Wednesday, 7 December 2011

The Ginger

(AKA spawn of the Devil, soulless, dead inside, probably not very good at things like knitting or thinking.)
I’m very saddened to report that not only do I now live with one, but it’s one of my closest friends. You could probably put us on a TV show because we’re like an experiment - how does a ginger infiltrate the world of a beautiful, funny, talented, witty, beloved blonde (me)?
I’m still trying to figure it out. 
On the outside (red hair aside) she appears quite normal. She knows how to speak in coherent sentences, she’s well aware of the importance of breathing, she even eats. It’s what’s inside that I’m now most concerned about. 
I first noticed about six months ago when it moved in, that its hair could be found everywhere. EVERYWHERE! You’d be surprised the amount of times I’ve received a perfectly new package of clothing only to open it and find a long, lonely strand of devil hair. 
Obviously that article of clothing is burnt immediately. 
Every now and then it'll do its laundry and then walk out of its room laughing, holding a pair of my undies -  “oh Emily! Look what I found in my laundry!” 
LIES! There’s no doubt about it, the Ginger is a perverted freak!
I can’t prove it just yet, but I know it sniffs my clothes whilst watching me sleep...
I’m not going to lie, I fear for my life. 
This ginger knows everything about me and now that she’s able to spy on every aspect of my life through the guise of a strand of hair, well I’m shit scared. 
I go nights without sleeping, not because I’ve drunk too much chocolate milk before bed or because I’m just so curious as to what in the fuck Pippa Middleton is going to wear to work the next day, but because I know that not fifteen meters away it’s just lying in wait...probably so it can feed on my soul.
Some may say it’s a coincidence but don’t you find it a little odd that the night she moved in, our apartment was robbed? Some of its stuff was taken as well but that could all just be a front. 
What I think really happened was it sent a message to the mothership (or Devil, I haven’t figured out where it comes from) and they sent down (or up) teeny tiny bugs that have since infiltrated the apartment and are so minute they cling to sheets and clothing fibers, slowly reproducing and building an army that will soon rise from my bed or wardrobe and engulf me.
Like ginger flames. 
I’m telling you guys, let this post be my record; my ginger roommate is going to destroy me...or worse, transform me into one of them. 
I’m so unprepared for when it attacks that I don’t even know what to keep under my pillow. A stake? Silver? A machine gun or just a packet of hair dye? 
For the safety of all humanity, scientists need to stop wasting their time on trivial things like curing cancer or growing organs and devote all their attention and resources to studying this alien/monster/Devil spawn.
This is a precarious time and with their type infiltrating into society (SO FAR AS THE GODDAMN ROYAL FAMILY), it’s time to prepare for the inevitability of war.

NOTE: Given the nature of this beast, expect future updates. Unless it eats me or whatever they do...

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Blessed Are the Maternal?

My dog followed me to the bathroom today, so I had to give him a big lecture about boundaries. It ended with me crying and eating jelly beans because I used the analogy of John Lennon's death.

I think I got through to him though. He didn't follow me in again. I wonder if that had anything to do with the fact that I left the jelly beans unattended on the kitchen floor? I have a feeling being "responsible" means you don't leave confectionary on the floor with unsupervised dogs.

Being maternal isn't something I seem to have been blessed with (is it a blessing?) When it comes to real little people aka babies, I just do not fucking understand what to do with the little shitheads (correction; CUTE little shitheads).

I think the fact that babies are so goddamn cute makes me threatened. I tend to insult them when I talk to them or I act like they understand the complex things I tell them ("Cheese GOOD! Your foot, NOT good") and then become frustrated when they don't pay attention to the life lessons I'm so generously teaching them.

For instance, my sister's friend left me in charge of her four month old baby whilst she showered.

I took the baby to my laptop and played music clips for it, carefully explaining how the man in said clips was my future husband. When the baby didn't acknowledge his beauty I became frustrated and, well, a little disappointed with it. So I took it to the kitchen and sat it on the bench.

By this time the thing was dribbling all over itself and sticking it's tiny hands in my mouth. So naturally I had to give the baby a lecture about the rules of dribbling in public - that it's only ok when in the presence of tantalising food or men (or you're completely wasted and trying to look super alluring). My mum walked in during this in depth talk and told me to try and be a little more "normal" and not lecture a four month old child.

Also, how the fuck are you meant to be affectionate with a dribbling mini-human who doesn't understand the concept of not sticking its hands in people's mouths? What are you meant to do with them? I kind of patted it for a bit and then remembered you can't touch a baby's head because they have that "deactivate button"...

So I guess I'm not maternal but I am really good at important things like remembering to not be a crack head. In the end that's all that matters.


Do you think if Kim Kardashian ever had a kid its arse would be as big as hers? Seriously picture that for a second and then rethink your anger towards the ending of her "marriage".

Searching For a New BFF

So I'm looking for another BFF.

Selfishly I already have two and they're ok but like, one's Asian and one's a ginger so they can only go so far.

I've devised some interview questions, some of which may include: 
  • what matching tattoos would we get (eg dolphin eating a homeless man)? 
  • How much/what gangster rap would you play for me if my boyfriend dumped me? 
  • How much money do you have? 
  • If I ask for something, like your first born, that'd be cool right? 
  • Are you willing to accept responsibility (and subsequent consequences) for everything I do - smoking too much meth, cutting locks of hair off famous people, stealing someones houseboat, excessive stalking etc
These are pretty simple questions. I'm easily pleased, you really just have to compliment me constantly and reassure me that there aren't ninjas hiding in my closet waiting to assassinate me...

This Happened.

I decided to make a blog because between working occasionally, collecting unemployment. watching terrible TV and talking to myself, I seem to have a lot of time on my hands.

So welcome to my blog fools! I apologise in advance.

NOTE: My URL "no plans, no pants" is in relation to my current state. I have no plans and I'm not wearing pants. Something you will learn really quickly is that I'm a fucking genius and swearing does make you cool.