Well February is upon us and i completely ballsed up the first month of the year, so lets see how well i do in the second. Infact, i don’t actually think i twatted up January. I mean, i smeared my Kitty of Horror reputation on everything, quite properly really. It was like a thick buttery spread of drunken joy. Therefore, more than anything.. i think i deserve a treat of some sort. My fanbase of hot bitches rock. We understand what living is. We understand what celebration entails. We understand….yes i am completely trying to justify my tragic actions. But whocares, i’m still the Ultimate Glamour Puss. Definitely the Kitty Queen of Party, with a tender touch of ‘naughty naughty’ and well i’ve managed to die of the flu, party every night, vomit over everything, sign to a new American personal management, flirt with handsomes, dance with tramps, be bought diamonds, wink at drunks, get thrown out of places for apparent disgusting gay bashing, (which i didn’t do,) get into 401 delicious fights, be escorted out of a castle by the police, talk to the man that ‘de-flowered’ me, be in boobie magazines galore, really fuck up my body clock, look AMAZING whilst doing it and therefore secure a new cosmetics line. Well done me. Those 31 days don’t seem to bad now after all. GIMME MORE!
*Hip bump.* She’s a FUCKING star! Is it time to cover my breakdown…? *Collapses* God, it’s gonna be awful when i die. Who’s gonna write this rubbish?
I have a lot of work on right now and tackling it seems to intimidate me. Like a great deal of anything, (it’s the ‘too much’ syndrome) …. terrifies me, whether it be a mound of work i have to do, a rather large selection of food on a menu, a whole lot of unruly ‘Handsomes,’ etc…I get scared and jittery and find myself switching my hot pink heels for trainers (Don’t be ridiculous i don’t wear trainers…hidieous) and running for the hills. Again, i’m lying…i don’t run. My running is a slow graceful totter on the spot, until i’m carried to my destination. I don’t do anything that exhausts me. I believe it ages you. And well, you can call me anything you want, but i really do think i look kinda alright for a 29 year old floozey. I mean, surely you can give me that, right? 🙂
Anyway, last night, due to my messed up body clockage..i found myself online at 3am, like the perv that i am, dodging other pervs, like myself and talking to my darling friend of hottness Matty Krul, who’s basically the boy version of me…charming and everything, but cleverly sunning it up in Miami with chicas. We talked about out past sexual history with one another and laughed about it gleefully. I’ve known him for ages, as we did the old ‘living’ thing, in the good old town of ‘tinsel’ for years. Anyhow, I told him he needed to settle down. (Not sure what i was thinking really?) Y’know, get married, have a few overly sexed kiddies. He told me he needed to be 45 and date a 25 year old. I responded with a ‘that would be expensive.’ He completely agreed, (he’s rich) then stated that we both actually look really good for our age (29’ers we are) and we have no idea why? I love how he simply turns an awkward conversation gracefully, into a conversation about the way we look.
But to be honest, I mean, out of all of our friends, we’re the ones that kinda partied the hardest, smoked a bunch of ciggarettes, abused our bodies with a viscious life of ‘night’…yet we sort of look GREAT! Hahah. Infact, the best!!! And i truely believe the partying, the playing with ‘good times’ helped us. I hear all these rules of drink plenty of water, exercise, don’t do this, don’t do that, do yoga etc…and i’m living proof that it’s not always true.
If you’re happy, and having an unforced amount of merriment, where you feel all kinds of on top of the world…you seem to not suffer from stress. When one suffers from stress, the ageing process kicks in and begins to not only wrinkle your soul, yet also wrinkle your manner, but more importantly wrinkle YOUR FACE. Now, if you have a life of ‘Playboy’ and ‘It’ girl….you really can’t have that happen. It is important to have a good time, infact a happy time. One of love and laughter. Then when you’re 30…you’ll look amazingly sexual for your age…and will completely beable to pull teenagers. Booyah! Kitty Wink! Oh and it also helps, if you don’t eat all the pies!! Happiness is the key to looking GREAT! It’s all in the eyes. Anyway, he wants to fly to London to have sex with me. Oh it’s exhausting being a Glamour Puss. (Pass me my tragic card.)
I can’t really remember what else i intended on bantering about? But i will say (hang on just on phone to Jonny)….Okay i’m back. I will say that, and i got this from Mark Byron (who i adore, simply because he let me hide his rent money in my vagina) that i prefer it when people write me a message on my Facebook wall, rather than post a picture of a rainbow, a kitten, a kiss, or a Pokemon. I enjoy words and i feel i can only really get to know you a bit better through them. I’m putting this a great deal more politely than ‘Byron’ did…which i find hilarious. I believe his quote was ‘I’m sick of people sending me shit on my fucking wall…sent you a fucking happy face, sent you a kitten, a fucking heart, an angel…‘ Cracks me up! But i will wave the flag for him and say yeah…it is kinda like litter and since i got fined for littering the other day. £75!!!! Me no likey! I do however like YOU, therefore words my darling dolls…Words! 😉
Oh and Happy birthday Ryan…(even though he refuses to talk to me anymore…haha…even though i have his name tattooed upon my body.) You old delicious bastard. 😉