| Slightly drunken... |
[Sep. 25th, 2009|10:26 pm] |
In celebration of the "another outlet for drunken revelry and immorality" and in defiance of all the BORING people in the world - hurray for Chablis and Bombay Sapphire! Though probably not together.
Hmm. Although...
No! Definitely not together. |
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| At the Insistance of the Potioneer... |
[Sep. 15th, 2009|09:04 pm] |
Caught RED handed?
Got a stain you need to remove?
Don't forget the HOGSMEADE HELPMATE
Quickly and easily removes all stains, including those charmed Frozen, Suspended or Infinite
Available now at the Apothecary Shop in Hogsmeade Village
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[Sep. 8th, 2009|05:16 pm] |
There would seem to be a very simple answer to this and another problem - what to do with all my unwanted silver jewellery?
Two birds, one stone. I do like it when things come together so neatly. |
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| Winter Wardrobe |
[Sep. 5th, 2009|08:09 pm] |
This journal entry is conveniently anonymous
It's been raining off and on all week, and it's getting a bit chilly, and the first leaves are turning. So I thought I'd get out the winter wardrobe, have a look through and see what I can wear this season and what I need to replace. I've had my eye on quite a few pieces from the A/W collections and there's a gorgeous pair of boots ...
Frigging Doxies! They're fucking everywhere! They've gone through my favourite midnight-blue dress robes, they pretty much eaten my gold cashmere knit minidress and my Burberry skirt! Most of you probably have no idea what Burberry is! Well let me tell you - it's beautiful, and it's expensive. And now it's gone!
Since I am lacking in staff at the moment, can somebody please tell me how one goes about finding somebody who will get rid of Doxies? Don't recommend something menial unless you are offering to come round and do it for me. |
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| Private |
[Aug. 23rd, 2009|08:03 pm] |
[Private]
This is my own personal hell. My father has given me my own personal hell and designated it My Life.
No more sponging, he says. Time for me to get off my arse, earn some money, prove I'm not a worthless waste of his time, he says. And she just sits there, pursing her lips, not looking at me.
I hate them both.
So then why am I still here? Why am I trying to prove myself? I don't know... it's not even as though he's paying me well. The flat is shit, the furniture's shit, the Potioneer's shit, the customers - fuck, shit isn't enough to describe them! Fuckwit bloody bollocksing Morons, that's what they are.
"What species of African snail are these? Are they the correct genus to combine with bindweed of that age and the mucus of an albino dungbeetle to formulate..."
How the FUCK should I know? Why the FUCK should I care? Are these people for real? Some of them look quite normal - usually the more normal they look, the worse they are. The ones in corduroy and felt, they keep their heads down, don't make eye contact, don't even speak - they're ideal. But as soon as a fat middle-aged woman dressed in new robes bustles in and calls me dearie I can feel my fingers itching. Either for my wand or her throat, I don't care.
I hate them both. So much.
I wonder how long I have to wait here until they'll let me come home.
[/Private] |
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