Oh my fucking lord.
The whole fucking deal.
I need that. I do. The venting. You know what I mean. And if you don't, I need to impress upon you the whole fucking deal.
I've lived a whole nine yards in the last 4 days. It's been that harrowing.
Why am I ventilating so? Why am I in these throes?
Ah well...explanations. Fucking explanations .
(The author is currently amid frustrations and might display cranky behaviour. This is not an apology. It's just what it is).
So on friday last, chicken little was to fly to Londres. There was some work to be done, but it was mostly pleasure. It was highly anticipated, it was going to be the best holidays ever. I swear, ever. Then the sky fell. Fucking chicken little and her philosophies.
I hate the British, people. I love London. But I hate the british. See, no capitals. No respect. None. I hate the british. Bastards. See, capital there.
They didn't give me the visa in time!
I had to miss my flight, rebook, wait, wait some more, bite nails, wait for nails to grow, bite some more, and then finally I get it today.
My dad suggests I should have applied earlier. Yes yes, ofcourse now.
But why couldn't the british have seen my flight dates on the visa application. Why couldn't they have read that? Been more reasonable. Bastards. I'd even given them the suggested 10 working days. Slackers. Wankers.
Pardon my French (on which I'm just getting started).
I'm going to learn French now, just to piss them off. So if the next time you come here and see posts only in French, don't be alarmed now. It's only revenge.
Ok, flying off in a few hours. It's going to be the best holidays ever.