Anyone that has been reading this blog for any length of time would know that not only do I have the hilariously weird Boo boy but 2 teenage girls that I lovingly refer to as the Damn Emos.
Yes, I have teens. And yes I am 36. And yes MPS is 10 years older than me and refers to me as his Lolita. And I call him the cradle robber. Well we used to until the Damn Emos started going all ‘Eww’ and ‘Yuk’ and ‘Eww parental sex’.
But I digress. You see that Fancypants? Digression. Oh, how you love the digressing peeps. Biatch.
Anyway, digression aside, I don’t talk about them much because they
are so damn boring asked me not too.
Technically my girls ain’t no Emos. Emos are rather scary creatures, but not as scary as those freaking Goths.
Man, they are some twisted fuckers.
I often get asked what an Emo is.
In my world they are sloth like creatures, long fringed, food nomming, constantly complaining, leaving eyeliner and hairdye all over the bathroom sink, pains in my arse.
And that is just their friends.
Most weekends my house is full of these animals. You can smell their despair and self loathing from the driveway.
The scent of failure and sweat from the effort of holding in the pain and anger is so thick you can taste it.
And it tastes like boiled cabbage.
And these damn Emos think they are so original. Oh Emos, you are so conformist, it is all I can do to not laugh in your face.
Oh wait. I do. And they go all teary and ‘you don’t understand me!’ and ‘the world is so cruel!’ and ‘are there any more cookies?’.
Damn nomming Emos.
Moo is in lurve with this band called Escape the Fate. Today she showed me this
I am all ‘Dude! This is like every freaking band from the eighties. They are blatantly ripping off Poison and Guns and Roses and freaking David Lee Roth for Crissakes! Damn Emos got no originality’
And I sound like my fucking mother who said that I was ripping off the mods and beatniks when I was Moo’s age.
Which I totally wasn’t. I was the original Emo. All black clothes, black eyeliner, shaggy hair in my face, crying to Morrisey and The Cure and wailing that the world didn’t understand me, writing pathetic poetry in my journal.
But I grew out of it. And became a Club Bitch.
And then today after I put on my black liquid eyeliner and straightened my hair, I was putting away my washing and looked in my wardrobe…
It was full of black, grey and brown.
Um. Shit. I am a damn Emo.