Men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses. I cannot and will not ever understand why those who could wear contact lenses wear glasses, be they male or female! I shan't listen to your poisonous justifications; I hate wearing glasses, and always have done! This is not purely a vanity nor a spiritual objection - though to that end, eyes are the windows to the soul, and I don't want mine double-glazed. Truthfully, my face is probably a conservation area anyway.

Glasses are such a pain in the arse. I worry I might fall down stairs when I have mine on, due to the gap in the focused image around my frames. Falling asleep on them bends them, they get scratched, their frames break. They leave a mark on one's nose. The little screws drop out of them at exactly the wrong time, they can steam up, they need cleaning with stupid little cloths and can be lost or fall off the face with relative ease. None of these things can be said about contact lenses. From a superficial and personal perspective, they rarely enhance the beauty of anybody. Even the sexy secretary whips off her glasses when it comes to the crunch.

Men don't make passes at girls with fat arses. I'm back being a gym bunny, although I'm nowhere near my previous peak attendance. Nevertheless, I'm sure you'll be glad to note that my arse is considerably less fat and more plump and peachy than it has been in recent months. I'm feeling healthier but fuck me (please do, dear you), I ache.

Men don't make passes at girls who live farces. There are things I want to write now that I don't feel I can reveal at this particular juncture. Torture. I want the cathartic pleasure of airing my part-owned dirty laundry in public.

Men don't make passes at girls who smoke grasses. I can do pagan "earth mother", (ironic laugh) I went to a Body Shop party this weekend. I'm sure my current pharmacopeia of prescription medications would put the willies up some of my more holistic (read uninformed, mistrustful) chums. I thought somehow the Body Shop would, er, karmaficate (?!) the situation. Seriously? I just wanted to look at smelly stuff and... bugger me (maybe later) there were Persian cats! Goodness gracious, fluffballs of fire.

Men don't make passes at girls who miss classes. Routine Microbiology donkey work is an oasis of calm and order amid a sea of unease. I'm worrying about my portfolio work, my resits, my University course. I just want to carry on doing what I'm doing without even greater strain from even more academic gymnastics. The stress is really getting to me. I like working. Proper working. Lemmejustdoit. Yeah, life isn't like that. Maybe it should be.

I bet you didn't know that Staphylococcus species, everyone's bezzie bacterial mates, smell like cheesy feet. In fact, as I pointed out the other day, it's rather likely that cheesy feet smell like Staphylococci. Isn't that just gorgeous? I'm sure it makes you want to lick your hairy next-door-neighbours all over, feet first.

QOTD: "That puts the 'yum' in valium."