lolz

Irish Castle-Trim

You know, we really need to stop saying lolz, or so Shona tells me, and she knows her stuff, I guess. When Julia and I were coming back from Brasil, we were like yeah lolz lolz, he is so são paulo(gay), vai se fuder(go fuck yourself) etc. etc. We thought we were so cool with all our hip private joke slang. I kinda realised we were not so cool when we arrived in the airport and in the next couple of days, not only did people not get lolz, but I realised what massive losers we had become by saying it. And you know we could've overcome that sad period in the life of our vocabularies and started saying something really indie like, well, I don't know what hipsters say, I think they're not allowed to laugh, only snigger I guess. But whatever, instead of completing some transformation to become street-worthy with our words, we just converted all our immeadiate friends, and then we embarrassed ourselves, but because we were all doing it, it was OKAY. But now that I'm on my own here, and I am sure as hell not going to be able to get my granny to say lol, I have again become soo, um, six years ago with my lolz.

Anyway I found this pretty lolz;


I met an Irish shaman


p.s. Remember I got my ear done a while before I left, and like they were all like YOU MUST BATHE IT TWICE A DAY FOR TEN MINUTES IN SALINE SOLUTION AT A NINETY DEGREE ANGLE WITH 3.75% SALINITY, or wotevs, yeah well, I thought it was healing and stuff, and like I did bathe it sometimes, and I wasn't that bad, like come on I couldve been worse! Anyhoo, now it is sort of excreting weird yellowy pus that smells really really bad. Like the smell follows me, it's probably the reason why I do not have 321983748 irish friends already. or whatever. what should i do??

First is worst woops

Buying paper, being happy



I am having an uber great morning! Woohoo! I feel like I should write one of those shitty self-help books for someone who’s at home depressed, and I definitely have the recipe for instant euphoria only it’s too simple to sell a book to an idiot on. I started off hungover with four hours sleep but then I came home and put on some clean clothes and brushed my teeth(delicious), skyped my groovy friend Zain back in ye olde convict land, and then I had to go buy papers, cue smokes and ipod in pocket of the jacket, sun, in this usually dreary place. Shuffle came on with Harold Melvin, followed by Feist, Cat Power and the Hives. So good, right?! So, yeah, the search for happiness ends in the configuration of your ipod. I danced down the street and stood outside the cornershop finishing my smoke, and what with the pub next door gathering old ogling alcoholics outside, and my loser outfit which consisted of like leggings, I started feeling a bit like an innocent ten year old being accosted by dangerous stares. Not that it’s the first time, old irish men, like very old, the type that you wonder how they can even sustain any sort of lust, they’ve taken a shine to me. Yesterday walking down the street this octogenarian was ambling along there, and as I got closer he gave a real penetrating state, not like into the hollows of my soul, more like xray vision, and then he stopped, and well, I stopped, and he said to me, as he brought his face closer to mine(real romantic like),going in for the kill, ‘you’re a very beautiful girl’. Like, pick-up line of the century, right? I thought I was back in Brasil. lolz.



Gangsta cousin



But yeah, so, Ireland is really nice, my granny grew a few more wrinkles and now she offers me smokes as well as tea and cake, which is schweet.

Missing you all in Nepal, Australia, Russia, Finland, America, you globetrotters you lot. Much love,
tchau & beijos
Chloe