Saturday 25 November 2006

A Little Story about The Bell

She's surrounded by bills, empty wine bottles and recyclable materials and has just done checking her work emails for the last time. She is in her pyjama top and suit pants. Everything in her life is on hold because it's Wednesday night. It only gets to be paid deserved attention on Sunday, if she survived the week. Wednesday night is just too early to say if she would be dead or alive for the weekend. The inbox was emptied and she reaches for a fresh bottle of wine of the day. The door bell rings. The door bell at 2330. She knows it is a booty call. Booty call at the door step sounds serious, and it is, she knows it is. Much to her shame she does not know which one this might be. She peeks out with no make-up on and in a pyjama top. OK, she half guessed, she guessed right who it is.
He has promised to give her some money because she did some work for him as a favour, and he appreciated so much. He never paid out because it gave him a perfect excuse to make these late night calls. She opens the door, instantly smelling the thick clouds of dope fume, turning her face away from him so he would not notice her bare face and so she would not inhale the bad air.
He hints that he can pay the money soon. He suggests that he want to talk money, right then. He asks her to come around. She cannot leave in a pyjama top and pants suit pants with no make-up on.
She quickly changes and try to look decent, but not sexy. She does not want this but she needs money. She has to negotiate it without doing sexual flavours. She needs to look presentable.
He is loaded and is quite handsome, which means one thing; he is stoned his arse off and is in troubles with his girlfriend. She knows this because she saw enough of him in that place many a times before. She knows what he will do to her, but she needs money. There is a pile of bills and she has a drinking problem. She needs to do laundry and vacuum the floor.
She comes around in 5 and he asks, totally out of courtesy, how she was. Out of courtesy she says fine, great, not bad actually, how about you. He explains the money situation to her and how much she will get. He and her would talk some more about realistic figures and she is ready to leave. He leans towards her to say something nice about her face, and the phone rings. A phone call at 2345 is serious and he knows it is. He says he thinks he has to get this and she susses who it is from. The caller is calling to say hi, and starts asking how is his flat. He is puffing like a magic dragon and says it is OK and he is tired. The caller starts asking questions and he is trying to end the call but cannot. He says the caller is being ridiculous and he repeats himself to calm the caller down but she hears the caller being hysterical and would not budge. He keeps asking the caller what is the point of the call. He told her to sleep, sleep well. He hangs up the phone and comes back to her.
He tells that the caller suspects about her being there. She asks why the caller would know about her. He rephrases that the caller suspects that someone would be here. She says she is, and he laughs.
He is never in a relationship and every time she sees him he is conveniently on a break. He has been on a break as long as she knew him, which is about 4 years now. She does not like being there and she is done talking money so she is leaving. She wants to open up that cheap rose wine and sleep like the dead. He wants her to stay. They wrestle and his pants come down. Very familiar scene it was and she even knows what to do and she skilfully escapes. Better keep them wanting some than having them satisfied when there is a large sum of money involved. She goes home and locks the door, switching the shower and the door bell rings. It is the second bell so it must be the postman. She knows what to do...  

Monday 23 October 2006

Dark Era Continues

Or so it seems like. I got rid of entries that are just plain bore. 
Now I appear to be full of red. Mmmm.

Saturday 21 October 2006

Confession of a Mnemophobia LAST

I started blogging because I knew nobody was reading it and I could write anything I wanted because I have healthy conscience and some decency. If someone read it and liked it, that would be a bonus; am more than super happy to share opinions with perfect strangers, or people who really know me.
 
When I stared to go all freaky and paranoid in this place, hiding traces of myself and hid behind it all by not signing in for ages, I just knew it was my time to bugger off. Who needs a double life that tortures oneself and be a reminder of the real life that you cannot bare?
 
I have been hovering over the idea of writing the empty, useless stuff, and keeping it all vague and non-me. I did that especially when I felt unsafe in here. I still wrote what I really wanted to write time to time, but the frequency became too sporadic. I couldn't stay because I was scared shit, but I didn't want to leave because I resented the fact I was herded off by some fuckers who worth nothing on the face of the earth. This trial of me trying to act OK by doing unimportant things like social-networking was not working and it began showing.
 
I still don't know who read my entries. I do feel that some of the entries are waste of the time and space, just like my memory. I hate the existence of my memory, it hunts me and makes me this ridiculous person who can never be honest.
 
Still dwelling on the idea of retirement. This is pegging me down to a point of life I rather pretend didn't happen. My obsessive personality has pinned me to a big wall smeared with stains of sweat and tears and all kind of human dirt. Fuck, enough is enough. Let me get out of it.

Friday 20 October 2006

Confession of a Mnemophobia FIRST

I can't write all that well and have been worse lately. I have been writing boring shit and I do have a reason for them.
 
This place is becoming not so safe. I now know too many people here. Not that I don't want that, but that's not what exactly I (literally) signed up for. There was anonymity in here, like some chat rooms. I don't put out anything that identifies me, and I look up others' profiles and fantasise (not in a sexual way but just like a child dreams and whips up some stories in its head using things around) how they look and sounds etc. knowing that I will never meet them for real.
 
I did join up because my real life friend invited me, but the deal was that he would be the only one who knew me. It was my way of saying
"This is how important you are to me, babe."
He was, still is, a very special human being.
 
It did take a long time before some real person started to show up. Once MySpace hit UK it became unstoppable. There goes my ex flat mate, my ex best friend, my ex, just ex. People whom I never wanted to see again. People, some of whom I wish dead. People who took everything away from me.
 
So, I then started looking for the rest of them.
 
I kept away from most of them. Well, I did contact some of them and some turned out to be a nice surprise, some avoided me, some I hate even more now. But I kept away from majority of them.
 
On top of it all, I took all the pictures down which looked remotely like me, though people would never say that I look anything like those photos. I took any info that says this is me, not Daraness.
 
Basically, I made sure that they can't contact me, though I could contact them. I could stalk them IF I intended to.
 
I am just SO afraid that they will come back and remind me of all the things that happened.
 
Humans' worst enemy is their past. No doubt.

Tuesday 3 October 2006

Bunch of People

...Who Want to Control My Life
 
When I was in my course, everyone got this infectious fantasy about working on cruise ships. Some guest speaker came to give us a talk one day and said that it is a great way to kick start a career in journalism / photography. Some of us started to talk about it fanatically, and many of us set our hearts on doing that after leaving college.
 
I don't like travelling. I am not people person. I hate journalism. I don't do ship. It wasn't for me and I have dogs.
 
When I got myself in the situation I am in now, I naturally started looking for a job so we can live happily ever after, and found myself completely lost for sense of direction. I still wanted to do photo stuff but there was no job I could afford to do.
 
What was left was a job on a cruise ship. It made me laugh, since my ex mates had to give up their cruising fantasy because;
1. there was no such job as cruise ship photographer.
2. they were too tied down to leave because of boyfriends and girlfriends.
3. they didn't have talent nor guts to do it.
 
The cruise job was OK paying (not brill, but OK) and shift was only for 2-3 months, and DID involve photo-shit. I had to be interested.
 
My parents thought it was a fantastic job and I should take it, and my current nightmare thought there is nothing better than me leaving ground and disappear for 3 months at a time. They went on quite a bit on how great idea this all was. They all promised that they will take care of the dogs and the house. They fucking promised to run my ground life while I am gone.
 
I somehow knew that it wouldn't work. I just did. My folks are responsible people and my dogs are healthy, they wouldn't forget me, but I just knew that "people" could not run my life while I am absent. And they didn't / couldn't.
 
Funny thing was, they never even mentioned, not once, that if I would be great to do that job. It was as if the job was their fantasy and I was there to serve them to bring this dream scenario into their reality, in remotely touchable way.
 
I really need to find what I want to do. I know now, more than ever, that other people can't possibly know what I should do for living. Especially when I don't know fuck all what I desire.

Sunday 1 October 2006

Vague and Fatigue

Eat it, coz you don't know what you desire.
Eat it again, coz you ache and crave.
Eat it aging and again, coz you are completely lost.
Eat it till the end of it, coz it helps you.
Eat till you drop. Eat.

Saturday 30 September 2006

I Rather Live Like Jack and Sally

My boss taps my shoulder and keeps saying,
 
"Hey, Christmas is coming, isn't it?"

