Screw you spellcheck, crotchless is so a word

So the moths are back.


I have thrown out ALL the food.


What the fuck?

I have been keeping everything from dried pasta to muesli in the fridge, so there is no fucking way they are newly arrived with my latest dried good purchases. They are stressing me out to fuck! I slipped into my alter ego, kitchen-Rambo, and destroyed their puny bodies, and then I found two new guys in ahem the gross stage of development, and I got those with the sweeping brush and threw them over the balcony because ALL my neighbours are assholes except for the maybe-hooker next door.

And even she is straining my patience with her Eurotrash choonage of a Sunday morning. Being the only Western European to know the words to “numa numa” isn’t a source of pride for me.

So I have nothing to eat, but the moths are still hanging on. I thought I told those fuckers, this shall not stand.

I mind, the Dude minds. This will not stand, ya know, this aggression will not stand, man.

I checked my cupboards to make sure there was nothing else the moths could have got into- I put the peanut butter and tin of crackers in the fridge and I just hope the moths today were just stragglers from before I did my super cleaning frenzy last week. Maybe it takes them a while to hatch or something. Yuck, anyway.

So I cleaned the kitchen a bit and then rewarded myself (because I can’t unwind with cigarettes any more) with an amaretto and orange juice. I would have liked something a little more serious, possibly with whiskey, but unfortunately I drink all the nice booze as soon as I buy it so all I have now is Lidl amaretto and some Lidl German vodka.

I think maybe if I add some vodka it will be like a cherry instead of vanilla Harvey Wallbanger, and perhaps tasty?

Anyway it’s my dream (one of my many dreams I do very little to make reality) to have a fully stocked bar in my house.

I want it to be made of some kind of special wood like mahogany or walnut like something a gentleman would have in his house, and have a lockable cabinet and a pull out bar, and all sorts of fancy glasses and twirly sticks.

I know I have previously snorted at the idea of cocktails, but the cocktail drinking I take offense to is the modern, cosmopolitan, men drinking pink shit, kind of scene that Italians treat as if it’s just a normal everyday way of drinking.

Cocktail drinking in the Don Draper sense, it’s just manly enough for me to get excited about.

My drinks bar wouldn’t really be about frills and fruit and sugar rimmed glasses, it would be more of a,

“Gee, what can I fix ya?”

as soon as guests come into my home (some day I will have guests) and while my wife takes their coats.

Yeah I’d kind of want to be a man too if at all possible. Just for the drinking, and also everything else except for the being able to get away with shit like crying and having a high pitched voice and throwing hissy fits and being weak and stuff. I would really like to know how to change fuses and whatever that shit is, but I don’t and electricity is too mystical a force in my eyes. I’d be a really shit man though, because I wouldn’t be able to cope with having to look exactly how I looked, all the time, and not being able to do anything about it. Also having to deal with the sort of women I’d be attracted to (high maintenance blonde chicks with stupid square nails, I’d imagine) would wreck my head. AND I would have to deal with vadge. I mean, women are really attractive, I think women are way better looking than men. But VAGINA?

I don’t care how many men I hear say they dig the clam chowder, I don’t care how clean and nice and hairless a vagina is, there is no way I’d be thrusting out my tongue… ewww…

No. I will be a woman, thanks. I’m used to cock. It may be a bizarre, obscene appendage, all dangly and the wrong colour for the guy’s body, but I am used to cock. I don’t even remember a time when it revolted me. I think the time for being afraid of dick had long faded by the time I actually got to see one.

Actually no, that was a really unpleasant experience. I must have forgotten. It wasn’t a nice introduction to dick. It was a terrible welcome to penis 101. The first dick I got up close and personal with was this night out on the golf course. this was where we used to go to drink cans.

We had only enough money for the cinema because that’s where our parents thought we were going, so we could only afford 2 or 3 cans each.

We stretched them out by drinking one, spinning around really fast and falling on the grass. The cider flew to our heads and we inevitably landed on some strategically placed dude’s lap. I was the least slutty of my friends, but I was pretending to be experienced because they were new, popular, slutty friends and I didn’t want them to know I was really just a barely-ex nerd who 12 months ago had played pokemon on my gameboy. So no one knew I had only kissed one boy ever, and I had kissed him drunkenly one night on the same golf course. He tasted like cigarettes and his tongue wasn’t as warm as I had expected. He didn’t call me or express any interest afterwards. I was really upset at the time. I met him years later at a party with a new boyfriend I had, and we took a shitload of ketamin and I told him “hey you know what’s funny, you were my first kiss” and he said he had no idea or he would have been nicer to me. I was well past caring at this stage, so I was like “oh it doesn’t matter, man it was such an anticlimax!” which I didn’t realise was insulting when I said it because I was totally fucked, but I’m glad was actually an insult. I high fived my 14 year old self.

