Mes mecs et moi... et moi... et moi... et MOUAH???

J-7, c'est rien, c'est pour mon changement de dizaine d'année.

J-3: c'est vachement plus grave...

j'ai caïman rien préparé pour le vide-grenier d'automne (oui, j'en fais deux: un avant l'été, un en automne... oualà.)... va falloir que je vende cher... ;-))) ...

Et c'est aussi la date butoir pour participer à mon ridikioule piti concours.

Et sinon, ben, voilà, quoi...

Une note à la con, pour prendre de l'espace...

Ah, ouais: j'ai trouvé un thème pour ma fête d'anniv...

Chuis bien contente...

Tu veux un karaoké, pendant que je graille au resto (sans le Greffon :D mais avec mes nouvelles bottines et mon nouveau jean...)?

allez, un truc qui déménage (bah, si, quand même, un peu... non?):

Sat at the side of the pool at one of your houses
With wet white trousers on
And worlds collide as the evening continues
The dignity fucks off

Her brother's gone off to the strippers
To make up for all the lost time
She could have been one of the bitches
But she's actually alright

(Cigarette smoker)
I'm sorry, but we're all unsure
How much you've had but
(We think that you oughta) maybe not have any more

A country home, even if we really tried
What if it's just surprises now?
And I bet your dad would like to give us all a slap
When are your parents back? d'you know?

Well I never came from no ghetto
But it wasn't nowhere near here
Well-spoken girls in stiletoes
Aren't something to fear

(Cigarette smoker)
I'm sorry, but we're all unsure
How much you've had but
(We think that you oughta) maybe not have any more


(Cigarette smoker)
I'm sorry, but we're all unsure
How much you've had but
(We think that you oughta) maybe not have any more

(Cigarette smoker)
Cigarette smoke doesn't hide
As well as you think
And you'd think that it oughta
Act as the perfect disguise

Interesting question, Captain.

When I was a child, England didn't exist.

No, really. I wasn't aware of its presence on this planet until I saw an Antenne 2 coverage of the Punk "movement" in London. Evening news. Just before going to bed. I was 8.

The next morning (or maybe a couple of weeks later... I'm not getting any younger and neither are my neurons...) I started bossing my mother around to get a "punk hairdo", which, in my mind, was this:

Swell, isn't it? My mother had absolutely no idea of what I was talking about, but she took me to our hairdresser's. The old man, luckily, found a picture of a bloke with spiky hair in his newspaper. And I ended up looking like an 8 year old Sid. Except for the clothes. And I had no color in my hair: my mother had refused to dye it... never mind (the bollocks... so easy :D), I grabbed gold glitter from a game called Mako Bougies (remember this one?) and spread it on my head. When I woke up the next day, the glitter was still there and my skin had turned green. It stayed this way for about a week. I loved it! I was soooo proud!

Next thing I know, I'm 17. I've booked a room for 2 weeks in an all-girl hostel in Kensigton (punk and snob) after running trying to run away from home (and making a deal with my mother). I can't get out after 11pm and they're keeping my passport in a safe. But I can buy beer in the daytime: I look much older than I am, that's why. I feed myself on crisps and Cadbury's bars. I hang around all day. Visit museums. Buy records and clothes. Put on 10kg. Shave my head. On the sides. (Those who have seen my msn profile picture know what I'm talking about).

And I returned home.

Yes, England is my tasse de thé (since they have expresso machines, that is :D)... I've been there again since, with my ex-boyfriend, with my husband, with my best friend, mostly for week ends... I love shopping in London (don't even mention Glasgow... I know, Glasgow is in Scotland... I know... I know...)... I'm dying to visit Cornwalls, Wales and tour Scotland again (and again, and again, and again...)... But until this is happening, I could use a little of this:

aaahhh! Blairgowrie... Peter Pan... ;-)

VOTE FOR ME, DAMN IT!!!

En ce jour de l'anniv de ma reum (et 6 jours après celui de mon père, un avant celui du petit cousin, 5 avant la fête du Greffon...), je t'invite à participer à un concours avec des cadals pourris (pour toi) parce-qu'il s'agit de me faire un cadal A MOUAH!

Oui, comme le dit le titre, dans 10 jours, je rajeunis!

(et heureusement pour moi que je ne suis pas traumatisée par mon âge, parce-que Témüjin est en pleine de crise de "je veux pas mourir, c'est pas juste... mais toi aussi tu vas mourir et je serai tout seul et je te verrai plus..." toussa toussa, et je rame assez déjà pour le calmer, manquerait plus que je flanchasse et tombasse du côté obscur... )

Donc, revenons à mes moutons: les modalités de la chose en question se trouvent sur mon blog "miam", soit:

ICI

Voilà... sur ce, je te laisse, faut que j'appelle môman (qui est restée bloquée dans la phase que traverse Témüjin, elle...).

oups!

REVIENS!!!

Octobre, c'est la saison des cadals, apparemment, y'a du concours partout partout sur la blogo: c'est trop la teuf, je te le dis!

d'abord, là (t'es o-bli-gé-e!):

pis aussi:

Chez Frannso

Chez Frieda

Chez Farfadette

(c'est moi, ou à part Manu, elles ont toutes un pseudo en F????)