He also keeps saying that his birthday is coming up so he will be pre-promoting it as well as to make sure the entire week will be dedicated to his birthday and fun will be had by every member of the office.

This guy is in love with all the festivities, I bet if I crack his skull open there is a mini mardi gras going around in a loop.

As you live a few years in your life you happen to realize that there are so many people having festive day in each day. In fact, I don't think there is a single day went by without anyone's birthday since the communion of Adam and Steve. Everyone says happy birthday every day and nobody will say that to you is pretty pissing.

Ohh, I thank heaven for people who sent me birthday wishes on my non-birthday (like I put my real birthday on a website; some of my family members don't know my real birthday!) and I so wish we were that close so that they can contribute in my faith in humanity instead of me soaking myself in bitterness in actual birthday spent alone. But I don't know thee all that well. IRL people forget my day and/or they can't/don't want to afford me. Fair 'nuff, really.

Wednesday 27 September 2006

Hellx xhere

Who needs minced pies and Christmas puddings in September??? Who???

Tuesday 26 September 2006

Know Where You Are

When you are somehow trapped doing customer service, even though you are well aware that you are not so much of a people person, and you don't have sexy enough voice to make 'em come (which is important if you want to sooth irritable people or want to sell stuff,) you got to do something to get by.
 
I've mentioned this before, but I am REALLY good at making complaints over the phone. You get screwed enough times then you will learn how to deal with 'em. At the same time, you are getting better at receiving complaints.
 
I am no claimer, I just like making points so I can get the wasted money back. I don't do it to make people uncomfortable. I really have no respect for people who calls up call centres and spray off their frustration because nobody is giving them enough hugs. Also, I really hate unprofessional people who are allowed to take calls when they have no motivation to listen to what customers are saying.
 
So this guy calls up and basically started giving piece of his mind to each and every one of us, who, unfortunately took turn to take his calls. He was REALLY upset because he made up a story to get away with the payment, and we dug up the counter evidence which I posted him to prove OUR point. He was poking corners of our terms and conditions, and started on how badly spoken we are, because, apparently we didn't say what he wanted to hear.
 
This guy was silly, because he ended up paying extra money by doing this (I looked back his record and saw an error in price) and he wanted to yell more. In the end, he was making us REALLY uncomfortable by saying,
 
"Well, so what are you going to do if the post did not arrive by Wednesday. Do you know what day it is? What day is it, tell me what day it is today!!!"
 
I took a little breath in, and said,
 
"If you are in Reading, we can deliver it to you today."
 
"WHat do you mean... what? Why today, if in Reading?"
 
"Well, sir, I do happened to live near by."
 
He went REALLY quiet. I could almost hear him think.
 
"It is that building with gate, isn't it, sir?"
 
Now he was freaking out.
 
"Are you actually saying that you commute to London every day?"
 
"(Well, that is none of your weegie board, but) Yes, I do."
 
Now the guy was almost mumbling.
 
"Ohh, ok, then. Well, post is actually outside so you can just post it. Thanks."
 
Oh, you are very welcome. And remember that we hold your address, phone numbers, work address AND the credit card detail.
 
That reminded me of the time when I called up Samaritan and the girl who answered the phone told me that she knew where I lived.

Monday 25 September 2006

Things That Are Always in My Fridge

Films;
They take up most of my salad crisper and much of my ice making tray. Numbers of them never decrease.
 
Seeds;
They take up rest of my salad crisper. Can't get rid of them, can I?
 
Condiments;
Obviously. But I've got to tell that I keep my salad cream in my fridge. Others are just usual, ketchup, mayo, sweet chilli... NOT Worcestershire nor mustard.
 
My eye gel;
It did cost 7 quid, so better last longer, and it feels better when it's cold.
 
Coke;
Liquid kind. Has to be Pepsi Max. I am not giving in to anything else.
 
There are numerous veggies come and go but they seem to hold permanent residency there anyway.
 
Beers;
Last but not least. Carlsberg is the only one doesn't give me headache.

Friday 22 September 2006

Smell Ya Later, MUCH Later

Am I seeing perfume ads on TV or am I being paranoia???

I have been trying to refuse to believe it for about a months now, but they are definitely increasing in numbers.

It's getting close to bloody Christmas.
Who on earth is allowed to make me depressed and suicidal in SEPTEMBER??? Can I not be let go carefree until Halloween is over? Since we haven't got Thanks Giving, we should at least be allowed to have freedom of not thinking about "the highest rate of suicide incidents" season till it is ACTUALLY cold out??

I will screech when I see first frozen turkey ad. Ya'll fools, buy pressy, loads of 'em, and make one, someone happy. In that way they will hopefully stop TV ads from airing...

Tuesday 29 August 2006

Definition of Hatred

What defines hate?
Imagine yourself driving.
Imagine yourself doing 55mph on NSL road.
Imagine you are driving towards a roundabout at the end of the dual carriage way.
Imagine yourself in a car behind this Pasat or whatever the car you can think of, which start spinning right into your direction.
Imagine you are now slowing down at the speed of 35mph but are in very dangerous position.
Imagine yourself quickly see a way out of this by turning your wheel to hard-left.
Imagine yourself getting out of the car on car crush by the narrowest chance, only to face a pedestrian walking right on the edge of the roundabout.
Imagine yourself noticing the person in front of you is your ex.
Imagine yourself having a choice of braking even harder, or,
imagine yourself calculating the distance to the person and think of yourself to be in the safe.
Imagine yourself intentionally NOT braking.

Now, that's hatred.

Tuesday 15 August 2006

Thought on AA

Just when AA splashes out "Oh-we-don't-know-how-much-more-we-can-show-off-how-much-money-we-make" TV ads all over the TV, terrestrial or otherwise, AA brings in brand new vans and starts confusing us. I mean, they must have spent handsome gazillions making those ads, and now they are non usable because they got vans with old checker flag designs on them. They really must be super loaded.
 
I once drove an AA van, without having license. It was scary as hell, as you cannot use the room mirror to manoeuvre, and it was huge and it took a lot to pump a little gas, let alone that I had no valid driving license. It was under an inevitable circumstance, and, obviously, the AA guy did not know that my licence was temporarily evoked due to the transfer, but nonetheless I was sxxtting.
 
AA guys can be very mean and horrible. I never use them again. Driving motorways day and night I know RAC is more popular and densely spread in wide area. I know some local rescues are reliable and cheap. But still, none meets the name and legend of AA. They came up with first motorway rescue, and the emergency phone network. They are like pages from history text book.

Sunday 30 July 2006

How The Hell Do You Know You Like This One?

I don't get to like people much. Not because I dislike so many people, but because I feel sorry everytime I find myself being fond of someone. How he or she must feel if he or she finds out that I even remotely like him or her? I can't stand the nauseating idea of making someone sick from learning my favourable feelings towards that person. Also it is very rare that I find anybody who has reasons for me to like him or her.
 
But am only talking about instantaneous feelings here. Like these good fucking sparks you get when you first see someone. Some may call them lust, some may call them love at first sight; I call them my instant judgement giving a nudge to my heart to jump.
 
They don't happen to me much. I am never out on looking for shag or fling or love, ever, and I don't even know what am I supposed to do when I see someone and my heart jumps. So I just freeze. Next thing I do is to stare. I know it's creepy and more disturbing than me confessing undying whatever to anyone, but it's automatic thing. I just want to look at someone who made my heart GO. Still, I never find out, though, what is the thing about this person, or why my heart's racing. What do I want from this person? Do I even like this one?
 
Don't suppose my heart's reactions are lust or love, not necessarily anyway. For instance, that jumping sporadically happens with non-humans, and I don't want to do little fury animals. I don't trust my heart anyway, though. I am a kind of person who needs someone else's approval to finally admit that I like someone. Let's say I knew 7 little dwarfs, and I probably said I liked them to their face which made them run away from me, but in my own tiny brain I knew I only really liked just 1 of them, or maybe not even that many. It's that heavy decision to make. (After all, once I admit to liking someone I will likely to like that person for rest of my life.)
 
Not saying that you should always go for the first impressions and instincts, nor that you only love once, but how the hell do you suppose to date 100 people one after another, and tell them you love him/her each time, that you never felt like that before and that is the true love, and swear to heaven that you mean it? I'd rather hating the whole goddamn world than bothering them nice people.

