Hey fans! Here it is FINALLY! We can't tell you how much we've struggled with this chapter. We hope you enjoy and as always…review! The format will be similar to pgge and with a lot of humor. So if you liked pgge you'll like this. Just take note of the rating b/c there deff. Will be some mild sexual stuff and swearing.
Lain and missie
11 August 2006
In a (pathetic) attempt come to terms with my unresolved anger issues (my
wonderful therapist's words, not mine. My anger doesn't seem to bother me,
I didn't even know I had problems until I caught Mr.
cheating on me with my so-called best friend and I tried to kill them.
Honest, I've never had a problem until now.) Dr. Holier-than-Thou is
requiring I keep a diary of everything that makes me angry. I'll start with
my list of current anger issues I've been keeping bottled up for the safety
of the world and all it's wonderful therapists and other nut job doctors.
The list is as follows:
2. Dr. 'Holier-than-thou' Victors
3. Garbage disposals
4. Turning 25
5. Ron (somehow, everything can be traced back to him)
6. Herman Boulderstaff (AKA- Mr.
and Alyssa Miterstone (AKA- the so-called best friend)
7. Victorie Gaines, my new boss, and all my other clueless co-workers
8. Cats that enjoy leaving 'presents' in my brand new shoes
9. Lavender and Pavarti for planning my wonderful 25th birthday party
10. Harry-bloody-Potter and his insistence to come home today
Damn my luck.
So, after I chased the above mentioned best friend out of my flat with the
wide end of a broomstick, I cornered Mr.
in the kitchen. His look of fear was replaced with relief when I threw the
broom down, but the look quickly re-graced his features when I pulled the
mop and a 15 millimeter (unsharpened, in my own defense) butcher knife out
of the closet and silverware drawer.
The conversation between us went as follows:
Herman: Gin, what are you going to do with that? (referring to the knife,
Me: Don't call me Gin, you lost that right when you decided to shag Alyssa.
Herman: We weren't shagging, per se…
Me: Let me guess, she fell on you and somehow during the fall your clothes
magically popped off leaving you both in the nude and in a very compromising
position that your fiancée just happened to walk in on and automatically
assume the worst because she is an over assuming bitch. That's what really
happened, isn't it? (Note the sarcasm)
Herman: Uh, something along the lines of that?
Me: Well, I hate to say this, but this particular over assuming bitch has a
knife, a mop and you in a corner. Do you really want to doubt my intentions
at a time like this?
I swung the mop over my head and he flinched, backing away from me and right
up against the counter. I smiled and threw the mop down. It was so bloody brilliant! Herman, a 5'9 balding man with what muggles call 'pocket protectors,' was cowering in the corner. He was naked and then I come charging at him with a mop and almost karate chop him!
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck me. Herman would rather die
than lose money, that much I knew of him. So, in reality, killing him would
be a favor because he wouldn't have to see his money go down the drain. I
wanted to make him suffer. So, I popped the 35 galleon diamond engagement
ring off my hand and dangled it above the sink.
Herman: You wouldn't.
Me: Try me.
Herman: Do you know how much that cost me?
Me: Yeah, a lifetime with me. You can always buy another at a pawn shop for
Herman: I went to the finest jeweler in England for that ring!
Me: Thanks love.
And with that, I dropped it down the sink. He lunged forward, intent on
snatching it out of the drain, but fortunately, I flipped on the garbage
disposal before he could. Unfortunately, the ring came flying out of the
disposal with such intensity, when it hit me in the forehead, it left the
diamond's impression in my forehead. I swore, he swore, and for a moment I
remembered why I liked him. His language was almost as dirty as mine.
Almost. But then I remembered what he had done to me. I grabbed his arm
and pushed him out the door.
Did I mention he had no clothes on? Poetic justice if you ask me, since
most of his clothes were safely stored away in my closet which was inside
the cozy flat I had just locked him out of …
So, while I was bandaging my war wound, he was running around the hall
attempting to hide his nakedness. A neighbor called the police, and when he
was taken in, he reported me for attempting to kill him. When the police
came to talk to me, I told him he wasn't worth the effort it took to hit him
with a mop, let alone kill him. I, however, was required to take the
therapy, while he had to stay a night in jail for 'public indecency'. I
think I got the sour end of the deal.
Therapy is hell. Today, she asked me three questions:
1. What was your childhood like?
2. What was your relationship with Herman like?
3. Why do you think you're so angry?
Answer to question 1: I had a normal, happy childhood thank you very much.
