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.