Saturday, November 8, 2008


I fancy the whole "I'm-about-to-die-I-haven't-eaten-in-6-weeks" look.
You know, big tall scruffy looking guys with stubble and legs as thick as my arm.
I don't mind weighing more than them; my excuse is my tits take up most of my body weight.

If I'm not going for the "I'm-about-to-die" look, I'm going for the chunky type.
Big shoulders, big chest, tall.
Tall is just a basic requirement to even be acknowledged by me.
If you're shorter than me, or at my eye level, you've got buckley's and none.
I really like guys with a certain style.
Something that sets them apart from everyone else.
The hair, sunglasses, jackets, jeans - I can't stand to pick up a guy who reminds me of "that guy that I seen three weeks ago" or looks like someone who I seen on a various shopping spree somewhere.

I have rules when I start dating or messing around with people. I think everyone needs to have rules, at least some unspoken ones anyway.
My main rule is not to date someone who you go to school with.
I've learnt this rule over a few years, and on the occasion, I break it.
When things go arse up, you have to deal with these people everyday. It's basically the same as the "don't screw the crew" rule, which is on the list as well.
Another upside to not dating someone who you go to school with, is you don't have to deal with the whole "I'm coming around to your house tonight" thing.
I can't deal with people on a frequent basis: I need space and time away from people.That's probably why I do long-distance so well.
If someone was coming around to my place after school, on any other day than a Friday, I wouldn't know what to do.
I dread the day when I actually have to move out of Vietnam. Living with people, in close vicinity of them, everyday, all day, will send me stark raving mad.

I've devised this theory, that you can tell a lot about someone by what they wear. Especially their shoes.
Whilst, I've recently found this is seen as incredibly creepy by people observing in, it's really quite an effective theory.
You can tell if someone's quirky, sophisticated, sleazy etc.
But I'm generally a pretty good judge of character. I'm pretty good at picking peoples personalities within fifteen minutes of a conversation.
I can't stand it when people say "You don't know me."
Because, I do.
I know your personality.
Do I need to know your favorite colour or how hot you like your shower?
No, because this doesn't fucking matter to what makes you as a person.
Your favorite flavour of donut doesn't matter to me; you ability to hold a conversation does.

Also, I'm over all of this doe-eyed, neat appearance bullshit, too.
I'm so over hearing guys saying "oh, but I'm a nice guy!"
To fucking hell you're a nice guy.
Who said I like nice guys?
I hate nice guys.
They're push-overs; totally fucking pussy-whipped little bastards who wouldn't try to come back at me with one of my snarky little comments I make daily.

I can only take manners so far with guys in general.
I'm cool for the "Here, have my jacket" or "Here, I'll take your huge, gigantic heavy suitcase and put it in my car". My favourite is "Thats ok, I"ll buy lunch."
I'm the cheapest person on this earth, so lunch is always the biggest winner.
But when I actually offer to pay, don't turn it down This doesn't happen very fucking often.

But, if you try to open my bottle, I'm going to tell you, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.
I can open a fucking bottle.
Even with a broken fucking hand, I can open a bottle.
It's called a metal doorframe.
You pop the cap on that.
I can open car doors, carry things, make my own coffee etc. I'm a big girl - I can tie my own shoes and everything.

The only time I force people to use manners, is when talking to my Mum or my Dad. I hate nothing more, than someone who doesn't thank my mum for cooking, or my dad for driving someone somewhere.
My dad is a self-confessed arsehole, just like me.
He didn't want to drive you somewhere, so the least he's going to want is a "Thanks for driving me home, Ray."
My mum doesn't have to cook for you, but she does because I'm too bone fucking lazy.

Ugh, Vietnam is getting to be a big, empty lonely space lately.
I'm really missing company; someone to spoon in the night, mainly.
And to cook for in the morning.

I suppose I have a few "what-if's".
Every girl has at least two.
You know those people you look at everytime, and sort of go "Gee, what if?"
It's gotten to the point where curiosity is definitely killing the cat.


My patio is now named Bunhouse.
Yes, I have my own patio.
Mum and I have been working on it together; it's filled with plants and ferns and big leafy jungle plants. I'm aiming for an exotic-jungle-fantasy kind of theme. I"m going to get some canvases and whip up some nice paintings to go out there.
I've limited Mum's access to Vietnam and The Bunhouse, because she'll Mum-ify it too much. Next thing you know I'll have doilies on my drinking/smoking table.
Basically, it's called The Bunhouse because my Bunnies live in there when they don't come into the laundry part of Vietnam.
My Buns live inside.
They go out during the day and come inside at night.

Someone told me I'm too eccentric.
BEcause I don't want my buns to get cold at night time?

Am I the only person I know, my age, who happily owns bunnies?
Most likely.

Am I the only person on this planet my age that gave my bunnies names like the ones they have?

I thought BabyDoll and SweetPea were suitable.

BabyDoll comes for a snuggle.

BabyDoll (Grey) and SweetPea (Brown and White)


BabyDoll and SweetPea

BabyDoll: Is Unimpressed.