happy birthday mum.

i drove a car
and ate a bratwurst (like for the first time ever). probably last.
walked home from 8th (through Neubau). wien is lovely, girls and boys too.
unlike french fucker.
boo.

i forgot.

this might be one of my favourite photos

i caved in

not only i purchased a shade of lipstick my mum'd wear, but i also got a lip pencil. a lip pencil! i've never owned a lip pencil in my life.

october's shaping up to be the cruelest month
i need distractions
like that lip pencil
or this
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i might even join a gym.

extended play

i'm turning into my mother.

an overture to the commencement of a very rigid journey

rather impressed with my 24 mins 27 secs; expected worse.
came home exuberant, took friday off.
french person finished one place ahead of me. however (luckily) we did not meet. sweaty spectacle.
but nevermind.
nothing good can/ could come out of it anyway.

puffy eyed we biked to prückel




for a lazy breakfast and then off to the airport (for her), housework (for me).
i look sedated.


vera hates her hair that isn't her hair at all.




and a solitary lunch and a fortune cookie saying:
een relatie zal een nieuwe wending nemen
a relationship will take on a new dimension

which one?

french kissing.

one of my oldest and best friends is visiting.
*happy*

apart from that, B's passing through Vienna on his way to Ams where he apparently lives as of late and we meet up early in the morning and I take some of my stuff and try to keep my composure
(that i will fail)
and in the evening i run this stupid race in a 100% polyester tshirt
french person in tow.
there's news re the french person, but they're mainly stupid and blah.
ergo,
tomorrow will suck on many many levels.
on all levels possible.

early to bed.

somehow all of this strangely liberating?

but it does not work all the same

I'm taking out the big guns

photos galore

i have that dress. in that colour.

i also have new upstairs neighbours, french, and eager chefs.
the place stinks of garlic, even being a huge garlic fan myself, gotta keep my windows shut. tight.


this is my favourite cafe
Prückel



and this is my flat, well bits and pieces of it

hurricane drunk

tis 10 pm on a friday night and i'm doin' housework wearing a vivienne westwood skirt (that's too tight so i obviously try to losen it up). chic or pure sad?
work's great.
great.
and there's plenty of it, but it's fun. i might make sth out of it.

social life is excellent, but then again it sucks.
there're dinners, and movie nights and coffees inbetween work, but those people although nice people are not the one's i'd normally make friends with.
apart from one, that one, the french one, with whom i tried, but it failed and i blame myself for just rushing rushing and destroying things without even letting them begin.
i fuck up everything, i do.

i fuck up everything