SORRY

Sorry about that - I've have been off the radar!

But, I went to a big gay sweatbox on the weekend with some friends and found myself in the middle of the dancefloor after giving birth to Ed Hardy next to a guy in an Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt and three girls with a bottle of poppers. Spiritual moment of Mare Street and I find myself reborn.



The old me was in a terrible shape. I was a caterpillar of duvet and Namelesses old hoodie he got from the guy who ended up sleeping with his ex even though he said "Bros before hoes". I was watching endless cop shows nourished by cups of tea and phonecalls from my lady friends who wanted to see me through a dark patch.



The Italian, after coming over on Friday night and leaving me with a kiss and a see you later love and feeling all happy in my stomach, sent me a text on Tuesday saying "I don't need a new job, a girlfriend and friends take months even years. Please do me a favour and give me a break."

• He was calling me asking me how to teach him something.
• I had already told him twice "I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now" [meaning HIM in particular but hanging out and being friends with him was super fun, though he didn't know that directly.]
• And I have known this guy for about 2 years.

Then AIR PIE from him for the whole week after trying to find out WTF that was all about!

My cleaner Dora settled me down to a few home truths:

• You dress like an African woman.
• God took this man out of your life because you have everything - a house, a job, a computer, the internet, money, your things, friends, you are a nice person - and all you need is someone to love and care for you. He is too stupid to even do that so God took him out of your life.
• You need to have more fun. Look at your friends [meaning The Cardinal cause she goes round there too.] She always is having fun. I see all the wine glasses. You need to have fun.
• The man you are looking for is out there searching for you.

Then the two coolest people in Paris arrived.



Hobart unfortunately turned into a shit machine all weekend. Unbelievable.

xx Lektrogirl

THE JOHN DAVIDSON FANCLUB #26

From: John Davidson [mailto:XXCENSOREDXX@XXCESOREDXX]
Sent: 08 September 2009 05:06
To: Emma Davidson
Subject: RE: MORE MACAROONS!


You could make a million bucks making macarroons like the ones in the email pics, Hotels, restaurantsets all the eating holes roundthe state,muckin fagnificent, mate. Even on the mainland. BUT w.t.f is a macaroon with pig init? IO have never seen macs with tomato etc in them.
I'm glad you told me it was a dog, I thought Hobart had gone through a sex change?
You must admit thise emails make more sense, relative to cost , for sure? My cost is at least $30'00 a month, 360 for the year, if I send you the money yeary the total saving would pay yer fare in two or three years. Nah. you'ld spend the money on a gold lead for the little free-loader.(free-UNloader on the carpet. Though I do remember the attachment I had for my Siamese cat (HYPOLYTE) when Iwas living on my own in Burnie. Also had me hound, Labrador, Sally. Effin idiot but they were good mates
They cot more than you think, when you add it all up. Vets fees, sleeping gear, best of foods. They prolly live better than us?
The Boss, Neree, just got back from African holiday. TODAY SHE GAVE ME A CARD SHE COULDN'T SEND THROUGH THE POST/ oNE ZEBRS READY TO SHOVE ABOUT A HALF YARD OF SNORKEL UP HIS MISS OF CHOICE. She coild be right. The old tarts would have had a heart attack, and some of the blokes a similar event, dying with envy. DISGUSTING!.
Cheers matey. Since when have you ever considered me the'boss'? That'l be the day you disrespectful shitpot.
\I got a pair of socks and a handerchief from the Sal Army. The card said You will be redeemed, for He knows your name.

He has to be pretty bloody good, mate I've had a few. Names that is, Johnathon Browne. John Alexander, Michael Patrick Byrne Long story mate. Stopped the law trackin you down. Sidestepped shielas who wanted to sue you for maintenance(maintainance)
etc.etc. Like I said, long stories, mate.
Cheers. Keep yer socks on. Treading in 'stuff' can be nasty. Luv yer. S'Ted Pa.XXXXXX. 3FOR U 3 FOR PUFFY BUM.


Subject: MORE MACAROONS!
Date: Sun, 6 Sep 2009 18:26:10 +0100

The dog belongs to my other mate Mrs Kipling. Her dog is called Frieda.

EMMA DAVIDSON


xx Lektrogirl

MEAN GIRL

You are possibly the most hideous person I have had the misfortune of knowing and I knew right from the second I met you that you were vile.

Speaking of other mean girls, after trying to walk the kitten on a lead [that is to say get the collar on her and drag her on her side to the back door with it] Hobart has decided payback comes in the form of clawing my new rug which I just rolled out about 15 minutes ago. All the bushels of wool that she is digging up she chews up. My payback will be laughing when she coughs up a fur ball. Then her payback will be my broken heart as I sit and watch her all stressed and worried that I have to call the Pet Ambulance. And when she is okay again I will feed her some THRIVE freeze dried shrimps.

I had a funny evening this evening with Mr 40something who had obviously had a very boozy lunch and was telling me how life was so horrible and depressing and stressful. He also said that I did nothing but take the piss out of him. But that I was also the person who was the most polite and respectful to him as well. [Aussie humour.] Then he asked me if I wanted a glass of wine. Worried he might have a sex den in his basement I said that he was welcome to bring the wine upstairs. He said he would be 5 minutes. After 35 I finished what I was doing and went home. Poor fella. He had splits in the crotch of his pants where they had worn through.

Oh - and Lady Gang alert - I'm double dog baby sitting with Mrs Kipling on Saturday night at the most luxurious flat in town. Anyone else want to come and watch the Nollywood channel and polish of a few bottles of something? The Booyah Cook may or may not make an appearance. Depends how much we want Pizza instead.

xx Lektrogirl

AM I NORMAL

I got up with a hang over and at some hummous and crackers with my little cobber Hobart on the sofa. Then I did some dished. While I was washing with my marigolds on, I was day dreaming about getting a really terrible disease and having to stay in hospital for a long time and wondering if my friends would be allowed to bring Hobart in to sleep on the bed with me. My mind wandered further and I imagined tell my friends how ill I was and how I would have to live on the ward for a long time and my friends were rallying around offering to take care of Hobart and who would watch the flat etc etc. I considered letting my ex live in the flat on the one condition he didn't root anyone in my bed - but on that point he can't be trusted. [He apparently returned an earring to a lady friend that she had left at his apartment ONLY IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE'S EARRING. WHAT A DOUCHE.] Anyway so back to me being critically ill in hospital. Finally I agreed with myself that it would be best if Mrs Kipling and The Cardinal took it in turns to take care of Hobart as I know I could trust them both. I ended up thinking about my Granny Barbara who ended up hanging herself in the New Norfolk hospital in Tasmania with a shower curtain and the big pool tables they had in the recreation room there we had to hang out in when Mum and Dad when to visit her before she died.

Then I caught myself - WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT - and remembered my dream. In it I was bestie friends with the ex girlfriend of The Rubber Band Man!!! How this happened I don't know. We were chatting away in French. In my dream her face was very soft and friendly. I don't think this will ever happen though. She called me a whore once for sleeping with her ex. Such is life.

Speaking of life, The Frenchman left a bag of figs on my doorstep the other night.

xx Lektrogirl