Yoga Nazi's and Hen Night Slags.

Oh Lady J.

I'm sorry about the synchronized swimming thing. I really am.

Synchronized swimming made me think of extra-curricular water sports made me think of that time Ms Slade fell in the pool during our diving lesson! I thought she might have died from the shock but she scrambled out like a sodden old cat. It was hilarious and kind of depressing at the same time. Adolescence had a lot of hilarious but ultimately depressing moments.

'Dance City' sounds pretty serious. Brave girl. I don't get it when people are stony faced while pratting about like they know what they're doing. People at my gym are very stony faced, particularly in my yoga class. It's intense! The one yoga instructor is very sweet, she's a little old jewish-looking lady. She's very chatty and jokey which goes down like razor blades with the nazi's in the class. One time she let out a fart and giggled "whoops!" and no one said anything, cracked a smile, giggled in response, nothing...it was WEIRD. It doesn't seem right for a rude fart in a quite space to go unacknowledged. I almost burst out laughing but the atmosphere amongst the yoga nazi's is stifling and has the power to smother even so much as a giggle in your throat directly.

Ah gym. I sure am getting bored of it. More bored I should say. I watch the dumbest shittest television to keep my brain from thinking about how pointless a stairmaster is - thinking is very dangerous when trying to stick to a gym routine. I watch something brightly coloured and full of loud noises and bangs and whistles going off and attractive idiots talking shit in between the pretty colours and carnival noises, in other words MTV. The best thought-tranquilizer.

Roller disco super fun times ahead, kitten! It's really cheesy and draws a crowd of hen night slags and "teeny-boppers" but somehow I had fun and left feeling it should be done again. Plus such a crowd means that anything goes clothes-wise, I'm going to ham it up somewhat. There's this strange subculture of net-vested rollerskaters that you'll see. They wear bright netted vests and are really good at rollerskating. If I could get really good at something it would not be rollerskating. Mind they prolly make way more money than me doing music videos for MTV...

Speak soon poppet.
Love O

Head Tired

I feel knackered. Not physically knackered but..."head tired" is the only way to put it.

You still have to send me the link for the jane white thing (I thought of Paul's sister when I saw that name, by the time I had finished that sentence I was thoroughly disturbed).

Tell me a story about Prague! Your pics are ace, you and Jay look...(don't laugh)...glamorous. Seriously. I saw them and thought, 'jesus I'm looking middle-fucking-aged these days', which I find irksome. Pretty much the only time I think about kids (IF that were to occur) is when I'm wondering what sort of history I'll leave behind so that they have an idea about their mother before she got preggers and settled into fat, slipper-wearing domestication, before she stopped reading books and started watching day-time telly. It makes me want to make self-indulgent photo albums, but I photograph about as well as an open wound.


Anyway, how did I start talking about kids? How did that happen? That is not something I do. Natasa must be leaking hormones everywhere.

Ugh that last bit disgusts me.

Love xoxo
(miss choo)

Did your mom's kitty find a home?

Sexy Birthday

Dear Miss J

Happy birthday. My how old we have gotten! I knew about your surprise trip to Prague, your mom rang and told me to put you off coming to London that weekend if you mentioned it. I must admit the selfish side of me thought fuck Prague come to London! What a cunt I am. I'm sorry.

I can identify with your thoughts of knives and smashing glasses too. Instead of wounding myself or someone close by though, I tend to clench fists and scream through gritted teeth, like a proper little princess tantrum. How have I turned into this? I throw stuff, but only stuff that I know won't break or hurt an unsuspecting cat passing through the eye of my storm. I throw things softly and then feel pathetic.

I'm sorry you had a shit time on Saturday. I'm glad you rang me, I feel happy knowing I'm still a useful friend even though we hardly see each other anymore. It sounded shit and awkward and the fact that you're left feeling like you don't deserve him, after all that, makes me angry. That's utter shit. Good Lord.

The gig was good, there were nice people there. People I feel comfortable around. There was a girl in a cat suit playing bass. Miss P could see Tony looking at her, I could see Pj looking at her but for once I didn't care. Miss P gave me a plaintive look and I whispered back "girls with guitars". Pj sometimes hands me his danelectro and says "you look hot with a guitar", sighing.
"I'll never play guitar dear."
I asked Pj about her later and he said "oh what, sausage legs?" which made me laugh out loud because he knows me all too well.

Love O

...getting Filthier.

Dear J

What! Spunk Trench? How uncanny, we had a similar conversation on Friday. It was with a friend of a friend, she looked clammy and delirious from excessive drugs+booze-binging. She always looks like she's on K. I think she is a lot of the time. Anyway, she said quite forcefully that she loves the word "cunt", that she's 'reclaiming it'. It annoyed me, this little display of solidarity. There's no need to reclaim the word is there? Isn't she about 4 decades late? I said I much prefer "cunt" to the word "vagina" simply because it is more phonetically pleasing. I don't care about some imagined pseudo-feminist implications.

But Spunk Trench? Goodness.

Here's a list of ones I know

gash / axe wound / mossy cleft / slotch / beef curtains / snatch / cha cha (this one's Keshia's) / foof / fanny / front bottom / flower (Jenna's...) / minge / wanger / ...hmm thats all I can think of at the minute...

of which I think SLOTCH is the most offensive. Just because.

Now you think of some - go!

Love as always

O

Farted-in Vinegar.

Dear Jaundice

Ivy brought in her first mousy kill a couple of weeks ago. Except it wasn't dead. And refused to be shocked to death (I suppose the London mice are made of tougher stuff than those in your 'toon'). I immediately went to rescue the pathetic little beast but regretted it as soon as I had shaken the little bastard free of Ivy's jaws. It was darting about my room like a ball of soot. It disappeared for hours. When its furry face reappeared again we tried to catch it by building walls with books around it. At one point it ran into my foot. It's little nose actually connected with my foot. I screamed and jumped about 2 feet in the air, and for a split second on the way down to earth considered the awful possibility of landing on it's tiny skull. Pj found it hilarious. Eventually, exhausted by our efforts I pushed our eager kitten under the bed and she emerged a few seconds later with the doomed little creature in her mouth. I picked them both up and pushed them through the cat flap. I could see her peering back through the locked cat flap, mouse in mouth, confused. You feel guilty don't you? Because your cat is basically doing the cat equivalent of calling you 'mama' for the first time and it sends you squirming in disgust.

This achewood made me feel better on an otherwise grim Monday morning...haha. "Farted-in vinegar"...HAAHAHA.

hmm. I feel slightly unhinged. You need to come to London so we can go out and talk about stuff and feel connected again with past lives. I wanted to draw a picture of a showgirl that was naked from the waist down, but completely decked out in feathers and whatnot otherwise. Then I thought why do I want to draw that? And I didn't know the answer. Then I felt an overwhelming feeling of pointlessness and I watched shitty television instead. This is why I don't do anything.

LOVE AND HUGS
Lyndall-o.

me and the machines

Dear Miss Jaundice

Today I have been very busy with machines. They're fucking up all over the place. They must not be trusted. I have to keep a weary eye on them, lest I turn my back for a second to find more error reports jeering at me from smug flat screens. I imagine one day it'll come to blows, thats why I keep a screwdriver in my drawer at work. In anxious expectation of the day when my sanity can no longer withstand. For now however, we shall just observe one another with mutual contempt and a profound ignorance of one another's minds.

Other than that, I'm tired and I'm having a weird day. Someone in my office has some kind of doll that cackles in a "hilarious" way. I want to break its leering little doll face with my fist, and see its inner-workings spill out like guts.

I need to get out of this place...bad vibes...

Your Friend

Lyndall-o.