Smelling Bad.

I am not kidding when I say that I am starting to smell really funny.
I wish that I had realised this before I went to the store just now. I mean, I've never smelt like strawberries and cake or what have you, but I've never been this aware of this change. At first, I went from room to room in disbeleif, trying to explain it as something that had crawled under the couch, under the bed, under the sink - and died, but as I sit here in front of my computer, which is supposed to be the feel-good, and by proxy- smell good area of my apartment, I realise that it is I who have crawled up and died. Oooh the tragedy.

How can you devote a blog to your smells?
And does this not simply reinforce the beleif that blog writing people are struggling artists (who wear berets 24/7 but STILL no stardom) - who, while not flipping burgers, spend their time writing meaningless things that interest no-one but themselves and the occasional lonely 52 year old?

Well doesn't it?
Let us reflect on this for a while.








Getting back to my scents - smelling bad could not have come at a worse time. My not-so-favorite cashier was at the store when I went. This would be the same cashier who, on an earlier occasion, stared at me with a sort of "Please. Go. Now." expression after I told him that i used to put pieces of paper under my upper lip. There was a story behind the putting paper under lip thing, but since talking generally makes me nervous, I failed to realise that I had forgotten to tell him the story. So now my title has probably offically been changed from the girl-who-tells-me-things-about-herself-and-i -don't-now-why-please hold-me, to the girl-who-tells-me-things-about-herself-and-smells funny- and-i-don't-now-why.

Yeah, I'm still Single. Why do you ask?

On an entirely different note, my dialect is rubbing off on my metrosexual friend Andreas.
Except he adds a swedish dimension to everything. It cracks me up just as much everytime he asks me what I'm doing for the weekend and if I'm going to that potty I'd been talking about all week, adding (tonight) that he will be at his freind's going-away-potty for some two, maybe three hours.
Maaaybe even seven. Quote unquote.

Cheers, mat.