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Welcome...To My Boudoir.........
"I want to be a Bacardie Girl. You know, a wanton sex Godess who's on the prowl for her next conquest!!"
Ok. This IS outrageous. I'm attempting in earnest to get your attention.
Here's the thing, I don't just WANT for you to read my blog, I NEED for you to leave me your comments.
They say nothing works like a bit of risque.
We'll See...
last modified May 28, 2004 at 23:13
I look a lot like a slug. Or a mollusk. Or both actually.
I don't think there is anyone more narcissistic than my sinnewy self. Most people tend to make disparaging comments about themselves for a few reasons:
a) They're fishing
b) They're trying hard to tickle your funny bone.
c) They're hoping someone is going to rescue them from the verbal-on-slaught they seem to flagellate themselves with.
d) They're taking the lie-detector.
I belong to all of the above. Cept "d".
Not yet anyhow.
But last night while vascillating between sonorous slumber and inexplicable insomnia, I realised that I really am a monstrosity of sorts. There's really no surprise that I haven't a paramour. I want to be able to hide away to someplace...surreal.
I know now, I shan't ever find love. The kind that syphons the blood flow because of its passion and vigour. The kind that leaves one breathless. The kind that would make one smile endlessly. The kind that would pre-empt a zillion phonecalls cause somebody misses you.
I feel almost like the very embodiment of the Phantom. But atleast, he had the opera.
Oh well, slug it out I will...
I've been suffering from extreme mediocrity off late. Make that the last few years.
Things couldn't look any better, professionally speaking. Or maybe they could.Mediocrity.
See what I mean?
On the personal front, there isn't very much to dissect. I mean, fat-ugly people on our planet have little cubby holes of their own where they stow away almost everything in hope that someday we'll be more socially acceptable and (more) importantly, a viable option.
I've gotten years older since I last wrote here. There's some talk of marraige. It's depressing. Not because the sod in question isn't stellar. Come to think of it, he isn't....stellar. But what's depressing is that I don't have enough time to want to have to figure him out before we tie the proverbial-knot (....if at all).
Anyway, I've remained incommunicado since the last 3 weeks for lack of inspiration. I'm not sure what to talk to him about. I wish we'd met under different circumstances. Like acquaintances who become good friends and then one of them screws up and fucks up a perfectly platonic relationship. (How's that for oiginality Eric?)
I've also realised only a few minutes ago that I don't fancy anybody. I mean, seriously. It wasn't like that. I've almost always had people I fancied, even if they never found out about it. Whom am I kidding. They didn't even know I existed.
So the point is, I need to snap out of this boring moron I've turned into. I'm not sure how to zap out of the monotony. Porn perhaps? Or convoluted (and idiosyncratic) phone sex? And while we're thinking twisted, how about a quickie on the side?
I'm praying mum doesn't read this one.
No really.
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