Does Josh Smell Like Apples?

Well, another week in the life of myself. It’s been eventful. Hang on, someone near me just farted and I have to cover my mouth…
And I’m back. So gee, I have started a new job that I’m loving. My self esteem is returning from perilously low to just low and the world is my proverbial oyster...
Seriously. Another fart? You think I can’t smell them you dick! Yeah I can dude. I can.
OK. So with this new lease of heightened-though-not-high self esteem and the aphrodisiacal effect of the life oysters, bitch has started internet dating. Consequently I find myself exchanging emails with a foetus, or as I like to call him, ‘Foetus’. An Ashton to my Demi. Which has left me to have a Carrie moment, ‘How young is too young (head tilt, eyes ponder, slow pan out the window)?’ I find myself thinking about possible 21st birthday themes for next year. This bothers me. This bothers me. This is too young.
With that cleared up I find release. Fart guy has also gone which is lucky as I breathe a collective sigh of relief. Obviously the realisation clears nothing up. I still have to email him. I still have a lot in common with him. I still will probably have to meet up with him at some point. But I am at peace with the fact that I am getting involved in something that will always bother me, no matter how much I try to block it out. Just like when I dated a short. Wah. Why do I have this condition? So far no response from my 26 year old, sigh. I think it’s because my opening sentence was ‘Thank you for the complement’. What a moron. Why don’t people over 24 like me? Why are people under 22 drawn to me like proverbial moths?
I just did a massive facebook cull. It feels good.
‘Excuse me Miss, this blog is bland.’
STOP FARTING ASSHOLE!
The other day a certain white building on Macquarie Street made me sad. I miss my listener. But am glad he is having a good time :) (Yup, a smiley face on our blog, Josh, bring it).
So I just told Josh he bored me. To see what reaction it would get me. He squealed like a girl. Blamed it on me. Tears. Tantrums. We puppy-sat at the weekend and let’s just say, we should never have kids. Jose did not like Ainsley. This made Ainsley mad. Mad enough to almost punch that mutt in the face. But I didn’t. Jose made me sad. I wondered why he didn’t like me. I wondered whether my aura tasted of metal. Sigh. End of the day I chalked it up to the fact that he is owned by lesbians and had been bought up in an environment that hated straight girls. That’s the only explanation that made sense. I mean, I’m amazing! Good looking, funny and the most humble person I know.
xx