can of campbell soup

Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe I'm not.

It was Warhol that originally quipped:

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you"

I've probably paraphrased it wrong but that's okay, you can flagellate me later. The point being I got a feeling that someone at work found my blog (my whole 0.8 readers rejoice) so everything has been yanked off and the site has a rebirth. I should have actually restarted it somewhere else but I like being a fat suburban cow so here I still am.

I have been holidaying like craaaaaaazy and am actually no longer a whiter shade of pale. It's all very exciting. Not working very much and being poor does have it's benefits - you get to sit in the sun while everyone else is at work and if your parents are now working in a seaside town it comes cheaply too.

I am off to interstate and will shortly be entering rehab once I get back. The last time I went away sans boyfriend it was only for four days and I spent the last day alternating between whimpering and groaning because of my liver. A girl at work upped the ante by telling of her liver infection from her last holiday. She can win that competition hands down.