But anyway this other night I fell on the grass after having a spin, and I was kissing this other guy, and he was really ugly. And then he had his dick out and he wanted me to give him head, and all I could think about was HA FINALLY A PENIS! Finally when someone asks me to draw a dick, my drawings won’t be so unbelievable any more and give me away as some innocent who has never seen one up close. And then I wasn’t sure if it was that you were definitely NOT supposed to blow, or if it was that you were supposed to blow. So I gave it a quick oral investigation then realised it was gross and I didn’t want to do it at all, it was really gross. But either I didn’t make my change of heart clear to the gent, or else he was an asshole, because he pushed my head down and made me cry. I managed to pick up my drunken, dressed like a teenie-hooker body and storm off in what I supposed was an indignant sort of way. But it didn’t really bother me that the first dick was really not a nice one and it didn’t belong to a nice guy, or that I was kind of taken advantage of, I was just upset that I misled this guy and came off looking like a cock tease. This was my biggest fear, and it’s thanks to ignorant, pushy teenage boys that I didn’t realise I really had the right to change my mind until I was about 18.

So thanks, assholes. And that whole blue balls thing? I didn’t figure that one out until wireless internet, so 2 of my boyfriends made use of that little piece of bullcrap.


Yes I see the cocktails on my own were not a great idea.

I am going to use spellcheck this time.

Oh lordy no, all my shameful teenage memories are flooding back, gah no don’t want, I told you to burn those files!

What was I thinking? EWWW what was I wearing? Oh man the state of my ex boyfriends… they have sort of got progressively better looking over the years, but I’ve only had one nice person boyfriend and he was also really the best looking one, but he just let me walk all over him so that was no good. And that wasn’t even the problem, I was the most experienced of the two of us, sex wise, so with me having to lead, and my paranoia, we were stuck with the most unsatisfactory missionary sex life and that eventually dried up. It seems to always dry up for me. I have spent 4 years of my life in sexless relationships.


Apart from briefly when I first met husband, again, why I married the fucker, but that wasn’t a healthy sex life because it was only awesome because I just let him do whatever, and I had no input as a person. And then when I started building up my confidence in the sack, and contributing my own little moves and whatnot, it grew into a proper relationship but then I started being less flexible and being like “no I don’t wanna do that” and saying no and he got sulky because he wanted to do certain things I told him he could have on our wedding night, and then I didn’t come through when we got married, because I don’t see WHY a woman with a perfectly good, barely legal pussy has to do anal? I get it, it’s tight… but so are my lady bits, so why the fuck should I spend any amount of time gradually acclimatizing myself to something painful while freaking out that maybe I’m gonna do a poo?

So to sum up:

I have never had a good sex life. There have been very very few people in my life who I have had brief interludes of awesome satisfying sex, but they are invariably people I absolutely can’t be sleeping with. I will protect my anonymity flimsily as a pair of crotchless panties, but I damn well amn’t laying that shit out there on the internet.

So I know there is good sex out there and I know I’m not too fucked up to enjoy it, because I have enjoyed it and I have had awesome sexy times, but like… 5 times maybe? In my life.

Hence why I am crap in bed.


I feel like I need another top up, and to listen to some kind of empowering music that is empowering as hell but then by the end I can kind of weep a little bit.

Or else, I may just watch some stand up comedians talk about why men and women are different.


Ok sorry about the repetition of the theme of my shitty sex life and whatnot, but sure, it’s like.. .totally….

oh yes, spellcheck, thank you for reminding me.

Hey what, those words are all fine. This is why I prefer not to use spellcheck, it takes all the good words like crotchless and vadge and choonage and fuckers and ketamin and says they are not correctly spelt. I mean if I wanted to write crotches, I’d have to be pretty fucking DRUNK to write crotchless instead. Stupid.

Anyway, good night to you all and to all a good night.


I can’t remember why I said crotchless?

Oh my god just realised that for the past hour or so there has been an almost incessant sound of sirens. I wonder what’s going on? Lots of sirens. I vaguely noticed earlier but it just now struck me as odd.

Looked out my balcony- loads of people hanging around looking in the direction of the sirens.

A police car just went past and also an ambulance. I went out onto the other balcony (yeah double balconies biatch) to see if I could catch a glimpse of a fire raging or multiple mangled bodies on the street but nothing. Just loads of neighbours hanging out of their balconies. Realise I am more embarassed to be spotted wearing actual pjs, than to be recognised as that girl who streaks in her kitchen all the time.

Sirens have now stopped.

Realise I saw a police man on the bus today, in uniform with his gun. Seeing Italian cops with guns makes me very excited. I stuck my boobs out and tried to at least sweat in a sexier way than I was currently managing. (It’s fucking hot during the day, cold at night, ergo, pjs) He didn’t leap on top of me and take me in front of all the other passengers, though.

I would totally have written that first if it had happened, instead of shoving it down the end of this.