Spare Fred and George's multiple experiments on me, the possession
incident in my second year, multiple (obsessive) crushes on one Mr. Potter, a bout with bat boogey hexes, Voldemort's down fall in my 6th year, and a nut job for a father. All considering, I'd say it was fairly normal.
Answer to question 2: Herman was Muggle born, explaining all the strange
Muggle inventions in my flat (examples: blender, food processor, television,
felly tone, etc. I'm getting rid of them now, they make funny noises and
scare me.) He had a money fetish, like he couldn't live without it. His
job kept him with ungodly hours, and he often bragged about how he had
'worked his way to the top'. Looking back, I don't know what I saw in him,
and I honestly think I was impaired when I accepted that damned ring.
Answer to question 3: Isn't her job to tell me why I'm angry and not the
other way around? I mean, goodness! I'm not paying her 50 galleons an hour
to have me decipher what goes on in my mind. I could save that money, stay
home and read magazines and achieve the same results, don't you think?
But anyway, another person that's bothering me is Rita Skeeter. Her article is as follows:
New Kid on the Block
By Rita Skeeter
The newest magazine for young witches, Sorciere, is expected to make its debut next week. Star columnists are featured, Blair Malone, formerly of New York City's GlamWitch, Natacha Savels, formerly of Paris's La Magie par Semaine, Roma d'Mario, formerly of Milan's Strega di Moda and our very own Ginevra Weasley, formerly of Teen Witch Weekly. The magazine's sales are expected to surpass the ratings of all popular witch magazines by at least thirty percent.
Victorie Gaines, the magazine's owner and one of the wizarding world's most successful female business women, states, "I'm thrilled to have such an experienced staff with such great reputations. (Blair) Malone is the (magazine's) current makeup guru, (Natacha) Savels in the (magazine's) fashion consultant, Roma is the current hair stylist and Nevvi (Weasley) is my 'hot spots' girl. I think our first issue is going to be absolutely ah-maz-ing." Gaines began the business as a small magazine, catering to the tastes of mature witches in just England, but now she wants to expand to the younger generation around the world.
The only columnist I was able to interview was Ms. D' Mario, who told me this, "The staff could not have been chosen better. Blair, Natacha and Nevvi are so easy to work with and since we're all of the same age, we have similar tastes when it comes to fashion. We also have the same goal: to bridge the gap between our generation and our mother's generation. We wish to help them discover their natural beauty with our guidance."
The most interesting thing was Ginevra 'Nevvi' Weasley refused to comment. A born English witch, Weasley wasn't even supposed to be considered for the new magazine, but by some stroke of luck, she has found herself in the midst of what could be the biggest thing to hit the female fashion world since Muggle tights. Witches of our time, brace yourselves for a fashion revolution.
The truth is, Victorie Gaines is one of my best mates' cousins. Blaise Zabini, despite the fact he was in Slytherin and a total arse to me when we were in school, does more things with me than most of my girlfriends do. He actually enjoys going shopping, getting our nails and hair done and loves helping me scout out new places to write about. I think he's gay, but he hasn't officially 'come out' yet. We met at Teen Witch Weekly (he was an editor there, now he works with me) and he apologized for the hell he put me through in my fifth year and we became good friends. He introduced me to Victorie a couple months ago and after she read some of my columns, she offered me a job at Sorciere, which I accepted happily. Teen Witch Weekly was getting a bit blasé for my tastes.
I've already met my co-workers, Roma, Natacha and Blair last weekend at a pre-premier party at Victorie's flat. All of them, Roma, Natacha, Blair and Victorie are total air-heads. Their vobabulary includes 7 words 3 of which are "Like" "God" and "Totally." They're the reincarnation of valley girls meet muggle Barbie's with a British accent. It's insanely odd. But anyway, the thing that Rita forgets for mention is that I'm also going to not only be covering hotspots but a humor column about wacky muggles. It should be very funny.
Right now though, I'm getting ready to go to a party. More specifically mine. Oh joy. Parvati and Lav are going to be here any minute. I'll write more later. I'm wearing a black Versace dress. Compliments of the club, "On." It's a black and white party. And get this. Harry's going to be there…
Top 10 bad things about being 25
1. Only 5 years till 30
2. Only 15 years till 40!
3. You have a quarter of a centaury of wrinkles built up
4. You have to start lying about your age
5. Half of your friends are married
6. the other half have kids, married or unmarried
7. You keep asking if your but looks fat but you should be asking if your boobs are saggy
8. It's not really like it is in the movies
9. You can't have sleepovers anymore
10. You can't call your significant other a boyfriend because he has more chest hair than your father.