The Drivel Thread

I love how you pretend to sound like you have your shit together with the language you use --"on my way to the boutiques", "at the restaurant"--so as to disguise the absolutely dismal nature of these outings. Yeah, we get it, LH, you're a lady of leisure! :lbf:
On the rare occasion, I have tasted being “a lady of leisure”. I’ll miss life when it’s gone.
 
On the rare occasion, I have tasted being “a lady of leisure”. I’ll miss life when it’s gone.
I was being sarcastic. Lazy nutter does not and never has equaled lady of leisure
 
I was being sarcastic. Lazy nutter does not and never has equaled lady of leisure
Well I enjoyed myself, though it turns out the umbrella wasn’t made locally. I got some great socks too. One pair says “Why the f*** not” on the ankles. Little things, little tastes of leisure. The question is, who will get my socks when I die? I have a neighbour who likes to take my lightly used socks. I’ll put him in my will, if I manage to write one.
 
Well I enjoyed myself, though it turns out the umbrella wasn’t made locally. I got some great socks too. One pair says “Why the f*** not” on the ankles. Little things, little tastes of leisure. The question is, who will get my socks when I die? I have a neighbour who likes to take my lightly used socks. I’ll put him in my will, if I manage to write one.
Your neighbour takes your worn socks?
 
He doesn’t usually have money to buy socks too I think. He has a pet bird. Perhaps he spends all his dough on the bird.
 
All his money on a bird? What is he feeding it?
Maybe he’s got a drug habit, aside from tobacco. He’s the one I painted the lovebirds for. He asked me to then paint him a Macaw, but I didn’t have my heart in it, and gave him back his money, saying I only want to paint Morrissey, for now anyway. If Morrissey will paint with me, I don’t know what I would get up the nerve to paint. I’d probably continue painting him. He could paint my neighbour a Macaw.
 
Maybe he’s got a drug habit, aside from tobacco. He’s the one I painted the lovebirds for. He asked me to then paint him a Macaw, but I didn’t have my heart in it, and gave him back his money, saying I only want to paint Morrissey, for now anyway. If Morrissey will paint with me, I don’t know what I would get up the nerve to paint. I’d probably continue painting him. He could paint my neighbour a Macaw.
I suppose if it’s his pet, there must be some kind of attachment to it. If I added up all the money I’ve spent on my cat, I’d probably start taking drugs, too.
 
LH, ignore the negativity. You are being productive with your painting and taking care of yourself with your walks and eating out and treating yourself to things. You go to the symphony and plays. You are really making an effort, not sitting in a bedsit sniping at people all day. This thread is now a place where people like to hang out and talk to you, which is what you wanted. Enjoy it all.
 
Yeah, i know how it works. The native artists get next to nothing for their designs.
The woman who owns the store talks a good talk. I guess I’m gullible. I didn’t read the tag until I’d already used it. She mentioned a Canadian company, and blah blah, and I went for it. She wasn’t lying, but she didn’t mention that it was manufactured in China, where people are notoriously poorly paid for their work. There’s no way around it though, as almost everything is made in China. Except for the socks and lavender oil I got.
 
I just checked, and one type of socks was also made in China. The rest, Peru. The ones from China were the most expensive. I need to read the info before buying, rather than afterward.
 
I’m remembering Steve, my fellow foster kid, in Vankleek Hill, Ontario, who at a party, said to me “Give us a kiss!”, and I fully kissed him. I had always found him extremely attractive, but I had a boyfriend in Quebec, and Steve had a French, nice, girlfriend sitting beside him on the couch. But he asked for it, and he got it. He was floored. I never saw him again because those were the Christmas holidays, and when school started up again after the holidays, I ran away back to Montreal because I couldn’t stand my foster home. It’s true that I found Steve extremely attractive, but no one compares to The Dancer/Morrissey, who stunningly, I know in hindsight, was inches from me on Valentine’s Eve. I want your face on a pillow beside me Morrissey, the best dancer ever. Though I didn’t recognize you when you were there, I will never forget what I recognize in hindsight, and want to touch, with my hands and my lips.
 
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anxiety bloody awful poetry testing the waters trying to feel good in your own skin trying to make friends wanting to alleviate anxiety wanting to feel safe to be honest wanting to have integrity
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