#asexual read

The waiter: What would you like, girls?
Agnieszka: Strawberry muffin.
Carmina: Banana bun!
Hecta: Putin dead on a plate, please

In for a penny, in for a pound

Agnieszka dreamily: If you had to choose between the prettiest boy in our school and all the money I have, what would you take?

Hecta: And how much have you got?

Agnieszka looks into her purse: Um… only few pennies.

Hecta: I’d take the money.

Tuesday, 7 September

Mr Bertie is a stinky sneaker of a teacher. He told Daddy about my low grades, and now I am the lazy bun and total shame on all my bun kin. NO SIMS, NO SWEETS, and NO LIFE until I read all those books. Ow! I’m buried alive under the library! I feel like yelling at him, “I’m fifteen! Too old for reading Dickens. I have too much adult staff to deal with.” Well, mostly sewing dresses for my dolls and playing Sims, but the adult potential is there, I sense it!

He left me locked in his study with THREE books as big as bricks and the laziest bum Tom to guard my studying. Luckily, my cat is more interested in his own tail to catch rather than reading about dirty, smelly London streets. I read five pages of Oliver Twist and felt like puddling in the nasty gutter. Is that what they want me to learn from the author?

It’s nothing new. My life is FULL of nastiness, i.e.:

1. That ugly under-the-skin pimple on my forehead will never face the light of day but brood in the labyrinths of my brains for the next twelve years.

2. If I don’t read one million pages on how hard it is to live in Dickens’ head, I may never see the light of day either.

3. I am having a test in six days and I’m certain Mr Bertie is going to fit in the most sadistic questions to watch us suffer, like Oliver Twist did.

4. And I don’t even have a tail like Tom’s to play busy till the Kingdom comes. Ow!

Monday, 6 September

Got a horrible bruise on my hip and still stink of the river no matter how thoroughly I wash. I was resolved to earn my millions with far less dangerous crafting or blogging, or just marrying a PRINCE. Then at school, Amazons showed me my rather funny pics all over the Net and said only sissies give up after the first try.

“It doesn’t matter how many times you fall. It only matters how many times you get up,” Hecta quoted her favourite Shaolin monks.

“And guess what,” Carmina piped in, “There’s Dress Show Live at Terra Mall today! It’s gonna be a total sell-out and huge fashion event meaning lots and lots of…” she looked over her shoulder to check if our potential rivals listened, and whispered conspiringly, “big fish to fish for.” She wriggled her eyebrows at me, and my heart started thumping the click-clock song of the glam shoes on Milan catwalks. Oh, Lord!

Luckily, my black knight costume dried up by the time I got back into my model role. Hecta did me a mega horrific battle make-up and Carmina sneaked a real camera from her ma. We took a bus to the town, and I breathed into a paper bag all the way to calm my nerves. Hecta went berserk at the smeared mask on my face. But by the time we arrived, I looked more like a dead (few times) knight, and it pleased her even more.

The fair-show was a big noisy place with so many people bustling around the stalls and talking total gibberish (probably, French). Anyone could be a disguised agent, so we pretended we didn’t care and simply played up. Carmina took pics of me yelling pirates’ commands and I wobbled in Hecta’s boots like a wretched ship but kept my powerful and mysterious face.

It was rather fun but not until some Oscar Wilde like man DID come up and fell to pieces with most exquisite compliments. “What grace, what elegance! What zest! A gust of fresh, spicy gale to my lungs! Or dear me, miss, have you ever considered being a model?” he sang.

And turned to Carmina.

Carmina turned to Hecta,
Hecta turned to me
and I turned and ran away, crying. I stumbled and bumped into all French on my way. I wanted to lock myself up in a toilet, but Hecta fished me out and said to screw it. “Forget it, okay? Modelling sucks!” she said. “This all sucked from the start.”

“But…” I snivelled, getting even deader dead knight. “But then I’ll never be rich and famous.”

“Y’know, you’d better be yourself.” She said, fixing my smeared mascara with a wet napkin. “And eat as much cookies as you like.”

