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Goddamn.

It's December 1st. Three subjects left to conquer/sweat over-- it's been great, so far, for me. But let's not jinx that, hmm? What sounded at first as this.. eternal bloodfight isn't true to word. It's a bit more calmer than I thought it'd be, or perhaps.. Y'know, the inner Ghandi in me, unearthed. Strange things, kick-arse things, toxic things circulated throughout the hiatus. Ain't about me, no-- I'm all drama-free and inert. These days, dissociating me is simple: waking up to sunrise, breakfast in front of the desktop, The Rachel Zoe Project or equipped with something of similar nature. Four-hour "naps" later on, afterwards the book-readin' rarity come forth. Fag stuff, but I've been kept spoiled (God's idea) with the sempiternal dandy mode (cue: Arsenal 0 - 3 Chelsea) and fashion projects (deets, later!) to work on. Sieg Magazine debuted it's #4-- the small-time e-mag gets better, no? Write-ups for this one ain't from me, but another talented PYT, so give it a go. Conquests as of late has metalware and shoe inclusion, with laced-up wedges en route. Elsewhere, it's the same. Minus the plumper arse, that is. Might as well retract those "F-ck diets!" and "Real girls eat meat" stand cause this arse ain't gettin' prettier. Uhuh, that's about it. Legit liberation comes 10th December, 12 o'clock. Shite, I'm almost done with all of this. Surreal. Good luck kickin' ass for the rest of the papers, 92s.

[MUSIC] Fleet Foxes - He Doesn't Know Why

Reminiscing Paris, impending Chelsea post (on how awesome we are, duh) later.

Sssup!

11:57am, in the uniform that'll expire it's validity status (at least, to me) in an approx. month. It's as if I'd like to mouth out loud, "Hold up, time!" but.. that'd be ultra ridic and spastic. The point is: I was 7 in '99, foreign atmosphere, uncouth and fresh-blooded. A decade passed, now compressed into bits of memorabilia in the form of pictures, blog posts (ha!) and scribbles penned black on the back of receipts. Ah, that's life ain't it! What's afleet, in Roman numerics (aw, miss this!): (i) inevitable, hm? Chelsea 1 - 0 Man United. Put 'em suckas 5pts below. Controversial? Blah, blah, blah.; (ii) refrained self from excursions-- refrainment failed. Tagged home a monochrome dress from Miss Selfridge, with faux Givenchy wedges en route and newcomers in the accoutrement dept. It's love, I swear.; (iii) losing hours to thick educational bibles, minuscule eat-outs with comrades, rambling words that matters to none-- these little things help me survive. Love 'em homegirls to bits.; (iv) Chelsea's transfer ban status? Suspended. Aguero, put a ring on it, dammit. Other targets I hear: strikers from La Liga, and full-backs. I ain't got time to scour, apologies, the Ultra-Major Exam is en route hence.. Y'know. Uh, that's about it. Please wish that I kick-arse (cross fingers!) and conquer the battle of numerics! Goodnight, good luck.

[MUSIC] Plastiscines - Pas Avec Toi