Friday 28 July 2006

Concession of Connotation

So I have to tell these people how angry I am and have no idea what to say. I am Jack's angry sea urchin, until I open my mouth and my anger evaporates like a half generated fart. It just doesn't form itself into sentences and help me convince someone else how angry I am.

I guess I have no problem killing a couple of my exes in Hannibal Lecter style, or even Jeoffry Dahmer style (except, I wouldn't want to make furniture out of them), if I never get caught. Right, I can say these stuff if I am alone, typing. Not always, but can sometimes..

Don't enjoy being angry. My anger always comes back to me in a very fast cycle, lot faster than karma supposedly works. Or, more like, I get dragged into a bad cycle created by other, like a dead leaf in a cyclone. It feels shitty shitty bang bang.

Am not good at telling people that am angry because I usually end up weeping like a beggar in labour for no reason whatsoever and people assume that I am so sad but I just am mad at myself for not keeping my wits and inside I am batting myself, yelling "shut up!"

Apparently I give first impressions like being stuck up, dark and scary one. Interesting observation, since I am one crappy expresser when it comes to feelings. And my old acquaintances seem to think I am this fiery furious temperament person. Puzzling, since I don't recall losing it ever in front of any of them. Cannot express how mad I am, and don't like doing it. Therefore, conclusively, no-one ever seen me truly angry. I simply cannot be honest to anyone about my emo stuff.
 
So I started telling them how mad I am about my life, and in you go I am reaching for Kleenex in a min, which turn their face into all cooing "Oh, you poor thing!". No, no, I don't need that, I am not unhappy, am really x2 OK. I just am really angry, am not sad, just angry, and can't even say so.
Let me try again...

I gaze the haze in the morning, through the wave of traffic,

all I want is for that sun to burst. Just, BURST.

Thursday 27 July 2006

Film 4 Sucks

Film4 sucked forever and always. I can even write a poem about how much I hate Film4 but I won't because it will be too hostile and some people may think I have something personal against channel4, which I so don't.
 
Once upon a time I couldn't afford to get the entire film package from my cable company, and I had to settle for bloody film 4. I had all the premier films channels for a fraction of price in US, and it shocked me to core when I discovered;
 
1. Film4 only run from 6pm
2. Film4 cost EXTRA 6 GBP
3. Film4 only showed about 100 films a month
 
All the selection of films 4 were either absolute crap, or too arty, as in,
"I am tolerating to watch this film because I am posh and intellectual and artistic, not because I understand it."
 
I mean, if you think you are going to put Ar-bloody-Ty films, then put it without voice over, without "oh, so shocking!" pornographic scenes. Films shouldn't be called artistic work just because it has a dick or two in it. I don't give any credit for real or otherwise orgy scenes. Prostitute stories are NOT masterful classic, neither is hand held vid-cams.
 
Even after I abandoned Film4 for a wholesome film package I simply had to go back and pay whipping 7 quid to get weird crappy horror films or really old films nobody wants to see, because I couldn't afford to buy them in discs or tapes especially when I knew I never watch them twice. It pissed me off everytime I found films showed nowhere but in Film4, and it gave me the greatest pleasure when the minimum 1 month was up and I get to call the customer service to lose Film4 from my package.
 
Now Film4 has gone free. Just like TCM did. WHAT A DISASTER. They FINALLY admitted how awful their line-ups were, and how they failed to run a potentially a great film channel and gave in to this TV ad interrupting, Saturday matinee channel. And they are saying they went that way so many other can enjoy their great collections? Say the word, it's the first step to the recovery. YOU WENT
 
BUST.

Friday 21 July 2006

Shagging Moss

"Affect of Heat" reminds me of Smithy.
He was this super famous doctor in moss world and he looked so old and frail, and always wore bright coloured jumpers which were obviously Christmas presents from his family. He was THE Sphagnum moss guy who dedicated his life to things like micro weather and soil acidity.
This guy, who was a walking library of mosses and ecology, once gave me a glorious 20 for my essay  (out of 100, of course) and wrote down a big fat "rubbish" in red on my paper. This guy, who looked like a shrinking retired post office clerk, got semi volcanic mad when someone decided to advocate the theory of wetland forming which did not agree with his own. It was almost bizarre to see him get excited, because he was so old and calm and a little off at his best, and barely noticeable when he was around.
Smithy's lectures were monotonous and quiet and intensely specialized. I don't remember them much for obvious reasons, but I knew I was so blessed to have him as my lecturer, as he was way past his retirement age and was there once a week only for my class. (And he soon completely retired because his wife became unwell.)
So at the beginning of each lecture I looked at his face and started to really listen to his words. He usually turned to the boards within a minute and started scribbling all these Latin names and author names. So, that precious minute was always height of my concentration before I say hello to my dream land.
One day, Smithy stood at the desk, began very slowly and solemnly,
"Just like people get affected by weather to frequent to sex, weather is a major factor to plants' sex life."
I couldn't sleep after that due to the impact of the comment. It was as shocking as finding Santa having Mrs. I was merely shocked by the fact that he was romanticizing... no, more like kinking up mosses by saying this. It was not even true, what he said. Plants sexual cycle is NOT affected by weather but simply, chemically reacting to temperature and humidity and other things. It's not like blanket bog hears Gershwin in hot summer weather in  lazy heat, and decides to crack open a bubbly and have sex. They only get up when there is enough temperature and moisture.
That confirmed it. Botanists and gardeners are horny people with very actively kinky minds. One way that's worrying as I have been a hard core gardener since very early age. In another way that would be very cool as, if I get to be old like Smithy; clever, knowledgeable and absolutely boring, and still very sexy in brain that's got to be a great life!

Thursday 20 July 2006

Dead Foxy

This Monday was really dreadful on road. It was so hot from early hours, and there were so many road kills everywhere I went. I saw a flopsy bunny, half mashed, its ear standing up in the air. I saw light coming through right there. I saw a couple of hedgehogs laying around like needled balls. And I saw a fox, perfectly preserved in the horror of death.
 
That fox has been there ever since, on M329, on a bridge just before Bracknell. He is there and nobody is doing any further damage, which is ironic as he wasn't lucky enough to dodge the hit when the fatal moment came.
 
He looks like that dog from Scrubs, that's how preserved he is. Every morning I pass there and the sight of him makes me feel so many things. He is really clean for what he is, though I am sure he is missing some body parts which I can't quite confirm. He is so still, even for the dead because no car is running over him any more, and that is making him appear SO REALLY, REALLY dead.
 
I bet whoever killed him actually goes on driving there every day and feeling absolutely liable, day after day.
 
Heat does funny things to people on wheels, and animals around the vehicles. That fox is like a Lorelei to me. It is calling, or calling out. Sorry, mate.

Tuesday 18 July 2006

Let Me Entertain You

I like entertaining people. I like to cut my life into pieces and sell them up in order to see people have a laugh. I don't exaggerate my pieces because wouldn't like to lie. I like mixing drinks on my expense and get them wasted. I pick your mood and taste and hopefully I am handing you the right drink. I do this all because I am self centred, self loving, attention seeking, selfish arty pants.
 
People who like to burst into "Story of My Days" in places like pubs and social events are attention whores. I know this, because I exactly am one of them. They tell you funny stories (often blown up to make itself sound more interesting) and say,
"Me being such an arse I did this stupid episode on such and such."
in a hope of entertaining people, as well as for people to counter-praise you, such as,
"Oh, no, you are not an arse and that was very thoughtful of you for doing that."
etc. etc. Basically begging for compliment.
 
I don't do just that, but I do know all this because I use this tactics to feel OKay about myself. I lower myself in my stories and that's how I put up my protective shields around me. Yes I am useless and stupid, am not worthy of your attacks. And also, I do this because I am a creator and creators are whores of some kind.
 
I never like bragging. I did it once, because I did something great and I fucking deserved a nice comment from everyone around me, and my friend told me to stop showing off. Can I not be proud once in 19 yrs? Apparently not.
 
I do indeed like to see people around me having good time on my account. I feel slightly useful and less hated. That's lovely. People don't need hero stories and Samaritan stories which are coming from friends and acquaintances, because people don't really need any story from other people to begin with. I know this because I know people always give benefit of doubt to stories they hear first handedly. It's just wise to do so and is much needed fact of surviving.
 
I sometime hate me for lowering myself in the circle I am in. I sometime feel comfortably invisible. I mostly want to be invisible and numb, till I get absolutely bored and start getting out howling and jamming my horns down into some deep shit like real life stuff. Bad cycle of life, real bad. Guess am bored now. Where is my entertainment?

