Somehow, a bottle of Lynx Africa has made its way onto the windowsill in the toilet and I don’t know what’s more repulsive: the smell of someone else’s poop permeating the house, or trying to mask it with Lynx Africa.


Q
Ah yes, that old chestnut, one of my favourites. And no, I wasn't one of those jerks. I had an eating disorder and criticised myself. Maybe I'm a jerk now. I guess we're all jerks. Look, you're pretty. But there's gotta be a line, right? Just take it down a notch. You can use this as an aid to further your aesthetics or parade your internet references for your crowd, whatever.
Anonymous
A

You had an eating disorder and were literally your own worst enemy, and yet you yourself can justify passing comment on other people’s appearances?

Surely you, of anyone, would know how it feels to have an inescapable voice in your head reminding you every day of your insecurities and the reasons why you aren’t good enough? Your own voice, not somebody else’s. Maybe it started from someone else’s, maybe someone else exacerbated the situation, and if that’s the case, how could you, of all people, be able to rationalise your behaviour in doing so to others because they just need to “tone it down”?

Your attitude is fucking bullshit and I’m calling you on it, warped body image or not, and I’ll wear my brows as thick as I damn well please, thanks.


Q
Well done on your ok day. Please more face than eyebrows tomorrow.
Anonymous
A

I’ll bet that you were one of those jerks who bullied people with excess facial hair in school. Or you know, not enough. Anyone who remotely challenged what you perceived to be ideal and perfect. Well here’s news: If it meant that it bothered you to the point that you actually had to vocalise your petty shallowness, I’d pencil brows so thick that wild pokemon would appear in them. I’d pencil a moustache/goatee combination that a musketeer would envy. Hell, I’d just colour my whole fucking face in.

I’m not sure if anyone ever told you this, but:

image


Q
hahaha you only get like two notes on every selfie you post because your face is baaaad. poor you.
Anonymous
A

image


Today has been pretty okay.

Today has been pretty okay.


Went home to visit doggy.

Went home to visit doggy.



I’m going out for dinner with my Dad and Nanna tonight and it’s going to be excellent because: “What do you mean you’re not going to get garlic bread?” *feels brow* “Are you sick?”


HAR HAR HAR here’s an idea:

Binge watch Supernatural all week and then get up to go to the toilet at half past two in the morning in a house that’s older than all-the-people-who-live-in-it’s ages combined.


Okay so anyway I’ve decided on the thing that happened during my childhood that I absolutely cannot get over or let go and completely refuse to anyway. Utter betrayal.

It’s honestly not that hard to wear green coloured contact lenses on set every day. While filming a movie. A movie where the main character is constantly reminded of his green eyes. Unless of course you are someone who has a severe allergic reaction to coloured contact lenses. But that’s why they invented digital alteration, right? Nope, just cast Mum with blue eyes too.

LOOKING AT YOU, RADCLIFFE/ROWLING/GERALDINE SOMERVILLE/DAVID HEYMAN. LOOKING AT YOU.


In other news, I feel like I’m being dumped out of a friendship high school style and it’s weird and foreign and incredibly painful to experience.


Nothing overly exciting happened today, aside from receiving two unit marks back (here’s a tip: if you defer your exams, universities don’t give none shits about consistency of results releases) which were both distinctions.

Levi bought me a very pretty ring and it’s not even my birthday, so I am what one may call a “super happy chappy”.

Oh, and also the wheels are moving to see Christmas of 2015 (and a month or so either side) spent in Japan.


Roller derby from the sidelines is hard! I’m a terrible spectator. All I do is backseat coach and backseat ref. Dreadful.

Roller derby from the sidelines is hard! I’m a terrible spectator. All I do is backseat coach and backseat ref. Dreadful.


I was standing in Coles today, intently staring at “buy two and get the third free” prices and doing in-my-head math when an older-ish lady walked past me, stopped briefly, said, “nice jumper,” and continued walking. Yanked unsuspectingly from my primary school level calculations, I quickly processed three possibilities: she was talking to me and meant it, she was talking to me and being sarcastic, or she was talking to the guy standing a few metres to my left. I decided to cut my losses and respond even though I wasn’t so sure that I was actually being addressed, however all this thinking had stressed me out and made me second guess my decision, and as I tried to say thank you, my body stopped me from doing so and I was left standing in front of a wide selection of tampons, choking on my own spit.