Word repressed

In Fashion on April 12, 2012 at 1:23 pm

That’s what I call WordPress. Fuck. People kept telling me they couldn’t link to my blog and when I went myself to check, it like, disappeared!  At that point I was like ‘fuck it’ because it wasn’t like I had time to write anything anyway (which is ironic, ‘cos I write all the time). But  when I kept getting domain renewal notices (basically wanting to me to pay for a blocked blog), I couldn’t help but send the people in WordPress Wonderland  a somewhat annoyed, but short, email. The response: my blog was categorized as ‘spam’. Right. So let me get this straight. I’ve had this blog since `09, never had a problem, and then it just somehow, someway gets flagged and no one behind the pearly gates even bothered to contact me? Lucky for them I have a Tumblr account.

Anyway, I am not a blogger. So I consider blogging a luxury at this point in time. But I’ve been power-tripping a bit lately. I told HSBC they were a bunch of pimps and prostitutes (they closed my bank account ahead of the scheduled closing date). I told the lazy leeches at the Royal Mail  they’re postage scam artists (I was expecting first-class post that came on fourth-class delivery), I told a truly wonderful male friend he had a vagina complex and I’ve spent hours daydreaming about ACNE, Givenchy (of course), Donald Glover aka Childish Gambino (it’s been confirmed that I have an actual ‘type’ – especially if they’re black. Nerdy, brown skinned, thick-rimmed glasses prone, hoody wearing, you’re it!) and a sea of living and breathing Adonises. Yes, statuesque hard-bodies with nice faces. I guess nothing’s really changed, has it. But the former (and quite possibly the latter) can be interpreted in two ways: I’m bitter, or I  need sex. Hopefully neither. I shouldn’t need sex, I am sex.

  1. I can’t wait to read the book you eventually start writing about your life….damn I wish I had your talent.

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