I just looooove going thru some of my old stuff. I was bored out of my mind while cleaning my room — the only place in the house where household help are banned — not that I’ve got anything to hide — trust me, it’s just not viable to have vibrators, handcuffs and porn in this house. Everything will always be discovered by someone.
You think you’ve got skeletons in your closet? If you’ve got skeletons, I’ve got cadavers in my wardrobe. Yes. Cadavers. No amount of dead bones can beat the hell out of rotten, flesh-infested cadavers. My past is THAT bad.
It’s a shame I wasn’t born in the 70’s, I would’ve spent my teenage years in the colourful 80’s. Think neon bangles, asymetrical tops and high hair. Oh yes. The higher the hair the closer to god. But alas, the 80’s brought me nothing but tacky grief.
Anyhoo, I thought I’d share a couple of pictures. Blast from the past they say.
Picture of me on my 6th grade graduation. Look at how I appear to be winking in front of the camera. Gross, isn’t it? I look like I got a stroke or something. At 12.
A picture of an anorexic 17 or 18 year old me swinging an extra large Hermes handbag — actually — this ain’t a handbag, this is fuckin luggage. Take note of the hair. It’s a wig that belongs to one of my friends who have leukemia when I visited her in a hotel. Yeah, leukemia… or whatever disease it is that makes your hair fall off when you get chemotherapy. Look at those arms. My god, I miss them. You can’t really get any skinnier than that. I think I was like 85 pounds or something. Click the thumbnails for 3 other wannabe trannie whore pics.
Man I looked like a cheap trash whore.
Picture of me and my best friend Tony 2-3 years ago in Amanpulo. My cheeks are soo chubby and my mouth looks like it’s gonna spit/puke any second. Ya think being a chav is a 2004 thing? He’s been a chav before chavs were born in this planet. Ya can’t get any chavvier than someone who was born from Liverpool. It took me a good 3 whole days of 8-hour sunbathing to achieve that tan whereas he ended up looking like a lobster.
Speaking of Tony, whom I owe a phone call this week, the poor guy is flying to New York from London today for 6 weeks. Like everyone else in this world (except me), he’s venturing out to the big apple to find a better job. He quit his job last year because he’s just utterly sick of London. According to him, he’ll spent the next 6 weeks looking for a job in the music industry… and a company who can sponsor him a visa. If he’s lucky, good. If not, he’ll go back to London and live his life. I told him a few weeks ago that getting a US Working Visa is like asking for the moon to turn blue. I mean, with all the illegal immigrant boat people all over the world, I have the impression getting a working visa is hard. I just wish him luck though.
Anyway, I’m off. My mom’s throwing one of her dinner parties with her stanky friends and I have to take a shower. I smell like a goat already and it ain’t funny.
Hugs and kisses.