Today is my anniversary. I've been with Wayne for 5 years officially. He doesn't know it yet but rather than going to a fancy restaurant I kinda wanna go somewhere that I can stuff my face and get more food than fluff so I'm going to suitably decide on somewhere I can scoff. After 5 years I don't need to pretend I don't eat any more. I can wake up with my hair sticking out at 90 degree angles with ice-cream stuck to my nose and malteasers stuck to my bellybutton and there's nothing he can do about it. Yay for female domestic bullying and long term relationships!
Had a nine o clock lecture. Wandered in with my big frumpy headphones and I don't know what it is about the scissor sisters that make me want to dance but whenever I hear the opening bars of "Filthy Gorgeous" something within just makes me want to strut around pouting and wiggly my bum. I was walking along the beach front... the perfect catwalk, were it not for all the cars passing. Still, it was only quarter to nine, and the morning traffic wasn't as bad as it could have been. I felt my head began to bob and my ass begin to swing as I tried to maintain a normal walk while the power of the Scissor Sisters started to posses me. I blame them entirely for any spins and random blasts of "Oooooh and I'm gorgeous!!!!" as I vogue posed along the waterfront and skipped into my lecture - on time might I add.
After the lecture (which I actually took notes for, on a fixed piece of paper that I promise I won't lose as I bought a special book to put them all in last week, along with six pens, so it is highly unlikely that I'll lose them. Well, maybe the pens, but not the book anyway) I bounced up to the waterfront office to find my editor. I have no idea what to write for the next edition. He text me yesterday asking if I had any ideas. I feigned low credit. I don't have a clue what to write about. Luckily, he was nowhere to be found so I hopped back down the stairs and started making my way back along Bryn Road to home.
As I wandered along quietly humming along, looking behind me to check there was nowhere in close proximity before I belted out a tune from a popular chorus, or had to stop to do a little bum shuffle in the street, a man walked towards me suddenly seemed too animated. I looked at him quizzically as he appeared to be shouting something with his arms in the air. Frenzically I turned down the volume on my Zen and turned my attention to what he was shouting. He was singing. Amazed I immediately thought maybe he too was listening to the Scissor Sisters, thinking that maybe it affects everyone and not just me, but as he came closer I heard a few bars of Michael Jackson, belting them out at the top of his voice. It dawned on me that I must limit by public shows of embarrassment to potential X-factor auditions. The man, who would had looked fairly normal, medium height and build, green bomber jacket, black, had he not have been serenading early morning students. He was perfectly in tune and didn't even have headphones on, his arms striking out into the air as he hit top notes, and I headed into the direction he had came from towards my house.
I began to consider my recent events in this part of town. Between Mr Jackson, the homeless men, and the complete and utter psychos I live with, I am slowly coming to the conclusion that there may be something in the water down these parts.
Off to do my hair now ready to start my anniversary day. Yay.
Peace! x
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