So I've been looking for somebody to take out all this pent-up rage on. After a week of picking up everyone's slack, cleaning up everyone's mess, putting up with everyone's shit and dealing with outlandish expectations, I've finally found a person to take out all this frustration on.
It went something like this:
Friday 4pm. You get home from work and find the heater is turned up to max, that there's a load of washing drying out and there's not a single person home to supervise. After fur
So there's this girl I used to work with.
We used to be close, but she had problems with her boyfriend and started pushing everyone away. Then, when one of the girls in her dept stated the obvious (i.e. dump him, he's a dick), it all ended in a rather fiery confrontation. I believe her exact words were "The only reason we fight is because of all the f**king stress at work". I believe the other girl's exact words were "You tell yourself that, honey."
And then, psycho girl stopped talking to
Love.
Call me a cynic, but I've never really understood society's obsession with 'love'.
I mean, I can understand physical attraction (mmm... let's engage in sexual intercourse), I can understand attachment (let's engage in sexual intercourse... again), and I can understand companionship (let's engage in sexual intercourse AND conversation), but what is this 'love' that we all aspire to?
I wouldn't ask, but I'm working on Chapter Six at the moment, and I'm beginning to realise that '
So I've been giving myself a bit of a makeover lately.
My dress standards had never been all that terrible but, somewhere along the line, jeans and hoodies had become my default setting. And it was getting shit. And I was getting lazy. And god forbid, I was looking like some generic, suburban hetero. Like I should be in line at McDonalds, or walking to the newsagent to buy a copy of Sports Illustrated.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
So armed with my tax refund and a wad of cash I'd been saving up (
So I've got a three-day weekend coming up, and my tax return has just come through...
Bad.
Boredom + Matty + Money = Bad.
Or tequila.
I'm the only person I know who actually likes the taste of tequila.
Dunno why.
Dunno why I call myself 'Matty' on GA, either.
Nobody calls me Matty.
Well, that's not true.
Nobodies call me Matty.
Case in point: Chicks who want me to do something.
Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Matty, could I ask a favour?
Matty, would you b
When you think of the greatest songs of all time, what do you think of?
Motown?
Elvis?
The Beatles?
Taylor Swift?
Jonas Brothers?
Personally, I think of all of the above (*cough*). But while I make fun of Taylor Swift and the Jonas Brothers, the idea of what constitutes great music is entirely subjective and the topic of endless debate amongst both friends and colleagues alike.
Is it beautiful lyrics? A talented singer? A great producer? A catchy hook? A memorable
Jumped on the scales this morning...
Not good.
Used to be pretty big (108kg/240lb), lost a lot of it when I was nineteen (76kg/170lb), and now I've put exactly half of it back on (92kg/205lb). Dunno how I feel about that just yet. I'm almost twenty-three now, a couple of inches taller taller than I was at nineteen and a whole lot broader through the shoulders, so I guess that explains a bit of it. Still, feels like I've let some of that good work go to waste. Bit disappointed in myself,
Have you ever written something that's really shaken you up?
Like, you've sat down and began writing a scene at your computer, and it's just taken you to a place you really didn't want to go?
I have.
I've just spent the past couple of days pouring my heart and soul into something massive, and now I'm scared half to death that it's not going to get the job done. I mean, f**k. I don't pour my heart and soul into anything anymore. Why this? Why now? Jesus Christ. Where the hell did this
**Scroll down for new reading material**
Ok, so I haven't been around much lately.
Yeah, I know. I haven't been around much lately. So?
What are you, my mother?
Anyway, it's 1.10am on Sunday morning, and I've got this thing that I really wanna get out there before I lose my nerve and blow the whole bloody thing up.
I do that a lot, you know.
Yes, I know it's destructive.
What are you, my mother?
Anyway, there's this holy grail in gay literature that some of u
Ahhh, another day in paradise.
So it's Sunday night, 9pm. I should be sleeping because there's a Grand Prix at 3.45am, but I can't be bothered. That's right, I'd get up at 3.45am for motor racing. A man's gotta have priorities. But there's gonna be one nasty side-effect... 7.30am start at the office tomorrow. 7.30am start every day of the week, in fact. Why do I torture myself like this, seriously? 7.30am starts are the devil. I've never been a morning person and I never will be a morning pe
