R I P
I�m sorry, I am too emotional to think straight, so this diary entry might not make any sense at all. I will try to write this down as clearly as I can, but I have been writing this for half an hour and I�m only on my second line. I�m just so sad to type quickly and coupled with my terrible short term memory loss I am finding it very difficult to write this, the most difficult diary entry I would ever have to write.
Yesterday I went to St. Albans to Shelley�s house to see how she was. She looked great, smiling and laughing, playing her guitar and she even dressed up in punk and gothic clothes and put on black eye make-up so that we could get an idea for her photos for her album cover and inlay (I�m going to be her photographer!)
Leanne had a cold. She has seemed more and more upset and frustrated every time I see her. She says things at the dinner table that make me think she is a bit lonely at the moment. She needs a hug.
Shelley put an egg in my pocket. She is 0.01 % straight. I am making a music video using an SLR camera and lots of special effects. Shelley told me about the egg, and I ate it before it could melt all inside my coat pocket. It was a chocolate egg. So I have to get some miniature lights and lots of 35mm filmstock to make the video.
But when I got home I found out some very bad news. For the past six months I have been wearing the same jeans almost every day. With my lifestyle the way it was a few months ago before I started going out with Shelley, I used to even sleep in my jeans because I always got home so late (2 or 3 in the morning) that I just collapsed into bed while still in my clothes. This was also good because my Luxury Westminster Apartment is always so cold. Sometimes I would come home and instead of taking my coat off I would put another one on top of it, and sleep, because it seems colder in my flat than it is outside. My bed isn�t completely flat, in fact it rests at a steep angle because two of the legs have sunk. So I sleep in my clothes, clutching onto the summit of my mattress holding on so that I don�t fall onto the floor. I used to have the bed next to the wall, so that I would roll down towards the wall, but now I moved it into the centre of the room and it is a little more dangerous. I have a chest of drawers near the bed on one side and all my kitchen appliances and cupboards on the other, so I open the middle drawer which contains all my Y-fronts and if I roll too far I am rescued by a whole load of pants. In the morning I roll uphill toward my kitchen, take off my coats, open my fridge door while still in bed, make my breakfast without moving, and use the oven door as a dining table. Today I l opened the window to let the less cold air in, but had to close it again because it stirred up too many memories and reminded me of the bad news I found out last night.
Sorry. I this is so difficult to write.
I bought my jeans in a small shop in Victoria Train Station for �16.99. I thought they were a good buy because they made my bum look quite good. They gave me the right lift and were just as tight as they needed to be to make my legs look quite muscley and they made me look taller. They had a button up fly which used to be very difficult to do up or undo, but now I can whip them off with just a flick of the wrist, and they are a bit flared at the bottoms of the legs so they are quite cool. I can wear them with trainers or my big black boots depending on the kinds of chicks I wanted to pick up at night, and what was especially attractive because the button up fly made it look like I have a huge crotch, which of course I don�t by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it is a handy place to store my penile extensions or even the odd pair of socks. People would always stare at me in that nightclub Mark took me to once or twice. What was it called again? Y G A? A Y G? Y A G? G Y A ? Something like that.
Last night I found out that my jeans had holes in them at the bum. They were enormous holes, so you can see up my ass-hole. I am going to have to stop wearing them soon, which means only one thing � I have to go clothes shopping. I told Shelley I had a surprise for her, but I think she must have forgotten. I might go into Victoria Train Station today and pick up an identical pair of jeans so that no-one notices. There is a guy at work who always wears the same clothes every day and has done for years. He isn�t me. I change my tops. And I grow my hair. I do have a surprise for Shelley but I was also surprised how long it would take to surprise her. I have been told that it is going to take until maybe Tuesday next week, since the reservoirs are cold and the Euro is so strong, but hopefully there is going to be a housing price crash in the midlands which will make the RSPCA see sense. Monday or Tuesday. And I was hoping that I could surprise her yesterday but these things take time. I hope Kike doesn�t mind. He is such a darling. My mum can understand Gaelic a little but not very much. So everything is fine.
But what about my jeans? I love my jeans more than anything else in the world and now it is going to be embarrassing to know that people might be able to look up my ass-hole when I�m walking down the street. I could start to wear underwear, but this would mean having to do my washing. Washing means one thing � that I will soon have to do my ironing. My iron blew up, so now I�m trying to blow up Shelley�s. Now, it�s a nice iron, I used it this morning. Did I unplug it? Yes, I think I did. What�s that smell? I live in the direction of all that smoke. Only joking. I�m such a kidder. You can�t take anything I say seriously. Seriously, it�s a big joke. Seriously.
But what is serious is that I really do have to wear underwear with my jeans, not just because people can see up my ass-hole, but because otherwise I might catch myself quite painfully when buttoning up my fly. I know I haven�t got much down there to catch in my fly, especially since the accident with the food blender (and the rolling pin � that hurt) but it has happened in the past, and left me wondering why I had too many buttons. I won�t do that again. Please don�t tell Shelley. I know we have been going out for a long time, but I have been trying to keep our relationship firmly at the holding hands stage. I mean, I occasionally lick her brains out through her ears but that�s only after we have worshipped the sun for an hour or so, to cleanse the soul and our heads of earwax.
I am waiting for a very important phone call but it just isn�t coming. I am getting frustrated. Getting frustrated makes me type random rubbish in Microsoft Word. Sorry, I said the M word. I think I had better post this message before I get carried away. They are coming to get me. Oh my God. Did I mention my mum could understand Gaelic? Shelley leant me her iron. I will buy a new one very very soon. Like today maybe. So I�ll be able to iron my new jeans with my new iron. She needs a hug and the reservoirs are cold.
Earwax.