That sounded like a good idea. I was so hungry. And I REALLY hated walking in two-size bigger boots. We went to buy sweets instead, and Hecta held my hand so I wouldn’t tumble over again. I’ll think about being rich and famous tomorrow, but right now, I want my cookies!

3/3

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Sunday, 5 September

I said no to cream buns and a cupcake for breakfast. I can only eat veggies now. Ow! T_T I went to Hecta’s for a makeover and hoped for some cookie with tea as a small compensation for my deadly sacrifice. But she said if I must, I must, i.e. no cookies FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

I felt like crying, but Hecta started pinching my cheeks to revive my natural blush and it was rather inconvenient to cry and blush at a time. Then she gave me her ruthless goth boots, macabre skirt with a spiky belt and some ghastly hoodie with a rotting skull on it.

“Are you going to turn me into a walking nightmare?” I vetted a giant sleeping BAT in the mirror.

“Fashion world sucks,’ Hecta grumbled. ‘Everyone looks the same, and it’s boring. You are gonna be something else altogether! A black knight of tremendous power and an air of dark mystery.”

“I don’t look like a black knight. I look just BLACK,” I protested.

“Black is new pink, silly,” Hecta said and got to painting my lips black, too.

When Carmina turned up with her camera phone, she laughed so hard it grew into hiccups. I started doubting she’d take a single picture of all that tremendous power and mystery of mine.

We chose the river bank for the shoot. Hecta’s outfit was so big, I swam in her boots and walked like a fish faking human gate. But it won’t get to the pics, right? Hecta said all models wore two-size bigger drags and still kept cool and fab.

So I pulled myself together and climbed the rock half buried in the river sand. Then crawled over to another panting and sweating and hoping it wouldn’t get to the pics either.

Carmina cried at me some inconceivable commands to “heave ho, mi hearty, set sail!”. “And don’t mess up my rags!” Hecta piped in while I did my best to look powerful and mysterious.

Till my left foot stuck in a crack. I lost my balance and plopped down into the dirty shoal, with one blasted boot still standing on the rock. OUCH! “Sink me!” Photographer said and Stylist joined, “Holy shit, that was cool. Did you shoot that?” as they ran up to get me out of mud.

Okay. Enough of being a model! I’m going home to eat a cake.

2/3

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Updated my Facebook status to ASEXUAL AND PROUD and I’m suddenly a hotline operator for the most stupid questions to answer. Every passer now feels it a must to ask what that is and how to cook it. I’m but a parrot crying, ‘Pirate’s code: first freedom and the captain’ like, a million times already but they keep gasping in horror and, ‘What about love?’
WHAT ABOUT LOVE! I didn’t say I was A-love-al. Why does love is suddenly a straight line to sex, eh? Big question!
Hanged out with Amazons today and met Lisa walking out her doll — oops! — dog. She said asexuals can’t love properly, don’t do it like… strong enough and blah blah lah lah.
‘You repress the nature itself,’ she asserted while chewing on her gluten, lactose and taste free vitamin bar. ‘It’s totally normal to snog and shag. You just don’t let it into your life!’

I said I didn’t let many things into my life (like my natural pull to football her silly dog up and above once she dares yapping at me again) just as she didn’t let dairy into her life.
‘It’s different!’ Lisa snorted. ‘Dairy make me sick.’
‘Why do you think it’s different?’ Carmina asked. ‘Milk is natural too.’
And that was the end for Lisa cos some street macho-dog sniffed up with her Pinkie and was just about to give her a totally normal and natural snog and shag. Lisa went berserk and kicked him off swagging with her clatch like mighty Boudica crushing Romans into dust. We laughed so freaking loud I thought we’d choke! XD
Nature my ass. I prefer loving people not fucking their bodies and then pretend it was something spiritual. Love for me is looking one direction, not at each other, doing something together not something WITH each other. I wish people tore their noses off their butts to say, fu** romantic strolls and sucking between sheets,

LET’S DO SOMETHING GREAT!

Why don’t we?