I Started Smoking Again

I started smoking (cigarettes) again. It's a curse, one that you love and hate in equal measures.

Long Weekend

I smoked pot all long, lazy weekend, lying on the couch for days, up the country at Mark & Luke's. All Day, like a jelly having been removed from its mould... wobble, wobble.

What else does one do on the Queen's birthday? I ask you? 

I was lying on the couch on my back with my legs over the arm of the couch with my head on Mat’s knee, as he was looking at his iPad, stoned off my face yet again, when Mark suggested that he and Luke might want some time to themselves.

“Oh? Okay then. Sure.”

We left not long after, late afternoon. 

I think Mark found me too lazy (ha ha) and too stoned to cope with. (pot calling the kettle, but it is their house, of course) 

I even bought all the pot for the weekend and the cigarettes with which to roll my joints and still they weren’t happy. The deal was that Mark would give me half the money. So, right at the end, feeling a little bad about it all, I said, 

“You don’t have to give me any money, but give me what’s left of my half.”

Mark wanted to keep it all for himself. He turned into the middle child and snatched the dope bag away from me, when I pulled out a too bigger bud to take, he snatched the dope out of my hand.

“Seriously?”

Mark can be like that, so no surprise. He is, literally, the middle child in his family, after all.

Mat looked at me with his cheeky face, as I slipped the car into reverse and looked over my left shoulder in readiness to reverse.

“I think we got kicked out, darling.” Devilish grin.

"We got kicked out, honey." I couldn't help but smile. I kissed Mat. Team Us! We didn't care, what the hell! It was probably true, after all. Just far too relaxed.

Ex-boyfriends, there is no counting on them. Ha ha.

Giving it some thought later, they’d probably organised for some ‘trade’ to come over, some country guy with floppy hair and a big dick. Some 20 year old farm boy named Lachlan who gives it and takes at the same time. Oh yeah, there is something in that alright. I get it. As his jocks come down and his semi bounces into view. 

"I've never done this before," he says. That’s moments before he shoves himself up Luke's arse and starts riding Luke. And Luke wails out for more being the total bottom that he is. And the farm boy works his thick thighs faster. Then the farm boy gets speared in his own arse by Mark, letting out a huge yelp as he’s never quite been pinned like that before. Yeah, I get it.

It's still rude, guests are guests. A 'better' offer doesn't quite cut it. But, yeah, I understand, ex-boyfrends are what they are. Would I do that to them? No, quite frankly, I wouldn't. But, whatever, who cares.

And all of that dissolves into the back ground as Mat and I giggles all the way about being kicked out. I role joints when we get home, wishing Mat enjoyed pot way more than he does.

I Headed To The Country

I headed to the country to the country, Friday morning. It was my long weekend. Mark and Luke were expecting me. I picked up pot on the way, you know, as you do. Up the country with God's herb what more could you want, I ask you?

It is just nice to get out of the city and its closed in feel, out to the wide open spaces. The blue the green and everything in between. The free flowing sky, the expanse above us all, beautiful and complete.

The fresh air, you can taste on your tongue, that you can feel on your skin, that feels fresh and clean all around you, the perfume of the earth and the trees.

I Ended It

I quit smoking. Again. I know, I know, but it is still better to give up once again, than not to.

I Started Again

I started smoking again, I know, weak as piss.

Actually, it was yesterday, but I have already posted yesterday, so here is the admission today.

Stinking Bitch

Rachel Borg's cunt smelt. There was no mistaking it, I could smell it wafting around my nostrils, every so often, like passing clouds, that damp, musky, rank odor just passed over me, by me, whenever she came over to  my side of the office.

I wanted to say, take yourself away and wash yourself. "Hey Rach, a bit mongy today."

I wondered if it was her nylon panties across her red lips, excreting gunge? Or was it dirty knickers, not washed, running late this morning. Maybe, it was Rob who pinned her down before she got out of bed, leaving no time for more than a wipe down with a cloth.

Of course, she looked quite happy, oblivious, they say a dog can't smell its own rancidness. Getting up with fleas, indeed.

I don't know what the boy equivalent is? I'm not sure there is one? A smelly foreskin? I'm not sure you can really smell that underneath clothes. Too closed in, to many layers between it and the world. Where Rachel B. had on a dress, with only a thin layer of cotton, I can only assume, between me and her mess.

A dirty foreskin only takes a few sucks and it is clean and the smell is gone? Does a snatch work the same way? I'll have to ask my mate George, he loves talking about that stuff. That is, of course, what girls have in their favour, straight boys don't care if it stinks, just as long as they let them in.

I'm guessing the Sisterhood is scratching at the furniture and grinding their collective teeth over this post. Leaning down and sharpening their claws across the carpet as the growl, at the impertinence of a mere male. Oh, bad me, I criticised a woman and I did it on a personal level. Boo Hoo! Am I bad?

Have you noticed that it is now verbotten to criticise the female of the species, they have this collective Borg consciousness thing going on that just won't allow for it.

Did you pick up that I don't like Rachel B. I don't. 

It is not a girl thing, as such, I work with girls all the time, I mostly have female bosses, just as it happens, all of who have become friends. Rachel B. was just a two-faced bitch. She was my boss and she used to look me in the eye and lie to my face. Yes, I am saying these things because I don’t like her. It is still true that she had vaginal odour though.