Monday 10 July 2006

Attention Shoppers

I went to see footy in a pub in, of all places, London. It was that fatal match when England lost. OK, I won't sing the Harold Shipman song coz I still want to live.

Went there with bunch of work people and it was fun. At the end of the day it doesn't bother me who wins or loses. The last sports  match I really felt being a part was the sports fest from my 4th grade. Sports are exciting and fun, but not worth crying for. For once I would love to see a guy gets as serious with his girl as he does with football.

Anyway, so I went to Leicester Sq. and sat down with bunch of dykes and exchange students and all that. I felt like a Victorian woman appears in one of Agatha Christie novels who is spending a day of shopping in London, before heading back home on train from Paddington and witnesses a murder. In fact, that is how I feel everytime I go to centre to meet up with some people.

After the game I walked to a station with one guy. He was not native Londoner and was dressed nicely. Typical lads enjoying the life in London. He was telling me about his life before London, his ambition for career, and continued,
"But I just wanted to come to London."
Oh, man, oh, dear. Who actually says THAT? You just wanted to come to London? Are you serious?? Are you, like, ten? To you, your life goal is THIS?

People in London act cool. How could people not get tired of it. It's a tough job dressing impeccably 24-7. Not buying any food only makes sense there because people are all thin and you need a lot of money anyway to have all these fashionable gadgets and tickets for shows. It is so much work learning all the trend and ins and outs, wide variety of knowledge in politics and art and science, I can NEVER do it. I mean, I know what native Londoners are like, and they certainly don't do these, eh.

I don't like the idea of living in city. City is dodgy and expensive, and people are so unkind or sneaky. I mean, if you can survive the harsh reality of city life and then the one's life must be very fructuous, but I know I can't even make through a week. Beside, I never agreed to people who think coming to live in capital cities is the best thing you can do in your life. (You can do whatever you want, and be whatever you want to be, wherever you are, provided that you work hard and are determined.) Aside from the people who are just visiting, I never found anything in common with whom so desperately clinging onto their life in city, not because there are lots of things happening there for them but just because they want to be there.

Yeah, N.Y. is cool, but the fact of wanting to come and live there screams that you are from "real" country. Yeah, LA is amazing, but I don't want to starve myself and constantly hate myself just so I can buy a cup of coffee. Well, I guess London is really fun when you know your way around, but with the rent money you pay in a year for that scrappy flat you can buy a farm house and settle down by a riverside. There is nothing wrong about coming to stay in city for a few years, and HEAD BACK to your home town. Experiences are treasure in your life, as long as they wouldn't drag shame and regrets like tails around them.

I am just a shopper in London, and will never find a beauty of everyday life in city. I rather keep it that way and enjoy the bits of the city time to time than get soaked in it. I don't get people who wants to come to city and tell me that I am missing out. I just know what I like and I don't. I don't let people tell me what I like.
 
Oh, and, hell yes I hate Star Bucks. Invasion of the 52nd state.

Saturday 8 July 2006

Cars, the Most, Best and Worst

I think cars have personalities, if not of their drivers. Whenever I come across some car which does certain things, it's always the same car. It is either people who buy such and such cars are similar sort of drivers, or people who drives such and such cars end up being like each other. I want to believe in latter, just like all the people who have poodles end up having poodle hair, and all the people who have Staffy end up looking real trailer-parky.

The most aggressive cars of all;Subaru Impreza

They seem to enjoy showing off their spinning more than anything because they always take over anyone, but never stay ahead of us for long. They go SO fast for 15 sec and run in front of us for another 15, until Merc and BMW steadily build their speed and go forever faster. (Even I go faster after about 50 sec.)

The least skilled cars
Rover 45 and 75 series.
They look like Jags. They actually look like a Great Jaguar when they are passing you. The only differences are, they don't seem to switch lanes well, and they are obviously not used to any road they are on. They are inappropriately slow, they seem to take eternity to speed up to NSP, they stay on wrong lanes,  and they don't take corners well. Jags can cope with ANY roads and look super on them. Rovers probably won't look that bad if they don't look at all like them big cats.

The most unpredictable carsVW Passat and Renaut Laguna.

Personally, I just never want to drive around them, ever. They ALWAYS do weird and freakishly scary things whenever I am behind them doing 70mph on motorways. They act out the exact thing you are thinking like a bad fantacy which you never wish for it to come to the reality,
"OK, so it is quite a steep and long curve so we all better slow down and try not to go over lanes,"
and that's exactly the moment they jump in front of you without indicating. What the heck wrong with them, really?

The super cars, which are just so good you just got to admire them on road.CitroE Xsara Picasso

Oh, my lord, how come you look so dorky and then turn out to be driving SO beautifully. I can NEVER keep up with you. You are SO precise and accurate, fast and swift to the maximum of adequacy. Oh, lord, won't you get me one of their skills.
 

They are lots of overall good cars, like, any 4WD, I NEVER seen them drive badly. I actually never seem them, not even once, with a scratch or dent on them. I thought Vitaras were some poncey cars, but if they can drive that well then they are more like G.I. Joes than John Frieda.

And I generally dislike station wagons. I particularly dislike Peugeot ones. Just a personal experience and opinion. Oh, and off course everyone hates white / blue commercial vans. They should all fall into a sea off a cliff than harassing small hearted people like us on motorways.
 
Well, your opinions are welcome. R and O. 

Wednesday 5 July 2006

Come On Out, Wherever You Are

I think I am working with a closet case. That's fine and dandy, one can choose to be in or out, especially in an environment like a work place. What hurts me is that he is "in" with me after me going on and on about me supporting all the gay rights.
 
Years back there was a time when it is not so common to come out, and coming out was a gigantic deal to anyone. You come out only once and you didn't retrieve it, or went back in again. But, because it was a big deal it was exactly the time people wanted everyone to come out. Probably we were trying to make a team effort or something.
 
Then I met T-Ree, who told me strongly that coming-out is not always a good thing to everyone, and it can be an act of selfishness. He then said he would never dream of telling his family because it would crush them badly.
 
Ever since then my opinion of coming out has become quite flexible. You don't do it because it is  a COOL thing to do, and it IS a personal thing to do, and it SHOULD be done with one's own decision.
 
I have always been a fag-hag wannabe. ALWAYS. Am, in one way or more, more of a gay man than many newbies, and am proud of it. Being a part of the society and knowing about it was the first thing I felt natural doing it. I wanted to be born a man, and I still wish I can dress in men's clothes and look good than looking like this. I am your next door gay neighbour you don't get turned on.
 
And gay men hate me for exactly that, or, at least, pay no attention for what I am. Even when I practically say to their face that I majored in gay culture and am there if they need to know the name of the dancer in a 1956 musical film, they seem to take no interest.
 
THIS one closet case ACTUALLY denied that he is gay when I asked him casually, and very indirectly. He then went on criticizing my taste in musicals by quoting what sounded like some bitchy queens. That felt to me like he is dropping King-Cong size hints to annoy me. (His hair look's like Jack McFarland's, he has a cat, he knows all the designer names, he didn't even pause when I said "I like Ian McKee because I kinda collect gay films," he says "spunk", and he took an afternoon off to attend the premier of West End version of Evita.) Fine, fine, so you hate me for my high school sociology paper. So you hate me for my photo projects upon World AIDS Day. You hate me, you really, really hate me.
 
Don't like offending people. But, like I appreciate your choice of life style, it would be nice if you could accept this as mine. We don't even have to interact.

Monday 3 July 2006

When You Really Like Something

You will like that something for a very long time.

I remember the time I saw Mark Lamarr after 3 long years of not remembering his existence, I was stricken by a lightning, or so it felt very much like. He was on TV, doing Radio2 commercial, WITHOUT the quiff, looking absolutely different, and still took my breath away.
"WHO IS that guy on telly???!!!"
I screamed like I never did for a man in my entire life.

It was somewhat like that with Presidents of the USA. It was like that with D. It was like that with Rimmer. It was like that with you know who.

And, yes, it was definitely like that with RENT.