I wonder if some massive sting operation is going down? Maybe that policeman was just going home from work. Maybe there’s a fire somewhere near? I’m really excited, I wanna have some  info on the big deal that requires that much use of sirens. I want to be able to go “I KNOW, sure I could see the ambulances going past last night!” and then have some other eyewitness account like “I thought i could smell smoke” or something, but obviously I need to know the nature of the tragedy first. Actually the sirens have stopped now so it’s probably nothing exciting.

I’m glad, of course. Yay safty of my neighbourhood!

But I would like to know what that was about, why I was ear-raped for so long, and also, more importantly, why I didn’t really notice until it had been going on for ages.

Oh yes, Amaretto sours.

I improved my drink immensely by replacing the orange juice with freshly squeezed lemon juice.

The vodka with the amaretto wasn’t too bad but ultimately a proper Harvey Wallbanger with Galliano is way nicer.

I’m going to go to the supermarket and get some whiskey and what else? Can’t remember… cherry liqeur? And make up a big bottle of old fashioned and bring it out tomorrow because tomorrow is FRIDAY BABY and I have a freaking social life now. WOO WOO!

I think my body is getting used to doing doubel shifts with very little sleep. I hope so, I’m gonna get unbridled drunk tomorrow and pounce on someone.


Oh so bored. Should sleep, bored though.

Tried googling some shit I can learn, like some awesome party trick, but all I can find with my inefficient slightly boozey googling is magic tricks and I’d rather pick up the instruction for how to tie a cherry stem in a knot with your mouth.

I actually CAN do that if the stem is long enough, but I can’t do it in a way that is remotely appealing. I’ll get it in a knot all right, but the visual experience for whoever I’m trying to impress, is like watching someone get caramel popcorn out of their teeth without using their hands.


Maybe I nevr ytold you before, but I lost my pepper spray ages ago. I tore my apartment apart trying to find it, looking all over in the oven behind the toilet places that don’t make any sense at all.

And two days ago I think, I was putting on a green coat I haven’t worn in months, and I thrust my hands in the pockets and found my pepper spray. YAY! I can hang out in dodgy neighbourhoods again. Also, I can be a cock-tease safely. And I can go clubbing in that seedy group of bars where all those nasty muslim dudes hang out looking for some slutty infidel bitches.

Let the drunken feminist ranting commence! Pepper spray’s got my back!

Oh gonna try sleep now.

I’m boring myself to sleep.

I think I learnt my lesson, drinking alone is no kind of party. It’s just I forgot. I hope I don’t forget about how lame smoking is.



8 responses to “Screw you spellcheck, crotchless is so a word

    • Ah thanks for the research! I want them gone permanently so I can put my beans back in the cupboard! Bastards! I don’t know where to find cedar oil here… haven’t come across any healthy shops apart from one that was just protein powder and expensive slimming teas. I have found it hard to search for solutions to the moth debacle because I really really don’t wanna see a close up picture of a moth. I can just about bear them because they’re so small but if I knew what they looked like close up… urgh. I will check out the other moth blog though because they are clothes moths (I’d actually hate that more than food moths)

    • OMG just did a fresh burst of research- it could take months to get rid of them, and I may need to bring out the big guns. My mum’s coming to visit soon too, I really wanted them gone by then. And I have to throw out my extensive herb collection. :(

      On Fri, Oct 14, 2011 at 11:37 AM, chesty le roux wrote:

      > Ah thanks for the research! I want them gone permanently so I can put my > beans back in the cupboard! Bastards! > I don’t know where to find cedar oil here… haven’t come across any > healthy shops apart from one that was just protein powder and expensive > slimming teas. I have found it hard to search for solutions to the moth > debacle because I really really don’t wanna see a close up picture of a > moth. I can just about bear them because they’re so small but if I knew what > they looked like close up… urgh. I will check out the other moth blog > though because they are clothes moths (I’d actually hate that more than food > moths) > >

  1. MONTHS! Egad! Too bad there isn’t a moth ray-gun out there where you can just zap them all once and be done with it!
    If you can find a herb ship or vitamin store you will most likely find cedar oil in an aromatherapy or essential oil section. I would take several drops and put it in a spray bottle with some water and spray the carpet. Just not sure about contacting cedar oil with skin (more research…) so maybe wear socks if you walk around on the rug after.

  2. I know why you keep getting moths. It’s because your dead ex husband is rotting through the floor boards. Busted. No worries, your secret is safe with me.

    Just started watching Mad Men a couple of weeks ago. All I want to do now is dump martinis and scotch down my gullet every single moment of the day.

    • Yeah, I WISH! Nah Id never be so stupid. I never understand these people who do shit like bury bodies in their garden or houses, hello how is that never going to be found out? Oh yay! Mad Men! I wish I had new episodes to watch. However I blame this and my subsequent hankering for old fashioneds for my terrible binge on Friday. Damn you Don Draper!

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