i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am. i must not blog at 3am.

cause this is what happens:

i have a good friend named tim. tim is da bomb diggy fo shizzle. he is smart and loyal and fun and HOTT. and he can cook. and he has a great arse. and he has cute nipples. and if his lovely girlfriend ever reads this i am a dead woman for sure. but that's the chance i'm willing to take in order to spread the word about this - dare i say it - PERFECT MAN to the masses.

that's right ladies. he exists. the man of your dreams actually exists. you know, the one responsible for the soreness in your wrist and the wet patches on your sheets. he really and truly exists. and his name is tim. perfect tim, if you please.

unfortunately he's taken though. VERY TAKEN. like all the good ones. selfish bastards.

perfect tim recently got his first real big person's fancy pants job. in fact, his new job is so fancy pants that he is being flown to amsterdam for two months for intensive porn-watching and pot-smoking training. the lucky cunt. i wanna be flown to amsterdam to watch porn and smoke pot be trained intensively too.

now perfect tim has explained to me a gazillion times what exactly it is that he will be doing in his new fancy pants job. but being that i am just a lowly humanities student, any job description more complicated than "answers phone" or "pours beer" sounds like this to me: "bdjfgdshbkfhsdfjsaldfjsdio." and to be honest, any job description more complicated than "answers phone" or "pours beer" just bores me to tears. in a mate's way.

perfect tim's new official job title is 'options trader'. apparently this has something to do with shares and the stockmarket and money and other economonomical stuff that i don't understand one bit. i usually tune out shortly after the first mention of shares. cause although sharing is caring, i really just don't care for shares.

sorry timmy. i'm still gosh darn proud of you, dear friend. whatever the fuck it is that you do.

i do very much like the idea of trading some of my options however. cause many of my options have really sucked cocks lately. and not in a randy first tenth date kinda way. more in a "kill me now and feed my body to the lions so that it never endures another painful day on this retchid earth " kinda way. so if tim can get me some new options through his new fancy pants dutchy job, he will be more than perfect. he will be my god. and i will worship him 4 evs.

*erects shrine in blind faith*

*worships*

*feels a bit wrong*

*erects fake wall to hide shrine of platonic, taken friend*

*thinks of something else to build so she can say "erects" again*

*erects new monument/building thingy*

*types erects for no reason whatsoever*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

*erects*

thought i'd never stop, didn't ya? i wasn't sure if i would either. but now i have. HA!

i need sleep.

but anyway, i've thought about it long and hard (*erects*), and here are some of the people/inanimate objects i would like to trade my options with:

- someone who's finished university already (unless they studied some sort of contagious diseases-specialising science-nerd degree. ew);

- someone with two healthy parents (obviously excluding people who's parents are homicidal maniacs and/or cousins);

- someone with something resembling a successful career (again excluding homicidal maniacs and science-nerdiness);

- gael garcia bernal's favourite t-shirt;

- daniel bruhl's pillow;

- pele almqvist's pants;

- one of the above foreign hotnesses' girlfriends (in this case i'm willing to make an exception for homicidal maniacs).

am i asking too much of perfect tim? i think not.

*goes to bed*

*regrets*