T-Ree first introduced me to Rent back in '98, I think it was. He told me how amazing it is, trying to describe the story by saying,
"Well, it is about rent."
and went on saying it is based on La Boheme. I distinctly remember thinking how many people do know the story of La Boheme. Two years later I was telling some friend how great Rent is by saying,
"Well, it is based on La Boheme."
Anyway, took me lot more convincing to actually go and see the show. And I finally did it with my folks. (That's how much I wasn't aware of the actual story line.) Half way through the show I fell asleep because I was exhausted from my folks' nagging all that day along.
I think I fell asleep at the Tango scene. I can't remember when I got up, but I do remember that I began crying and couldn't stop.
Rent is cheesy. Rent is slightly out-dated. And Rent is super fab.
I went to see the show again in London, and it was the first and last time I went to see the same show more than once. Mark was played by Joseph McFadden. He was fantastic, and so was everyone else.
I went all the way to N.Y. to see the show. Angel was played by Andy Senor, whom I once saw in London. He was pimping himself out (he posed with you for a photo-op if you paid handsomely) to get donations for a good cause.
I went to see the show again in Baltimore. I remember one guy walking out saying how stupid and terrible that two dykes kissing and a boy dressing in drag.
Rent was finally made into a movie. It took years for it to actually finish the production. During which time the scripts were leaked and directors were changed.
I was waiting and waiting, and heaven knows how many times I listened to the CDs. Rent was the only one of the few things I stood up for when other people showed obvious disagreement with. Numerous people scoffed at me and switched off the CD player. Well, it's your loss, baby.
So, the time has finally came for Rent the Movie. I drove to Riverside and sat down in a small cinema. I had to sit through the god awful Sin City before Rent started. And 5 minutes into Rent a guy stood and left. Just normale.
OK, there were a few things I didn't like in the movie. There were undeniably better bits in movie to the musical. I mouthed along the entire movie. I LOVED it. They did a good job. It was full of love and was for love of Rent. Good sound track. Good scenery setting. Good use of props. I thank the production team for giving me this movie.
I was saying it before thinking how corny it is, and I am saying it again.
The opposite of War is not Peace, it's Creation.
Act Up, Fight Aids.

Sunday 11 June 2006

10 Things I hate About My Job

1. People there are weird.
2. People there are weird.
3. People there all have iPod.
4. People there speak funny language.
5. People there have no life but have sex.
6. People there have dodgy and dark backgrounds you are not supposed to poke.
7. There are not enough people there.
8. There is nowhere to eat around apart from a chippy.
9. I have to have my lunch alone.
10. I have to go through Bracknell to get there.

Sunday 4 June 2006

999 Now

And now it's the 1000 th hit!!!

Great journey it was. Hope to go on. Thanks to everyone who visited.

Sunday 28 May 2006

Elvis Has Left the Building

My uncle quit smoking. Last year, he did, apparently. He was a life long heavy smoker, around 30 a day, and a very old fashioned guy when it comes to the roles of a man in a house. His wife, my aunt, is like a house maid when guests are around, and they kept that master and service person style for as long as they are together.
 
When I was a lad it seemed normal. There were tons of married couple like that. Even my own had slight tendency towards holding guy's position higher in a house. Then as I grew, as my cousins grew, it became painfully old fashioned for women to say, "Yes, sir," to everything husbands say. Yet they never stopped. Nothing changed in their household.
 
My uncle was a bit of a revel in his youth, and he still is very active in seeking anything that interests him. He has so many hobbies, some of which he does almost to the professional standards. Still, he keeps things the same in his house as a husband, or more like, as a man. He smoked and drunk the same, in his old slobbering track suites, ordered his wife to fetch ice and fix some salty snacks.
 
Then it came the news of his quitting smoking. He quit smoking, thus had changes in taste for food, and is having less and different drinks. When we went for a snack he ordered Darjeeling tea and said he is now hooked on them!! My uncle sipping Darjeeling!!! And he also says he doesn't eat oily and salty food any more and now is really watching his health. And he is now exercising!!! He is talking long walks with his wife, appreciating "THEIR" times together as their kids are now gone.
 
What is next, really. I feel like gambling. Anything is possible, yet again, and I wanna take part in guessing the fate's next move, would be wicked if I made money out of it. What's next for me? What's happening to the world?

ello screever

Working amongst vile G5s and people who keep saying,
"I sink,"
and
"I will ship this drink,"
and
"I am moving into a bedshit,"
and
"flee of charge"
 
and if I go all corrective I get to be called a gunta by a punk whose parents are from my country but who has a Brit passport. Nobber out of daiture I say nanti, am just thankful I get them anyhow. It's like a gift, or skill, takes years of training. But sometimes, after hearing this sticky dona with lally goes on and on about her charvering some omi, or hearing a chavie yelling a BT fish down a phone out of keenness towards work, I do feel a little more Auntie Nall than molly cull.
 
I know I got the messe attitude, and it's not competition, and I will never win anyway, and yet can't help but to wonder if I should be there at all. It's just completely new and afresh, exactly what I needed, or at least one of what I need, yet I am dazed and lost in a little universe of abnormality. Maybe I am expecting too much of bonaroo, maybe I should just think of measures.

Friday 12 May 2006

Something New, Something Tall

I am back from retreat. That's all I have to say about that.
 
 
While I was away, I saw this REALLY tall guy. I thought he was walking on stilts, or something. He was that tall. Couldn't believe me eyes, so were other people around me, they followed around this guy like little Asian kids asking for chocolates from soldiers right after they bombed their villages. While these people followed around his long, long legs, I couldn't be sure how this guy's legs were build. I mean, are they real, or are they bamboo?
 
He walked right across my sight, quickly showing (oh, he was walking so fast! His compasses were like 160cm each!!) his real knee joints. My god, he is a real thing!
 
I dashed and joined the crowd, trying to see the guy once more. And my mind went into a state of hysteria!!
 
There was another one walking besides the first guy!! And he is even taller than the first one!!
 
They both stuck high above from the rest of the crowd. I found out they are 240cm tall or something, and indeed the tallest men on the earth's face. That sight was insane. Everyone was sticking the hands up with their mobile phones, trying to get a snap shot. It was crazy. I thought I finally lost it for a sec.

Monday 17 April 2006

Media Sex Slaves

I hate thongs. It's not important at all if I hate it or not, it is already too late to even talk about it. I mean, back in the days it was still fresh to say,
"Oh, I hate thongs,"
and girlie mags faked up articles of guys saying,
"Ooooh, I hate thongs, there's nothing worse than taking a girl to bed and she was wearing a thongs instead of cute french knickers."
in a hope of some girls feeling relieved for disliking thongs because they are uncomfortable. You know, just like how we reacted with mobile phones.

I hate thongs and I can never date a guy who thinks thongs are the sexist thing on girls apart from himself. (Got that?) I hate everything about thongs, like why they are called "a thong" or "thongs" instead of "a pair of thongs" like every other undie. I hate turning back to a classmate who was setting a ring flash on a ladder in front of me and sticking her arse onto my face, showing the little triangle or T on her back. (Puuuukkkkyy.) I hate how they were invented to produce invisible panty line yet they are there to be REALLY seen. They are, as someone put it once, BUTT FLOSS. Yuk.

But these reasons are truly not important. I don't like talking about my intimate side, nor my liking/disliking in intimate sides, and it really is NOT entertaining. I frankly don't want to know these thing of my friends, either. (Thus the reason I hate looking at someone's clearly visible thongs on their arse.)

What pissed me off the most and worth shouting about is this;

I was in some house with someone I briefly knew. We were talking about nothing, having tea or coffee, smoking, that sort of thing. And this guy I hardly knew started on an article he read in a paper about a porn star, Jordan, helped boost the sale of thongs in UK, but now she is saying they are a bit tacky.

He went on saying,
"If a porn star like Jordan says thongs are a bit tacky, you would think twice about thongs being sexy, wouldn't you?"
The question wasn't addressed to me, the only female of the species in the room. But I responded anyway, saying,
"It's not like girls went out and bought thongs because they secretly wanted to look like Jordan."

But what I was quietly thinking was,

"Oh, man, can't you even decide what underwear is SEXY for you unless someone famous tells which one is supposed to be hot and gives you a hard-on??"

Mind you, this is the same person who firmly believed the report of,
"Paris Hilton, the most influential person in America."
back in August 2005, (while I said, "Nah, Jessi is more influential, at least she is supposedly married.")

The sad thing was the few guys who were there in the room were all agreeing with this guy. So, now Jordan publicly declared thongs being un-sexy, we have to start threatening our girlfriends to buy boy shorties or we will leave her.

