Welcome To Gutterpunk Journalism

André just said my life is the krassest Tarantino Movie ever. That's a pretty nice compliment, akin to "She's the capitalist of sex" or "You're like Cartman if he was hot" by Zak.

After a few months of being sick, losing my laptop, Horace hurting his paw, nothing to do and endless bad luck in every single aspect of my miserable life, things are starting to look up again.

While being out to party thursday night, trying to forget that my friend and I lost a lawsuit concerning the shop I had 3 1/2 years ago and trying to not scratch my incredible new tattoo:

So while I was out partying, I suddenly feel this kick against my leg. I turn around, see this girl sitting alone with a surly expression and ask her: "What the hell, was that you?"
She tries to ignore me, so I lean a little closer and repeat: "Hey. Was that you?"
She gives me this look of I am piqued and in all actuality explains: "You stepped on my foot!"
What!
"Then get out of the club, you fucking cow! If you can't handle the place being packed then stay in your goddamn living room, bitch."
"Wah wah wah!"
"Is that so? Well, if you accidentaly kick me for something I didn't even realize happened because simultaneously, I'm sure about three people stepped on my feet and it's the nature of the club, then maybe I'll feel inclined to accidentally grab your hair to steady your head and punch your face in with my fist. Just saying."
I'm leaning very close to her, and for good measure blow a sudden blast of air into her face, like a hard P sound. She is so startled she squeaks and awkwardly hits my shoulder, so that obviously, I need to do as I said and grab her hair, push her head down so that she's lying on her side and give her a whack with my other hand.
It was only a slap though, one of those that don't even hurt, but are alarmingly loud. I didn't want to hurt her, just make her feel like an ass, and if I leave any marks I might get convicted for bodily harm and then they'll take my dog from me. And the degradation of it was far more fun than actual harm anyway. I don't like hurting girls.

Yay, cat fight!

Or at least half of one, she was squealing and yelling and I just walked away, my work there being done. Naturally, we just waited after that for security to peel me out of the place, I was able to have another whole beer before they finally did.
The great thing about remaining inert in situations when your opponent is about to do, or just has done something stupid is that you can just lean back and watch their own little demise enfold - she ranted and raved in hysterics while I was just like: "Dude, look at her. I don't know what Crazywoman is on about, sorry."
I didn't even have to discredit her, she did it all on her own.

I'm not even sure how the following began, it was probably some subconscious thing, a split second look the cop gave me or just the power dynamics of the situation, in any case I just immediately began using the informal form of addressing him (Du instead of Sie) and adding things like: "You know what I mean?" or "you understand that, right?" or "anyone would've thought the same, no?" when I realized it indeed made him feel more personally connected to me.
Or going: "Sure I'll follow you. I'll do anything you say." in a certain very obvious tone of voice.
I'm so good at saying terribly cheesy things, it's hilarious. So, so terrible. Even more so when they actually work. I mean... "Sure, officer." Really? Really? Oh my god.

... Really?

The cop is 6'5", around 30, shaved head, muscular looking and arresting me for bodily harm.

I am standing in front of him just a little too close, looking up at him with large eyes just a little too long, and I can tell he's trying to figure out whether I mean it or want to catch him off guard to headbutt him and run or something.
I don't. There's no need to. This guy can't even hold my stare while I'm, say, moistening my lips or doing things like kicking his leg to illustrate what had happened previously and then saying: "I'm sorry... does it hurt a lot?"
At some point he was apparently suffering from the cold, since I had to step up close to him and say: "Oh... you're shivering. I know that's my fault since you constantly need to get your notepad out..." and slowly pull up the zipper of his jacket while looking at him in a way that makes him need that face while getting a blow job.
He needed my phone number for... uh. Further questions and... uh, stuff.

God, I am laughing madly while typing this. I myself can't believe I did that.

Yes, he is disregarding his work ethics and writing me text messages. I saw him shortly but am thinking I need to repeat it to really do everything anyone has always wanted to with a police officer. Like anal penetration or making him like drinking my piss and such.
Poor boy.
6'5" and arresting me for bodily harm. And he is so succeptible to my charms he lets himself be manipulated into letting me go and obscuring the facts so that surely nothing will come of it. (Even if that weren't the case, I have enough friends who are witnesses. Even though they were at home at the time...)
However at least I learned that the bitch who demanded the cops come for such a Kinderkacke as what happened (I was actually embarrassed a little) does not live in Berlin, which is a shame.


I'm going to have to tell you guys about this photographer who threatened to sue me. It happened a few months ago, but I just remembered. What an ass he was, it's sort of funny.

I can't even begin to tell you guys about this one man and how much I am obsessed with him. It's been a year now.
I keep doing stupid shit (case in point - this journal entry) just to distract myself from the fact that he is not in my life. And it's hurting me.

Ah well.

New pictures:

By Elena:

By me, clothes pictures:

By me, stuff: