[EDIT] What the ARSE are you on about, ComicPress? Eating my updates! UGH. I could castrate you with a fossilised shark tooth. Anyway, to those who missed yesterday’s update, tis here. Sorry about that.
Good gravy, what a week-end . . . It was such fun and love and glee, I could simply blow hearts out of my nose. Alas, I am quite sleepy, so the snotvalentine will simply have to wait.
Went up to spend the week-end with my K. again, and was hosted by the wunderbar Sully again (and again, thanks for the hospitality, mate!). On Saturday, we went out, decimated doughnuts, drew in cafes, squabbled about sushi, promenaded about the brick sidewalks, pointed in admiration at the splendid potpourri of dogs present, bought books (and a few other bits and bats), and generally enjoyed the sunshine. The day was wrought with dips and ups and quirks . . . Namely a celebrity sighting of sorts, which I’ll elaborate on more, later, and salesman thinking I was nineteen. Criminy. But, it’s because I’m quite short and likely as all a bit too animated for my own good . . . I empathise with R. on several fronts, this being one of them (though thankfully I’ve got approximately an inch’s worth of height and about one stone’s weight on him). Heh, K. and I are quite the pair . . . She is the tall, attractive blonde to my short, scruffy lacklustresort. Well, they say a classic never dies, yes? I kind of love it, honestly. But then, I love everything about us when we’re together.
. . . Where was I? Oh yes, my celebrity sighting. For those who do not know what Ursula was watching a few pages back, it is a documentary about women undergoing treatment for their eating disorders. The programme is called ‘Thin’ and it aired a few years back on HBO. I swear, I saw one of the four mains today whilst riding the Metro. Not the one I drew in this comic, but yer . . . Colour that moment of the day quite surreal indeed.
After that, I spent the night at Sully’s, reading the first fifty pages of Trainspotting (having found and bought the Irvine Welsh Omnibus earlier that day) whilst she worked for a bit before bed. It is so strange to read an accent that is more or less braided into my very brain spelt out in ascii. It’s like reading lyrics to a song . . . A song which consists of “Oooooo-ooooooh” and “Dun-nun-dunnnn!” Perhaps the theme song from Disney’s ‘Doug’ is a good example; Yes, we know the song sounds like that, you needn’t spell it out. And likewise, yes, we know that Scottish people sound like that, you needn’t spell it out. But for all that it takes some getting used to, it’s a good read. A bit filthy and digusting, but . . . Oh! Gross, but engrossing. Heh, that’ll do nicely.
So, yes, then I quite sadly hopped aboard about six frillion modes of vehicular public transportation. I can tell you, by the time I got home, I really and truly smelt like a piece of horse. I pity the Carlea who had to pick me up from the bus station, today (though I thank her quite heartily as well, and for seeing to my beasts, of course).
Oh yes, and in weird-as-all-heck news . . . There were plants growing in my drain. PLANTS. Leafy green, oxygen filtering, photosynthesising life was being fostered and allowed to burgeon in my bathroom without my knowledge or consent! What happened was that, apparently, some of Feff’s birdseed went down the drain, was watered everytime I washed up or brushed my teeth and bloody BURST INTO FRUITION. As much as I love plants, I don’t much like the notion of Ferngully being in my drain . . . It was bunging up the lot, besides. So yer. That was quite something weirdoo to deal with. Oh, life. You are so quirky . . . You are equal parts ironic and eyeroll-inducing. No, wait . . . That’s it! LIFE IS A HIPSTER.
Shit, man . . . I feel like a quantum physicist who just sussed out the Meaning Of Life. Eureka, and I’ll just take my Nobel Prize and go, thanks . . .