There are a lot of people who can't decide what to shag unless media or peers tell which. I pity these media influenced bi-curiossors, SUN brainwashed 3-way wannabies, and  manga lovers who think they get turned on by REAL Asian chicks.

Dumbarse Tabloid Whores...

What am I saying?

I know I will never use a friend as a lead, and I will never have enough freinds to establish (quote)business(unquote) anyway.

Friday 14 April 2006

I am barkin' and hoppin' / Current mood: distressed

Wonderful thing, the internet.

I found my arch enemy in Australia. I hate this woman with all my guts, she is evil and she is one lucky mo-fo who always had everything. Oh, yeah, I was jealous, but I started hating her only after she went extra mile to put me down and made me feel so worthless. She was my best friend and kept me around her so all her friends look at both of us and tell her she was smarter and prettier. She never let me win in any aspects. (Otherwise I would be just happy being jealous of this highly over-rated slut.)
 
That put-down thing caused a permanent damage on me, such as I was totally convinced that I will never be as good as her.
 
When I lost weight I felt like I was just trying to be her,
when I changed my hair I felt like I was trying to be her,
whenever I bought a green shirts I felt like I was trying to be her,
and it bothered me enormously that I was so jealous and completely defeated by her existence instead of being OK about me not being her.

And I found her in Australia, after 6 long years, and,
 
Oh, why, oh, why, was she working for my company in Melbourne branch? Of all gazillions companies, she had to pick MY company???
 
It just looks like OUR lives are totally parallel. We worked for same company, we live alone with dogs, we have same hair style, and we are both far away from home.
 
This is worse than losing to her. Why are we same???? Why, why???
 
All of sudden my life has no meaning, because all of sudden I am living someone else's life. What the hell am I doing here?
 
Am I going to join a pyramid scheme like she did and send the link to all my friends? Am I going to lose it like she did?
 
I need to find my life back.

Monday 10 April 2006

When I Grow Up

When I was a lad, I wanted to be weird things. All kids around me said,
"When I grow up, I want to be a bride!!"
"I want to be nurse!!"
and I never got the tingles of fancy for these typical answers. Nurses aside, I was scoffing at little girls holding their hands in front of their flat chests, dreaming about just (JUST!) getting married; and I was only 6 then.
 
I wanted to be a comedian. Not stand-up kinds, but traditional kind which takes years to train. It's not important what it is I wanted to be. What is important is that I always wanted to be something weird.
 
I guess everyone, I mean everyone, kind of holds ideas of being grown-ups one day. Like,
"Being a grown-up is having breasts and wearing high-heels and planning wedding."
or
"Being a grown-up is smoking cigars and sway a brandy glass and talk about ladies without giggling."
or something like that.
 
My idea of grown-up was, for some reason, somebody who does all the things I couldn't / wouldn't do.
 
This is not the wholesome description of my idea of grown-up, but it was something like this.
 
I guess being a grown-up is like;
eating dried or smoked fish / eating cheese / drinking whisky / drinking wine / reciting Bierce / reading The Times / singing karaoke / singing Sinatra / enjoys mountain walking / and likes everything dull.
 
I know, some of them are plain stupid, just kid's ideas of unknown reality. But they are basically the things I couldn't possibly understand how and why adult seemed to like and enjoy doing.
 
I must have ruminated these elements of adult activities over and over while growing up. I must have tested myself every time I faced smoked fish, daring myself to eat and enjoy it, just to see if I was grown up. (I guess I was very self disciplined kid.) And each time I see youngsters with inappropriately old stuff (like 16 yrs old drinking Guinness,) always fantasized them daring themselves like I did, to test themselves to be adults.
 
And note that I only picked things everyone likes except me. (I don't know anyone who doesn't like eating cheese at all, or doesn't understand Bierce.)
 
Along the way, I did conquer few things. I hated drinking wine, but now I am addicted. Smoked fish made me sick before but now I love them enough to marry. And each time I feel older, and wonder what the next step would be. Wine is actually the most recent conquering. I still cannot believe that I can empty a bottle in one night and do enjoy it. And I can't help but to think if the next one is singing My Way on karaoke, or drinking scotch on rocks, because if I could drink wine, anything is totally possible. I can go skating to work. You never know.

Sunday 9 April 2006

800!!

Yeah, yeah, 800th HIT!!!

Thanks for whoever hit the right button!!

Friday 7 April 2006

Hardcore Gardener

(My mind full of ideas.)
 
When you have decided to be a little bug and do nothing but moping and crying, there are few things get neglect around you as a result.
 
In my case it varies; sometimes I just challenge to push the limit of trying out every single pair of socks, which usually takes at least 3 weeks of no laundry (which, is NOT AT ALL long enough for me to go through every bra I own,) ; sometimes I go weeks without doing shopping; sometimes I go weeks of not going out of the door; and sometime I just don't do my garden.
 
My garden suffers from my self-pity particularly in winter. It's very easy to neglect the garden in cold days because there is nothing much to do to begin with during the season, and you just feel so little guilt not doing anything.
 
 
I know it just adds oddity of my characters, but I have been a serious, hardcore gardener since the age of 10. At the age of 12 my experience extended into specialist wild orchids, and I was submitting an article or two to gardeners' mags. I was also addicted to winning prize plants from these mags by sending postcards in with some answers to some quizzes.
 
My favourite gardening style was always true to British hearts, and my life took its course to where I am today. When I was 19, I was listening to Classic FM and doing culinary gardening in student halls. I was so close to switching my staple food to cucumber sandwiches.
 
Yet, it is so easy to forget about it for a while, when you are not in the mood. I managed to kill off my entire pelargonium collection this year (well, due to weather, more than anything, but I could have made more effort.) and my garden is looking totally deadish, like a blank canvas.
 
This week I stood in the middle of it, dreading what I haven't done, feeling like it's the end of an era. Then I realize my grown-from-seeds almond tree sprouting. I thought it died last November. And wood anemones are out there already. And the Dicentra is bigger than ever, while Lupin is growing without being demolished by slugs.
 
Gardens are so forgiving. Just like Fuji Neopan 400. Great latitudes. I can start over without resetting.
 
....Someone once asked me why I am a gardener for so many years, what's the appeal. I guess this is the answer.
 
OK, I will do more chilli this year, and onions and chives. Maybe cherry tomatoes. And NO mushrooms.

Wednesday 5 April 2006

Happy Birthday Bobbieeee xxx

I love you so much  and love that you were given to the face of earth by your mummy dearest. Happy happy birthday, Bobbie

Tuesday 4 April 2006

Yet Another Year Went By

Today is someone's birthday,

Tomorrow is someone special's birthday,

it always is, each day temporarily belongs to someone specials.

I am no longer feeling -ve at all, almost entirely not pissed off, either.

And, yes, am celebrating hard and seriously tomorrow.

Monday 3 April 2006

Ruin It For Me, Babes.

Talking about spoilers, I have favourite arguments to make with people who watched certain films. They are usually about MEMENTO, and AMERICAN PSYCHO. I pretty much instantly judge people based on their arguing points. I am such a twit like that.
 
Needless to say, one cannot have either argument with me if one has not seen either film, because I am not about to tell you the biggest secrets of the films. But in SUCH a case, I still make snap judgement because MEMENTO is just so important to me, and AMERICAN PSYCHO is just so bad.
 
Anyone want a challenge?

Sunday 2 April 2006

Spoiler!!

So, I have like 134 films (and some TV stuff) I have set aside because they just make me cry and hate my life and everything. I am the only person who cry my eyes out watching Dodgeball, or, Zoolander, or Will & Grace, or Very Bad Thing, or Charlie's Angles. Oh, OK, my love for Ben Stiller certainly made me get over some phobia, so I am OK with Zoolander and Dodgeball now, but they still do make me quiver at some scenes.
 
My parents, for some reason, thought it would cheer me up if they send me the VHS tape of Zatoichi. They sent it to me like 18 months ago, which they taped it off TV. I was thankful, as I knew for a fact that my father only recently mastered how to record thing using the VCR. However, for the same reason Zatoichi was just another film I couldn't possibly watch. I apologized to my folks and said I will watch it once the sufficient time has passed and I feel OK.
 
