Clothes Shopping.

JohnnyRay, or whatever you're name is. You are wrong about no-one giving a shit about this, because by reading this in the first place, you are either giving a shit... or some other person gave a shit, read this, and then told you. I therefore would like to take this oppurtunity to bring my hand up to my forehead in the shape of an "L" and then smile smugly at you. That is all.

I need a new layout. Especially after this shit day that I've had. I've grown... again, and so I had to go clothes shopping, which is actually the shittiest thing ever in the world ever ever. No arguments.
Especially when it's with your mother.

Bah! I really, really hate it with a fiery passion. Why has every fucking shop decided to play music now?! And why is it always by Mariah Kerry, or whatever her name is? I don't exactly go around my bedroom listening to the loudest music on the planet listening to "Touch my body" for the 8,000th time.

Oh, and I don't know about anyone else, but when I get changed normally I am in fact not surrounded by about 500,000 mirrors, which point in every single mathematical angle possible so I can see my entire body and make myself even more self conscious than I already am. Oh yeah, and it is not 45 degrees in the shade when I usually get changed either. Stupid people thinking we're battery hens.

And I get really paranoid as well! Every time someone walks past I emit a high pitched squeak and lunge towards the curtains as so the "interesting and colourful" Trevor doesn't open them wanting to try on the latest "look" for the 5,435,490,584,308,624,085,204th time that day (I'm talking about the changing rooms in somewhere like Topman, where my mother always seems to drag me).

You never see these people in public either! I reckon they hide in the wheelie bins outside until they're needed to go and outcamp people like me or you. I confiure Terence, Trevor or Jeremy are bred in the back room as little poofters all their lives until the fateful day when they're allowed into the mens section with their little golfer hats and fluorescent skinny jeans.
I hear you asking, what about the girls? Well, the fat lesbians with their sandals and short cropped hair behind the counter don't come from the outside world, I tell you that.

I mean;


Fucks sake, my internet went when I was writing this. Note to self: Save these.

And come on! When do you see him in the queue for the bus or on the tube reading the Metro?! I think I'll call him Cletus. I call everyone names now.

Oh yeah, going with your mother is the most painstaking thing EVER aswell. I think there was a moment once. A happy moment. When she moved three whole feet without going; "DOYOULIKETHISONE?!?!" Then reaching into the rack and pulling out the GAYEST most pug fugly think ever. Oh, and the "Here To Help" people aswell. That's a lark. You ask a genuinly simple question like;

"Where are the shoes please?"

"Dunno. Ask Diz." (Points to equally stupid guy)

Pah, I hate it so, so much. Well, this blog's been quite short, but thanks for reading all the same.

http://www.arien617.blogspot.com/ I thought I'd do some advertising while I'm here.

New entry. Fucking awesome.

Thankyou.