Well, women in London must have learned not to breathe.

So I bought a corset on Saturday. From a fetish/lingerie/sex shop. You can tell, too, because it has an easy access zip. But before you judge me, let me explain. I was invited to a Sweeney Todd-themed birthday party and I've never seen the musical or the movie. Google image it and you'll find a lot of Mrs. Lovetts in corsets and gothic clothing. I always sort of wanted a corset so I sort of decided to purchase one and wear it with a combination of my old goth stuff, some of my mother's wackier clothing items and black things I would normally team with something colourful.

...aha. Just a funny aside: my sister just got busted for claiming to be at a Cosi rehearsal (her high school's current production) while actually- now here is a shocker- being out with the boyfriend. If only I thought this would encourage my parents to discipline her. Ah, well.

So anyhow: Sweeney Todd costume. I bought the corset, assembled the outfit and made a pie before heading out to this party. I get there and am apparently one who took the theme a bit more seriously than others. I suppose the bright side is I have a pretty new corset.

Another hilarious occurrence in relation to this party was when I was covering my eyes while we actually watched Sweeney Todd on DVD and thought everyone was moaning and uncomfortable and covering their mouths and noses because of the gore. No, the film did not disturb them (which sort of disturbs me). An intoxicated youth of the "wasted" variety had emptied her stomach all over the floor, her costume and (most unfortunately) some of her hair during a particularly hectic throat-slitting montage of the movie. Silly me for thinking the most unfortunate thing I would see that night was gallons of faux blood shooting out of a poor extra's throat toward the unsuspecting camera.

I could describe Friday's loverly Beatles-themed party but it was quite a charming affair and, if we're honest, there is never much to report when a party goes perfectly to plan. We giggled a lot? There was good music? I got a ride home? My, this sure is a dull paragraph. Oh, but let me tell you about the fingers we found in the pies on Saturday....

Edit:

Allison would like me to mention she is not a spendthrift or fashion-dependent bimbo. She brings her lunch to University from home every day (except for one, thus far) and has resolved to shop less. Allison, my dear, you are also a fantastic listener who puts up with all of my silly jokes and references as well as being an exceptionally talented student and settlements clerk. You have a fabulous sense of humour, are always smiling and I think you're a very generous, kind sort of person.

My position is tragic.

Dear you,

Do yourself a favour. Don't talk to me. Don't love me. I've been known to- in jest- make people promise not to fall in love with me. This time I'm serious though. I suck people in with the crazy and that is exactly what makes people wish they could get out. Here's me trying to explain: I manipulate people emotionally without realising I'm doing it. And when, once in a blue moon, someone genuinely does love me: I tend to push them away and/or screw up their life at the same time. Don't come to me for advice, don't joke about wanting to be with me and don't let me cry on your shoulder. Somehow all of those things lead to me emotionally sucker punching people. And your emotions have such a nice nose. I'd hate to make it bleed.

All this sounds incredibly conceited. I don't think all that many people love me, and fewer people still allow me to manipulate them. The ones that do are usually too loving and trusting to see me coming which makes me feel just wonderful. I guess you only need to see one person who distances themselves from you due to residual hurt and resentment in order to feel the need to warn others. Especially others you feel strangely connected to after a really short period of acquaintance. Am I being too specific? Silly me. I forgot it was "Vague, non-descript, ambiguous" day online.

Whenever I try to write about emotions I always end up sounding like one of Joey Potter's angsty monologues and I hate that. I just like you too much. Way, way, way too much. You have an amazing personality. You're friendly. You're pretty. Oh boy, are you pretty. You're fond of me. You're everything I'm missing. And everything I don't deserve.

Do yourself a favour and don't love me. Because I already love you way too much for your own good. And probably my own, too.




NB. I am really, really tired. This won't make any sense in the morning, will it?