and kept on walking as if nothing had happened. Quite strange… oh well. Some twat also yelled at me “fuck you with your red hair and your boots!” in some drunken slurred speech from a bicycle taxi. MY HAIR IS PINK YOU FUCK! FUCKING GOD DAMN PINK! If you’re going to insult me, at least be accurate so its more effective. All this because I didn’t want to pay a cab fare (don’t worry mom. I’m fine) I’ve never taken the bus here before. Well about 3 blocks from Tate Britain to Parliament. It’s easier than I thought (which is stupid to think that buses are difficult to begin with). Some other idiot walked by and commented oh “how hot” I was. I’d already had my hands balled into fists at this point, about to punch the next person who looked me up and down. That aside, my co-worker was a great host at Area tonight. Hatcha played Skream – In For The Kill, I danced my ass off. It was great. London kicks ass.

It’s like clockwork (which, technically it is…) but at 7am give or take 5 minutes. I fly out of bed wide awake thinking I’ve missed my alarm and am late for work. I grab my phone and check the time… 7am… I still have an hour and a half left to sleep. This wouldn’t be so odd other than the fact that its happened almost every morning. And it can’t be due to jet lag (that I’m aware of) because if that were the case I’d be flying out of bed at 11pm. I’m convinced I must have mentally kept traveling and reached somewhere in Russia. St. Petersburg, I want to say. Because I get absolutely exhausted around 7pm and shoot out of bed roughly 12 hours later.

“7am! 7am is for sleeping!” No truer words have been spoken.

In a random flurry of continental confusion. I have seemed to randomly taken on a German accent, whilst Gabby has been perfecting her New york accent and Andy has taken it upon himself to act like an ape while chasing moths around the flat.

Panda express!

I’ve been here for 5 days thus far. I’ve managed to take a run around the Heath (and nearly die), get my ass kicked at tennis (badly losing all 3 matches), get a slight sunburn and a massive tan, create a mediocre dinner dish (it would have been much better had I been able to find Manicotti shells, I promise) and start work at the magazine as lead designer (aka, only designer). Still, I’ve done well for myself. It’s nice to be home. A bit disjointed as I’ve got no real place to unpack yet. Though I should be moving into a flat in about 5 days.
I satiated my thirst for Strongbow, have yet to find a chippie or indulge in a Gin&Tonic. Soon I believe. I’m just quite content. I really wish I was already moved over and sorted… with the cats too. Though I befriended the office cat “Hunter” who looks more like he’s been spoon-fed bacon lard his whole life rather than actually hunting for anything. A real life Garfield I shit you not.
Oh, Star Trek is AWESOME! There is no discussion to it really.

Also, British adverts make NO sense whatsoever. There was this one at the theater where the only lyric to the song was “Money makes the world go ’round.” Which first makes you wonder what greedy corperate twat paid for this… then it pans through multiple scenes of everyday people do everyday things, all the while drilling into your head that money indeed does make the world go ’round. Then… it pans to a field. and the world “ABSOLUT” fades in to the center of the screen… What the hell??

I’m all over it…

I hope there are some thunderstorms in London while I’m there. Where the sky shakes the ground and lightning snakes through the sky for brief intervals illuminating the raindrops on their quick decent from the heavens.

Moderat sounds like rain… Grainy & wet. I want to listen to Burial in the middle of a storm. First and foremost right now though, I’d like to be able to walk to Neumo’s without getting the bottoms of my pants wet. Probably wont happen. My shirt is on inside out on purpose, and I finally found my god damn ear plugs. Well… Carlee did… They were on my desk right in front of my face the whole time… Stupid.

This morning was a serious of fucking unfortunate events, not only is boy’s insomnia rubbing off on me, or the after effects of the full moon, either way it meant we didn’t get to sleep until around 6:49 this morning if not later. First – I dropped my freshly toothpasted toothbrush ALL over myself and my just washed black shirt. Then – I go into the cafe across the street, get a latte, go to sprinkle the chocolate powder on top and the cap falls off into my latte along with half the contents. Finally – I get to the bus stop and realised that after looking at Carlee’s purse and thinking ‘I need to get my bus pass,’ I had completely forgotten that thought not 2 seconds later. But, I got hit on by the bus driver and the sun is out… One of which is a good thing. The other a moot point. I suppose thats the worlds way of saying “sorry you had a stupid morning [probably because you’re stupid]”. I’ve been given more braces to wear and read a cool National Geographic article about Hapshetsut, the women king. If my teeth are not straight by the end of this I might just… be annoyed or commit social suicide.

