ESC

I am excited. And I just can't hide it. It's just something like electricity running through my veins. And it's all thanks to tonight's Eurovision Song Contest Final. I can confirm that what they say about twins feeling the other is true. I cannot sit down properly, I am smoking as if tomorrow no more cigarettes will be manufactured. And I'm at home. It is the reason why I have disappointed my twin and decided against going to Ta' Qali. I couldn't cope with sitting down for some three hours. There is no way I can behave like a human being right now. Because it's one of the loves of my life who is concerned. It's silly really when I go back and remember that this was supposed to be a joke in good taste, and yet the joke ended up in the finals. Sometimes you don't get what you bargained for, because sometimes you get more. I have only a couple of words to say. You go brother of mine, because at the very least you're going to be the sexiest hunk on stage! Oh yeah!

The thingy issue

I've had the weirdest dream in my life. A dream about a doctor. And I don't like doctors very much. But this was the best. If I were to spend time dream interpreting, I'm not sure I'd like the interpretation very much. What does a sexy dream about a doctor who is not sexy mean? I had the feeling it was also some kind of affair. A one-time affair which almost happened but didn't actually happen. And the more I think about it, the more I do not like it. Because for one, the doctor is absolutely not my type. I go for big strong men, perhaps because they even out my big issue. Or perhaps because deep down somewhere beneath the very independent girl lies a small little girl who wants a daddy? But I have a daddy already, I've had a daddy all the time, it's not as if I have a need to look for a father figure. Oh dear this is going to become incestuous in a minute. But really would a 6okg man look good next to me. Definitely not, I need a big man to balance me out. And I have a big man to do just the thing. But I'm still thinking about the doctor. Perhaps all that talk about little thingies has gone straight to my head because I'm scared of little thingies. I always imagine what it would like, being a good girl, saving myself for the wedding night, only to find there's almost nothing there. What would I do? Probably beat the crap out of my imaginary spouse, because I would have been a victim of deceit. Because if marriage is forever, then I would have to live with the thingy for the rest of my life. The thought makes me so so uncomfortable that I cringe.I haven't always been perfect, I've dated men who had small thingies, and it was disappointing but it was ok because there was no marriage contract and I could clean walk away. One in particular had the cheek to say that his thingy was not the problem, the problem was that he was swinging a bat in a place as big as Royal Albert Hall. The cheek! Me, a Royal Albert Hall? Nobody ever said that, nobody ever complained. So I guess it was just him turning defensive. And then there were those whose bat seemed to be as big as Royal Albert Hall, and although I greeted it with enthusiasm, it wasn't on either because a box at the Royal Albert Hall is enough. Two boxes... then it starts getting painful. Ok enough talk about thingies, or I'm going to start obsessing, something which would be energy consuming just for nothing. Because I'm not on the prowl anymore. I've done enough research. And I'm past it anyway. To look at me in the morning, I could pass for the world's most famous good girl. I'm glad the disguise works so well.