I find it ironic when I get called a slut by somebody who fits the description A LOT better than I do. What defines a slut? Some argue that a slut is one who fucks anything with two legs and a penis. Others argue that a slut is one who dresses promiscuously, behaves in a ‘suggestive’ manner, flirts with anything with two legs and a penis (and maybe sometimes makes the exception of not bothering looking for something with a penis, cos the opposite will do).
But seriously, who cares? Who cares if you’re a slut, a nerd, a flirt, a dork, a bitch, whore, or whatever else people get called these days simply as a result of the way they look, the way they behave or the way others see them.
I’m not a slut...sober. When under the influence....well that's another story.
So, I’m over it. I’m over what others think, I’m over caring about what others think. I’m me. Love it or hate it, chances are if you know me, you’ve got to deal with it. So, tough tabouleh.
Anywho, I’ve done something that I’m proud of. I’ve gotten over the past, and everything that was said and happened in it, and am living in the now. I’ve semi-rekindled my friendship with a certain individual who I shan’t name as I now know that they actually read this thing. I’ve distanced myself from those who I thought were my friends, but turned out to be total opposites.
Carefree (isn’t that a tampon brand?)
Anywho, I went to Bondi beach on Sunday. And wow. I was totally surprised that the ladz that once populated Liverpool Westfield had now expanded the radius of the tight little circle in which they hung out in, to include Bondi. We got on the bus, and all you hear is “Shotgun the red head cuz!” “Nah Shotgun her friend bro!”. You didn’t have to look at them to know that you were surrounded by a bunch of ‘badass’ ladz in their trademark Nike dri-fit caps, tight Lonsdale singlet, shorter than necessary footy shorts, waxed or shaved legs, and a choice of ‘Tn’s’ or ‘Shocks’ topping up the look, with of course, no socks. There was the usual eshlad in everlast thongs or trackies attempting to break away from the group, but failing miserably.
They were everywhere.
So as Aleks and I were making our way through the pack of ladz, some dude in a pair of white saint George footy shorts approaches me and asks me if I was at some club called “the establishment” last night. I say no. And walk away.
I also remembered the time I went to Bondi with a group of friends, and Alex was there, in the water, free-balling. LOL.
Ahhhh I’ll never forget that.
So the rest of the day was spent lying in the sun, attempting to tan whilst listening to other peoples conversations.
There was a shortage of good looking guys there...Bondi was once known for its hotties, but I guess the lads just drown them out. Although there was the group of British kids. The dude with the cast, abs, tan, and beautiful blonde hair...hmmmmhmmm. He walks past us, and in his British accent says to his mate, “ I don’t know, I like kissing, she doesn’t like kissing..” and he fades away. You can kiss me hot British dude.
Amy had to be home by 6, so we made our way to the bus stop. The ladies sitting behind us had English Accents. It was then that I realised I wanted an accent. Either that, or someone with an accent.
On the train from Bondi to townhall, on the seat opposite us, there was sand, what looked to be a liquid of some sort, and half a condom wrapper. Someone got frisky on the train. So we turn the seat the other way and burst out in laughter when two people sit on the seat, putting their towels over it. Ah it was one of those things that you had to be there to get.’
We got picked up from Liverpool station by my parents, who I personally think shouldn’t have been driving cos they both sounded as though they’d both had a little too much to drink. Like honestly, my dad never comments on how my mom looks, and my mom never usually grinds when she goes to a family lunch...
I just read that now, that’s actually pretty boring, and if you actually bothered reading it all, kudos to you.
So what’s coming in the upcoming week. Well, Saturday the Group is getting together at chantelles house to eat the erotic cake she’s making. I’m really nervous about it. I’ve been told not to bother doing my hair or make up, or wearing a decent looking top. The fact that half the group is needed to assist channy in making it is what worries me even more. I mean, chantelle’s pulled off some pretty dirty, over the top stuff on her own, an extra pair of hands just indicates that this is beyond her capabilities...and her capabilities are huge...So fuck.
The day after, on the Sunday, Mom wants to plan a get together with my 278390912312 cousins. The whole family is going to some park to mark another year of my existence, kind of like a “you survived” thing. She says it’s just a small barbecue, but knowing wogs, they’ll prolly make a feast, 3 course meals and dessert with the choice of lamb or pork on the spit which will prolly be cooked there. A WHOLE sheep. Or a WHOLE pig. And my grandma will prolly be standing there next to it, dipping in the homemade bread, whilst sipping on the home brewed alcohol, while drinking from a glass that belonged to her great great GREAT aunty or something. I can just picture it now. It’s bound to happen. Then, my ridiculously patriotic cousins will rock up with they’re done up cars, open the boot, and blast folk music through the sub woofer in there. The dancing starts now. And all this happens while we get stares from the NORMAL families.
*sigh*
I realise, as I’m writing this, I waste a lot of time doing things that aren’t really important. I’ve spent an hour and a half writing this blog and chatting on msn whilst browsing facebook, when I could actually be doing Chemistry homework, or starting study notes for the upcoming maths exam on the 30th of November. But after all, wasting time, whether it’s my own, or someone else’s, is what I do best. (or so I’ve been told).
So 1108 words later, I come to the apology. I apologise to those of you who decided to waste your time in reading this and the blog prior to this one. I wasn’t a happy little camper when I wrote that bitchy thing, so excuse me.
That’s all for now,
Have fun, play it safe, keep it sexy.
-silent-j
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