elizagirl

MOTHERFUCKING *COCK*, my stupid twat of a bitch ex-husband just phoned me THE DAY BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY and started making ridiculous demands about divorce papers. Newsflash, Ricky Retardo--I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET YOU TO PONY UP WITH THE PAPERWORK FOR A YEAR. Gah.

I used to think his accent was so sexy. Now I just want to scrape his throat with a fork. To ribbons. And then make him drink bleach.

Feh.

*mumble grumble* pretentious so and so...some nerve...*mumble grumble*

you know, I have every belief (and hope) that I will fall madly, wonderfully, insanely in love again someday. But I can tell you the odds of my EVER marrying someone again are about as good as the odds that Dubya will have sex with Ani DiFranco (christ, what a chilling image). Marriage puts these bizarre and unnecesary pressures on a relationship...these expectations...these freedom-squishing rules. I can commit to someone and love them fiercely and be part of a kick-ass Dynamic Duo without any of the paperwork, thank you.

And if I had been that smart last time, the soulless limey fucktard would not be harassing me now. BAH!

On that note, I may be short on money, but surely after a day like that I deserve sushi. Don't I?

Yeah, I deserve sushi. Mm.....tuna tataki.