Prowl

Today is not a happy blog, not a sad one either, just a sick and tired one. I have genuinly had enough of everything.

Today at work not only was i perved on by a random man of indian pursuasion, using the phrase "your chest is nice" to depart with, the song Perfect 10 by The Beautiful South came on. Since that song has been on, all i have been able to think about is how fucking untrue it is. Complete and utter bollocks. No-one wants a size 12, or a size 10. Unless your super skinny and have perfect hair, you are destined to spend ahell of alot of time alone. I am totally and utterly fed up of the way i look. It's just totally not alright anymore. I refuse to just accept that im not one of the pretty skinny girls. I will get skinny if i die trying. Me and food are officially divorced, and i even whacked out the ol' 30 minuites a day work out dvd. Lets not even get started on my hair either. Black, what the hell am i thinking? Im not 13 anymore, the emo/goff look isnt cool anymore, and it wasnt then, and god knows what posessed me to dye it this atrocios colour. And my skin, im yellow. No joke. Grim. Grim. Grim.

Also, i basically just got called a slag by my dad. Which is always a wonderful way to end and already amazingly lame day.

In better news, i told my parents i smoke. They took it supprisingly well.
Other highlights and lowlights of the say included;

Working all day and it being dead all day, creepy men, not having spoken to woody all day therefore having no way to vent my emotion and no cuddles, cotching at georges and having mega cuddles* before his friends turned up**, being called a slag, not having any tea, lacking in money, finding out i have to work everyday this week, including the bank holiday, people ruining what had the potential to be a mood of the day changing experience and having to wake up in 6 hours.

*this actually was a highlight
**until this happened and i felt really socially awkward.