Monday, 7 March 2011

Changing My Ideals (And Dress Size)...

Three days ago I realised the entirety of my wardrobe (spare two pairs of hipster jeans and the band tee's I've managed to acquire through people getting naked at gigs) no longer fits me.

Admittedly, seeing as most of it was begged, borrowed or stolen and I've since run out of money with which to buy new attire - I'm a little fucked off.

However, it's proof the little sea monkey in my tummy is putting his ever-forming noggin into this growing lark at full pelt.

*Terribly proud.*

Plus, two failed attempts later it's been made expressly clear I'm not going to be needing my glad rags any time soon...I actually fell asleep, fully clothed, about ten minutes before I was due to depart each time.

[Club opening hours bother me, is there some requirement that it must be almost the morning after your 'night out' before you're even allowed in? It's the result, less of a prudish view of alcohol consumption - being that you can go to the pub as of 10am - and more an outdated, secret fundamentalist's view to music and dance, I reckon.]

So much has happened since I last blogged that it would be utterly redundant to attempt to describe it in any detail so I'm just going to leave it at this; the father knows and he is not a happy little munchkin.

Baby news aside, I woke up with a bit of a bug up my arse this morning.

As a woman who has (except in her few moments of weakness) been positively thrilled to be both shapely and actively shitting on the doorstep of mainstream fashion, it offends me that I'm so riled up when men trade me in for, well, a model.

[All 100lb of meticulously styled, half-dead, vacantly staring, internally barren, soul sucking bad juju that they are.]

Ladies, I do not buy your bullshit - that is not your 'natural state of being'.

I take your gastric band, computer enhanced reality and I substitute my own - the true feminine ideal; bearing a child.

Twist your noodle round that one.

As for everything else - give me jeans, a tee, some home-made knitwear, clippers, as many colours of Directions dye as the nearest shop stocks and a soundtrack of real punk rock.

You bailed at the first click and point.



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