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So I have a bunny now. It's official name is Fangs Anal Satan, after Boris. Then there's plenty a' names I'm calling him ranging from Jack to Gummo to Puppetboy.

It eats, drinks, pees and shits. Yeah, bunnies are great. At least it doesn't squeal or whatever.

I cuddle with it. However useless the damn cretin may be, he is cute. Soft. Adorable. And a present.

It's now sleeping on my shoulder. Which would seem adorable if I were not anticipating a healthy stream of feces any moment now.

Worst thing is, I can't blame him. It's a fucking bunny. And it's cute.

I had my nails did with Vi yesterday. I came up with something my Vietnamese Maffia Nail Woman calls 'yurr oon mennikyur, yes!' It's white tips with black lines. She likes it so much she refuses to do anything else on me now.

So I need a new nail woman. Though I am in favour of the way she shapes them. My nails are now like 10 little knives all done up pretty, ready to shred my lovers back. It's a proven theory. Gui has double feelings about them.

Today I got my period. I was anticipating it for some time because my tits hurt like all hell and I snapped at every motherfucker getting in my way. And I mean snapped. I don't deal with mankind so hot as it is, and with this red alert thing going on they best not get anywhere near a 5ft radius. I stomped over to me man's house, figured I'd get rid of some frustration.

Now, this I didn't anticipate; as soon as I saw his stupid face all murder urges vanished. I guess I have to admit to being in love now. That fucking sucks. I'm too cool to fall for a boring ass prick like him. (Yeah, you heard me, G!)

Guess I should've realized that before I gave him the chance. It's all his effing fault for being so goddamn unmoveable anyway. Damn you, stabile people! Stop leading us paranoid miscreants back on track! Shit suuuuucks.

Everybody's asking me whether I'm in love with painful anticipation on their smirks. Ace in love? No waaaaaaaay? Way? What the fuck? Back when I answered vaguely they was all relieved, now that I'm confirming they're aghast. I don't know what people are thinking. That I'm dedicating myself to be with some super interesting complex-ass guitar fiddlin' drugfuck who's got more awful issues than Blend Magazine to spend some good 5 years of I'll-fuck-you-up with, only then realizing I should probably walk away so he can write tragic songs about me as only consolidation of all this cliché Rock & Roll ruckus? Yeah, maybe later when I'm going through my umpteenth youth. Right now I'll take the man who's there for me after I'm done being all supercool, who cooks for me when I'm too broken or hung over to put a bloody pizza in the oven and who physically forces me to take showers once in a while. Who loves me for who I am, not who I want to be. It's a good feeling, hell, it's a great feeling. You know, to love someone and being loved in return. It's a fucking rare feeling, nowadays. I'm fed up with chasing men that think being emotionally unavailable is cooler than Kool-Aid, men who think fucking around's actually the required prequel to 'true love'. Suck my dick, if it's there, go for it. Fucking pussies.

Anyway, so you can shove your 'butI'manartist' bullcrap right back down yer own throat, mine's had enough. People these days are more full of forced shit than my goddam bunnything, and that's saying a goddam lot.

LOVE, PEOPLE. GET AT IT.

Oh, guess what. My guy's a fucking guitar virtuoso (Yeah, you heard me, G!), earns his money with his band, gorgeous as fuck, loves those shitty ass hipster stores like pizza joints that serve champagne with their goddam pizza's, only wears Acne and Filippa K and is anal about cleaning his appartment. And I wouldn't have him any other way.

Anyway, enough post-frustration ranting. Fangs is attempting at congesting my iPhone.

Bunnies eat their own shit, did ya know? Whatever, they're cute.