18 or so months passed and I still haven't watched it. But I am beginning to feel like watching it. I just need one more push, so I can start to feel like I can no longer remember why I felt uneasy watching the film.
 
I was saying that to my mum, hoping for her to give me that final push, and she goes,
"Oh, Zatoichi is light and funny, you will enjoy it. He directed well, you know."
I was listening on her opinion of Takeshi.
 
"Well, you know how fantastico the whole story is. The older, original ones were just laughable and I cannot believe anyone appreciate it without child-like enthusiasm,"
That's good, mum, it's working. I just need to hear how silly it all is, and  I can laugh it off!
 
"But, well, because it is revealed that he wasn't really blind in THIS film, it's all more believable."
"MUM!!!???"
 
I was stunned and just forgot about the whole anxiety. I was just blurting out.
 
"Mum, I cannot believe you gave away like that!! I DID NOT KNOW that spoiler, no-body told me for as long as till now and you just spilt it all out!!"
 
God, mum was squeaking with laughter, I was hysterical. I certainly forgot why I was tearful just thinking of the film. That bit is gone. Amnesia. Adios. Allo, mom bebe.
 
Will watch Zatoichi soon. Am sure I won't enjoy it, mum ruined it already.

Thursday 30 March 2006

Get Connected or Get Lost

Wonderful thing, internet.
 
I can google people and find them there, before doing world search in Yahoo, or type up the names and find them here in MySpace. I found the person in here, who is just happened to be littering my front yard with his crap like poems and photos. I found my old flat mate who stole my 100 quid. I found my old best friend in here, who completely ignored my mail when I delightedly contacted her, and someone who slept with her in my flat, also in MySpace. I even found my fag, who does NOT seem to want to be contacted by me.
 
There are still few more people I am dying to find, but cannot be ticked in any way. But why should I make more people nauseated, nobody wants to be found by me any way. You know, it IS a talent to be hated so much by SO many, many people.
 
Yeah, OK, I will retreat soon. So I cannot be found. That makes world a happy place.

Monday 27 March 2006

Brittas Empire

I guess one of the very few good things come out of changing jobs is that you end up with so many referees who love to write very very nice references for you, because they feel more or less guilty that they made you leave the jobs. 
 
Two years ago I had to go through my little black book to look for referees, and now I have more than enough people to fill the list twice who are more than joyous to write pretty super references. I guess some people do climb up something ladders in this way. That sounds familiar... OH MY GOD, I am Gordon Brittas.

Friday 24 March 2006

Lake District Here I Come

So, yeah, my life is shite and my life story is so scary that makes people run off, and I needed a break. I just wanted to go away for a few days, pretend that there is nothing wrong with my life and I am not about to top myself.
 
For some reason I decided to go to beautiful Cumbria, with my bitches. It must have looked real sad, me driving into a cutest B&B on my own with two dogs. Then driving into a posh hotel for Michelin dinner, all by myself.
 
Anyway, Cumbria was beautiful, all covered in snow, and very hilly. Nice food, nice hospitality (sorry that my dogs peed on your carpet) and lovely people who know the importance of eggs benedict. (Oh, my, how long have I been looking to ACTUALLY eat eggs benedict? Only 12 yrs!!)
 
Anyway, my mum asked me to get her a nice survenir from the Lake District, so I drove into Windermere and stopped for a while to shop. After extensive window shopping and some fudge shopping, I found myself in front of a sign saying "World of Beatrix Potter".
 
I love Peter Rabbit. Love everything about it. But 3D models of Peter Rabbit and his friends scare me, so I have already decided not to pay the visit there. But somehow it appeared in front of me. So, OK, I will just check the gift shop.
 
So I headed towards the place, and saw this guy in chef's uniform dashes out of the place. He was smoking. He went passed me. I stopped, and sniffed. Yeah, I SWEAR it was the smell. This guy who works for the land of fantasy and dreams for kids all over the world was doping up on his lunch break. OH MY GOD.
 
It was lovely break, though, and I will definitely go back. Not to the Beatrix Potter place, but, I will go back.

Saturday 18 March 2006

Road Kill

I just run over a badger. Doing 40mph on 50mph road, and he was running, as if, towards me, went straight across my face then under my car. I heard two bumping sounds underneath. Screaming, stopped and walked back, he was SOLID, lying in the middle of the road.

I panicked and called a co-worker, then police, and my bloody mob phone kept cutting off every 40 sec. Didn't really wanna touch him coz I once saved a racoon dog which was hit by a car, and he bit me. So I poked him with me feet, he doesn't move. But he was breathing. I went back to the car and took out scraper/brusher which looks like a broom, and started shoving him off the road. He was heavy and was VERY angry. There was NO way he was going to survive this incidence, and I didn't know if I wanted to stay there watching him go, or just bugger off and pretend that it never happened.

Took a while to shove him off the road, and my phone was half dead, it was snowing, police was calling me back many a times, I was just saying where I was at....

And he was gone. He just walked off. I followed the trail but there was no sign of him. Totally gone.

I am so sorry. I hate my life. Why me? I am so really sorry...

Tuesday 14 March 2006

You Are So Pulled

over by Five-Os.

OK, it's 18.15 on Sat, gotta get to work by 19.00. If A4 is busy I might be late, so I would have to go 40mph plus around Tilehurst. The choice of music is The President of The USA, yeah, yeah, I can do slight head banging (15 degree angle) while waiting for green light. Millions of peaches, peaches for me.

OK, Bath Road wasn't too bad, I am almost in Tilehurst, and after these two roundabouts it might be busier Oh, there is a police car, let's just hope it will go away. Oh, how every one is driving like a little kitten, doing 25mph on 30mph road and stuff. OH? The police is over-speeding. How nice. And he is going nowhere. Do I have to drive behind him? OK, I see the big roundabout, maybe I can take over him after there Oh, no, he came right in front of me. AND he is on both lanes. How bloody nice. Let's be cheeky and indicate in every single check-point, including mini roundabouts.

I am still following the police car, it has been at least 10miles by now. This road IS 40mph, but nobody is doing it today. I will stick to 3rd gear, too.

We are now doing 30mph. There we go, we are at M4 J12, Theale exit, two huge roundabouts going like slaloms. Everyone goes over lanes here, even today, in front of coppers!! I will stick to 40mph and wouldn't go over lanes. If I can manage Bracknell roundabouts, I can do these ones! Hurray, I curved perfectly, indicating precisely and my slowing down and posisioning was immaculate!! 30ft Smurfs!! Everybody wants to be naked and famous!! Yeah, yeah!! (Bangin', bangin'.) The police car went to left hand lane, I am in the middle, is he going away?

3 lanes go round, two of them leading into a national speed limit slip way. Everyone goes about 70mph (dual carriage way national speed limit IS 60mph.)  but probably not today. No, not today, I see. What the fuck is this cab doing in front of me? Hey, you are on RIGHT hand lane, doing 40 on 60 mph road!! Speed up to appropriate mph, or just speed up so I can switch lanes to avoid you. Goddamn it, I better slow down and switch lanes. I can't stay on right doing too slow, you can get penalty for that, and I see the copper following to this direction, too. OK, I have enough space ahead and behind me now, let me indicate and switch lanes. Click, click, OK, nicely switched, in front of copper ?? When did the indicator got cancelled? Did I not cock it enough? Well, better speed up to 60 or less or I get pulled over

No time to do anything else, there is the end of the slip road, slow down nicely... Well done, am good, appropriate spacing, thank you Ian, you taught me well Now take the second exit, and this is yet another national speed limit lane, would speed up to 60mph plus if the copper wasn't following so I would safely make it to work on time

Flash, flash,

WHAT THE FUCK????(Pardon my French)

This is when I saw flashing light coming from behind me. Yes, Five-0s were telling me to stop. I wasn't nervous as I did nothing wrong, but it's never nice to be stopped by police in a country you weren't born in. You remember that stupid Brazilian dude who run away and got shot and killed by police after London Bombing, right? (Sorry for saying stupid, but I saw through whole story from the moment I heard it. It is just SO unfortunate.)

"Hi, what seems to be the problem?"
Lady Officer "Have you been drinking or ANYTHING??"
(Oh, I bet you saw me head banging into 15 degree angle.)
"No, why?"
L "Because you have been swaying ALL OVER lanes."
(That was YOU.)
"Was I?"
L "Have you got ID or something?"
"You mean the drivers' licence?"
L "Drivers' licence would do."
(What else is better than drivers' licence??)