Also – Found this in my phone…. The night Mercer Rose was born.
And we shall rewrite history until 7 am in the morning.

Say shit to my face and not across a room full of people you gutless cunt. If you’re going to start a fight/guilt trip/confrontation/discussion, don’t do it when you’re drunk. There was about 10 other people who bough her drinks before me. If you give a twat an inch, clearly they’ll take a mile. It’s night like these that make me happy that I am moving. I love you darling, but I’m not going to feign interest in conversation with people who wont return the favour. I’m done being fake, and I’m sorry that means if you ask “is everything okay?” and I respond “I’m fine, it’s just no on here likes me.” I’m not feeling sorry for myself. It’s just boring and awkward and I’m not going to waste energy interacting with people whom I wouldn’t normally. Just fact of the matter. Will you be done being in a bad mood after this? I’m not in a bad mood, I just can’t really find common ground in a conversation that consists of people arguing about the best way to ‘fuck someone with pickle relish’. Especially given the situation in which the conversation has taken place. What am I doing here? Oh. Because I care. Honestly… Relish. Cigarettes. No appeal. And I never need to be around those people around each other again. not healthy, not smart, not going to do it. Cyclical. It’s come to my attention that my attempts at “sugarcoating” are worthless ergo should cease. Case in point. El fin. Not more “yeah” not more “Sure”. This is a load of beauty bark filled with shit.

I was looking for something completely different. Clicked on a link, then KAPOW! Oh look, Fabric, Friiiiieeeeennnnnddd. Awwwwwww… But honestly, What the Hell? Come on now.

Apparently I wrote this on 09.04.04

Scattered about
each one with a purpose
without the others
it wouldn’t be whole

here these cards lay
creating a masterpiece
of an abstract mind

I have no idea why I’m up this late. Carlee must have put cocaine in the muffins. Recounting the happenings, or lack thereof, of the evening/day. Spending hours upon hours recoding this stupid site to make it more aesthetically appealing (which I have done successfully), which in turn will make me write more… since I don’t seem use this nearly enough. Noted sarcasm, for anyone who comes across this who has the staunch inability to deduce my dry humor… Well.. I’m too tired to write anything of any importance and too awake to do anything else but sit here. A stupid… fuck… what’s the word… LIMBO. A stupid sensation. Purgatory of the senses. Listless and floating, my mind is attempting to shut off and stay awake simultaneously. Maybe if I try typing with my eyes closed…

The most random (yet amazing & entertaining) conversation of my day

This is Chooma. Derived from the deep recesses of my overactive imagination.
He’s not quite done being painted. But will be shortly.

Likes: Biting. Shiny objects. Drinking too much coffee and scratching your furniture. Climbing on things. Spinning around in circles on the turntables. Trying to ride cats into battle. Hiding in your sock drawer. Being photographed. Drum and Bass. Electronics and taking them apart. Any movie with Angelina Jolie. Movies about retarded dogs. Deep space.

Dislikes: Water. Smiling. Behaving. Authority. Sleeping. Playing nice with other creatures. Rainbows. Being taken on walks. Happy Hardcore. Daytime television. Goblins that partake in the stealing of socks. Bad beer. Guitar Hero. Being late. Fairytale stories with happy endings. Chick flicks. Kryptonite. Superman. Disney Channel.

my C1 and my C5 are completely out of alignment. How stupid is that? Meaning the rest of my spine is fucked because of it. Fannnnntastic. Considering the C1 is one of the more important vertebra in your spinal column. At least being palpated feels good instead of like being stabbed with knives. I think I’ll go back. Starting the cleanse again tomorrow or Thursday. Probably tomorrow. I have an appointment with HSBC to open a UK bank account. Because the ONE idiot they’ve employed there to open new accounts wasn’t there. Wouldn’t it be a wise choice to have more than one person know how to do his job? Dumb… Anyway, it just means I have to walk my happy ass back there on Thursday. Its really not a big deal. I just wanted it. And wanted it right then. On another note, of the sexy persuasion, I went to Victoria’s Secret & I bought stuff. That’s all I’m sayin…