Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

Friday, June 29 #BallsOrNoBalls

Tonight Kate was like: “Phoebe.”

Me: Yes.

Kate: I’m taking all the kittens to have their shots and stuff on Monday.

Me: And?

Kate: You need to tell me what you want with Richard.

Me: What do you mean what do I want with him?

Kate: He’s a pure-breed tomcat. He could make someone a lot of money.

Me: You still want to sell him.

Kate: Of course I do. But. I know what it’s like when you feel all mushy on the inside and you can’t imagine giving up something that sweet, especially when the person you loooooooove adores it so.

Me: Everything is fine with my insides. I just think Emma should have him.

Kate: I understand that, but have you had a chance to ask Emma?

Me: No.

Kate: Okay, so that’s your mission tomorrow, because I need to know if his future owner wants to use him. If not, I’ll have his tiny little balls chopped off on Monday.

Me: That’s horrible.

Kate: Actually it’s more like twisting them off.

Me: Stop.

Kate (shrugging):…

I texted Emma straightaway:

If you were Richard’s parent, would you want him to be in working order and make you lots of money, or would you want him to have his balls twisted off?

Emma texted back:

?

I was just like: “Never mind,” because, in all honesty, I can’t have a conversation with Emma about a cat’s testicles.

Saturday, June 30 #NoBalls

Kate says she’s going to have to look for more volunteers now that we’re one person down.

It’s like we’re in a war.

I suppose we are, in a way.

We need to work harder so we can make more money, so people can do more research and people don’t have to die from cancer anymore.

It’s the war against death, which in a way is stupid, because we all have to die.

But I do think, since I’m not really good with people, and will therefore never be like Mum and Dad, that this is the only way I can help others, and maybe the world/the universe/karma will be pleased.

Lots of customers have been coming into the thrift shop going: “Oh, isn’t it terrible about Melanie? But she did have a good life.”

I reckon this is another thing we tell ourselves so we can feel better.

I asked Emma about Richard’s balls in person, which was strangely less awkward than in a text, and she was like: “I wouldn’t want him to have his balls twisted off, that’s cruel.”

Me: But here’s the other side of the argument. What if he goes around and shags all the cats in the neighborhood?

Emma: I suppose there’s enough unwanted kittens in the world.

Me: If he keeps his balls, it would literally be his job to shag other designer cats and make designer kittens.

Emma: My poor baby.

Me: He’d be like a stud horse.

Emma: Have you ever seen horses shagging? The size of a horse’s penis is something else.

Me:…

Emma: I mean, I didn’t watch it on purpose.

Me:…

Emma: I say he should have his balls twisted off, then. But why are you asking me about this anyway?

Me: No reason.

Oh my God.

All the other designer/half-designer kittens are girls. The nondesigner ones are going to have their tubes tied, and the designer ones are being left intact because the new owners want to use them for breeding.

I hate all that.

Why do we need designer ones anyway?

And even though, according to Kate, they are trying to prevent inbreeding, you just know that sooner or later, some cat is going to have kittens from its own father.

In the Bible this actually happened to humans when the daughters of Lot decided to have children with their father. I mean, it probably didn’t actually happen, but this could potentially explain why people today are so stupid.

Sunday, July 1 #Guestlist

How is it July already?

I spoke with Mum, and she was like: “Only two more weeks, baby, and then I’ll be home.”

This basically means that in two weeks:

a)  I’m going to move back home.

b)  Life as I’ve known it since January will be over.

c) I’ll be sixteen like everyone else.

I know I kind of agreed with Mum on having a party, but I don’t really want to have one now, because I’d have to speak to people all day, and I won’t be able to just leave when I’ve had enough, which is usually literally after five minutes.

I mean, obviously Mum would be there, which would mean she’d be the star of the show as usual, so maybe people wouldn’t even notice if I abandoned ship.

In fact that would be a bit LOL. Imagine it: Everyone’s leaving, and someone suddenly goes: “Where’s Phoebe? I haven’t seen her all day.”

Anyway, I told Mum I’d have a think about who I want to invite.

When Miriam Patel turned sixteen, she literally invited everyone because she didn’t want to “discriminate.”

She had an Oscars-themed party, and her parents rented out one of the pubs by the river. There were, like, three hundred people there, and I don’t think I spoke to her once all afternoon/evening.

Thing is, though, if I’m going to have a party, I’m going to have to invite her, because basically I went to hers.

If I invite Polly, I’m going to have to invite Tristan, especially now that we’re, like, BFFs after going to the lido together.

I’ll have to invite Kate, obviously, and maybe James.

And I want to invite Alex.

And Emma.

PS: There are moments when I wish I’d never met her.

Monday, July 2 #PoorRichard

Because Kate had to take all the kittens to the vet this afternoon, Emma and I agreed to help Pat in the shop and lock up.

Going in an extra day means that I’m obviously still not sticking to my How-to-Fall-Out-of-Love-with-Emma list.

Also, we had a play fight today.

It only happened because Emma whipped me with a tea towel, and so I poked her in the side, and she literally lost her legs like one of those wooden animals you get where you have to press the button underneath and they collapse in a heap of limbs.

I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe, as was