Ink 'n' Shit 'n' Short Posts

I know it always seems rather shallow and close minded of me to have the majority of my posts discussing the male species... But in reality, the rest of my life is so cocking boring. Like, all the time. Sometimes you just need a bit of male drama to spice things up a bit. It's times like these when I start considering new tattoos.

I got both of my tattoos this year. One very spontaneously and the second actually planned. And after the first one, I felt incredible. It was like I was a new woman with my recently dyed bright red hair - I soon contracted tonsillitis and the redness only emphasised how deathly pale I looked so I phased into ginger and now auburn (so Winter 2014 dahling) - and I went everywhere with my top hanging off my shoulder trying to ever so nonchalantly show it off.

It was then, utterly coincidently, that I met LB. Then TGI happened. Then Troy happened. Then TGI once more. Then the beginning of LB. Then I got the second one on my 19th birthday.

And this one felt different. It felt as if it had always been there - I wasn't constantly rolling up my sleeves to show it off or waving my wrist in people's faces. It felt natural and like it was meant to be. Augustine (volunteer at work, remember) once said that he thought my tattoos were really cool. Cool has never been an adjective used to describe me so I take to repeating it at every possible moment.

But now I'm thinking; so much happened after the first tattoo. And nothing appears to have occurred after the second - apart from the obvious getting my heart slightly bashed about by an arsehole future lawyer. Then again, this may just be another 'stars and shit' moment. It is, of course, rather idiotic to place such trust in astrological situations or fresh ink stabbed into your skin.

Ughhhhhh. I need to DO something. Not just sit around slowly gaining weight and losing money due to a ridiculous amount of Domino's ordering that has taken place the past few weeks. I feel this should be the time that I get super fit and hot and flaunt my new found fitness and hotness in front of LB. But that feels like it'll take a lot of effort. And I've got to get through half the works of Shakespeare for my exam next week.

Maybe I'll just try and jump Tall Australian at work on Sunday? Don't knock it till you try...

You never know, he might turn round and be all...

(You know I can't help it.)

I Know, I Know, I Suck

Yes, yes, calm your pants, I know I've had no posts forEVS. Big soz.

This is also going to be a dickish short post. Again, soz.

I've just not been very happy at the moment. Don't worry, I'm not using the whole 'OMGEEEEE I'M SO DEPRESSED' excuse when I'm not depressed in any way. Is it just me that gets annoyed when someone uses the word 'depressed' when really they're just sad? Depression is an illness; you're just feeling shit.

Anyhoo, I don't know what's up with me but I know that I'm just feeling a bit poo.

Mostly the fact that I'm crying for no reason - that's a main alert to me that I'm feeling crap. I'm not the type to cry unless it's at a book or film in which case I will cry so much that it's verging on absolutely terrifying.

Basically, in The TGI Era, I was the happiest I've ever been. Genuinely, properly happy. Whether it was down to TGI, I don't know. I hope not.

But now everything feels a bit rubbish. I know I don't have anything to complain about as I'm living the cushy arts student life. I mean it, I have 2 weeks between now and my first and only exam. For which I really just have to read some books.

And to make you hate me even more, I've decided to go to Paris. On Monday. Yes, I woke up this morning and thought, I want to go to Paris. So I booked a flight and will be going on Monday. To Paris. On Monday. Paris. Monday. I know.

I'm such a dick student.

Everyone hates me because of this but hey, I've got enough money from working my arse off last year and I've got some free time. Because I'm a terrible student who only starts studying about 2 days before an exam.

And I need to just step away from my life for a bit. So I'm running away to Paris for a few days. I hate myself for how horribly middle class I am. Oh if I only I were the STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO DON'T NEED NO MAN that I've always wished I was.

To be fair though, I'm proving that I don't need no man to take me off on a romantic Parisian getaway. I shall romance myself thank you very much (oo-er).

As I've been saying to people, I'm just like Colin Firth in Mamma Mia...

Spontaneous. Not called Harry. Spontaneous. Full of spontaneity.

I quite like this new spontaneous side of me that's appearing. It's just like when I spontaneously decided to get a tattoo a few months ago. Nancy 2 years ago would be horrified at what I was doing - having no plans and not knowing what I want to do.

I am floating in an ocean of possibilities and spontaneity. Oooh how metaphoric of me.

Also look at how many times I've mentioned spontaneity and being spontaneous. They're not even looking like words now. You'd have thought I'd have learned how to spell them after writing them so many times. Nope. I love me some autocorrect.

Au revoir mes cheries.

(Spontaneous).