L "How long have you been driving in this country?"
"Do you mean including driving lessons?"
L "How long have you been holding licence in THIS country?"
(Uhh, why are you flashing my card with you massive torches, it says right there you bat!?)
L "Do you have insurance for the car?"
"Not on me."
(What are you suggesting by that??)

Male Office "Have you taken the test in THIS country?"
(How else do I get that shiny pink card? I paid thousands of pounds for lessons to get that bloody thing, can't you use your bloody eyes??)

M "When you switched the lane you nearly took my bumper off. You weren't indicating, either."
(Oh, shit, so it was cancelled long before it should have.)
"Did I? I did, indicate though."
M "No you did NOT (Listen, sonny!) And you ignored us flashing you. Your driving was very dangerous."
(I checked right after I slipped in front of the police car, of course. And they were NOT flashing me.)

M "You were going all over the place and indicating wrong ways."
(Didn't you just say I never indicated?)

M "By English law it is illegal to take over a car using the left lane. Do you understand?"
(I did NOT take over, did I? I went passed the car, which was doing 40mph,but didn't get back into the right lane!!!)

M "By English law you see the line and you stay within the lines, you don't go all over it, OK?"
(What the fuck are they talking about NOW???? Broken lines are there to show you can switch lanes OR take over!!!)

This, "By English Law" bit bothered me a lot. I am pretty sure they don't use the phrase if I didn't look like this. I never drove in other countries and I am resident here, but was treated like a refugee who just drove in from Dover port all the way to Tadley. Hey, that's funny.

I would have been sincere and apologetic if what they were saying was true, but I couldn't possibly buy any of it, apart from possible indication failure. Because, there is NO way I would have survived, nor failed to kill someone else if what they said was true. Swaying all over the lanes?? (Not a lane, but lanes.) I don't even rely on mirrors coz they are not realistic enough. I ALWAYS indicate unless it cocked itself back by accident. And I did NOT drove in from Dover.

They couldn't find any reason to give me ticket in the end. They didn't even say,
"I am so nice, I will let you go with a warning."
Because I did NOTHING wrong!!

I think they are racist and have nothing better to do. Big, big bullies.

Monday 13 March 2006

Ego Boosts

You need mental espresso even if you are this person who acts like invincible 24-7. You feel plenty silly or minging and unattractive time to time, no matter what. You can't help that coz you are livin'.
 
Ego boosts can be a bit sad things from outside, but these soddin' things could certainly make your day, because our lives are basically the clusters of ordinary things.
 
My ego boosts, the few of them I remember were;
 
I was in Paris, escorting my folks through metro. My mum was never keen on Paris scene (how could she NOT???) and she kept bitching how rough the drivers drive metros in Paris.
 
"Could they NOT brake a little smoothly???"
was what she was yelling as we held onto nearest tag or whatever hanging from the ceiling. I love Paris, period. I love everything about everything and nothing can ruin the enjoyment of it, except for my mum. I felt so grim and fat and unattractive (as the first thing mum said to me at LHR arrival gate was, "God, you put on so much weight!!")
 
The metro just slipped into underground. It was fairly busy in the carriage and we were surrounded by French speaking people, rather than tourists.
 
This gypsy looking lady with bright orange hair managed to sit herself in front of me, and she was giving me the eyes. I wasn't sure what she wanted. She was in mid 40s to early 50s, and looked distinctive with her fashion style. How these Parisian carry themselves with such interesting tastes in fashion and manages to look so impeccably stylish? I felt even more unattractive by standing in front of her and have decided not to meet her eyes.
 
"Excuse me,"
she was already saying to me anyway, with heavy French accent.
"...yes?"
I answered with maximum effort to smile.
"Where did you get that?"
she said, pointing my green top, which I thought was too small on my fat torso.
"I got it in USA. It was from a charity shop."
"Oh? That's too far away for me, but it is very nice."
She smiled approvingly. A real Parisianne told me that she loves my top.
 
That tops. Hey, that's like when I went to Summer Ball and Kevin Myers came up and told me,
"Di, well done, you look fantastic!!"
and I felt absolutely marvellous. Even though I never dress to look nice for other people (I do dress not to offend other people, though,) it is still nice to receive real compliments.
 
On my birthday last year, I was SO miserable as I was totally alone and nobody remembered my birthday. I was also so tired from work yet had to go late night shopping because my fridge was empty. So I hopped onto my beloved Herald and went to Lower Early. It was like 10pm and the shop was quieting down. I hid behind the blast of music from my CD player, trying not to notice all the other people shopping in pairs etc. When I got to the till, I was quite blue, looking at the booze and food I am going to consume all by myself for next few weeks.
 
I put everything on the belt conveyer and put cans of beer at the end of all. The cashier was this young looking skinny lass with a sad and tired expression making perfect match to my mood. She grabbed my shopping awkwardly, and I put them into plastic bags, one by one.
 
Then she saw the ridiculous amount of beer cans, pulled her face with suspicion and hesitation.
"umm... do you have an ID on ya?"
 
I cracked. I laughed so hard, not loud, but hard, and almost cried. This girl was dead serious! And I had to apologize to her that I wasn't laughing at her, but she certainly made my day. I wanted to fucking thank her. I wanted to fucking hug her. All my blues was gone for that instance.
 
Yeah, I know they sound sad, but, hey, I am a simple being with a massive complication.

Sunday 5 March 2006

Bridget Jones, are you proud (of me) ?

It has been crispy days in Berkshire, Hampshire and Essex (all the counties I work and live,) and I have been scraping down my car pretty much every morning.
 
On Thursday morning, I got up and took shower, washed my hair, and left the house. It was before 7am, and I walked down the road for 2 min to get to my car, only to find thick ice all round. All other cars that don't get out of Berkshire, Buckshire and Hampshire were actually covered in snow, and mine was the only one showing its base colour.
 
Anyway, so I started scraping it down. It only takes a couple of minutes. OK, all, done, let's get going as I am freezing.
 
I sat in the car, put music on, and started to drive. Before the first junction I thought,
"God, my hair is so dry, it's hard and feels like a broom. Certainly looks like one."
as my hair bundles were brushing coarsely against my cheek and neck. I touched my hair to feel it, and gasped.
 
It really was FROZEN.
 
My hair bundles were firmly set as if I used 80s hair spray from a dollar shop.
 
Am an Ice Queen, I even make Bridget Jones impressed with me.

Wednesday 22 February 2006

One in a Million

In our office bathroom, someone keeps putting bog rolls with the end bit facing the wall. The end is therefore pulled out from behind the roll, not the front of it. Well, to be totally neurotic, I don't like this way up as I think it is a bit of a waste of physics forth. But I am not that picky about how bog rolls were hanged in public toilets, and so I leave them as they are.

But, every time I see them I just remember this article I once saw in some gossip magazine. It was how Jennifer Aniston is one of those who insist hanging bog rolls in this way, but never the other way round. According to the article, Jennifer hates her bog rolls' ends to come down from the front, and gets a  bit nutty if she sees one like that. And also 98% of us actually prefer anti-Jennifer way.

It was THE most ridiculous gossip article I have ever came across in my entire life. I mean, who in hell's name went to Aniston&Pitt mansion and came out with both hands in the air, waving for attention, running straight to News Of The World, selling the story for a buck or two? And who would NEED to know how she hangs bog rolls, and what for?? And who did this survey on hanging bog rolls amongst us???

Is it like, we are so insecure about being normal and average, we need to be assured that our way of hanging bog rolls are normal? And that by knowing the fact Jennifer Aniston has bog rolls in her house makes us reassured with the fact that practically everyone in the world goes to bathroom for some business trip? And poor Jen has no friend she can trust because everyone is selling any story they can find in her house?

I have decided that film actors should be left only in big screen.

Tits for Tat, Fag for Hag

He couldn't be happy just with me. He had to have Abi, because Abi was gorgeous and had a nice boy friend. What am I talking about? My fag for hag.

Don't think I ever got over my fag. The way he left me was harsh, and I missed him so much after. Mind you, though, I never fancied him. He was cute, I guess, had an amazing set of eyes, and was the most intelligent person I have ever met to this day. He was a classically trained piano player, and had good taste for art (which didn't always agree with mine,) but was never pretentious about it. He was the greatest dance partner ever, and was ever so sweet with me.

Knew we had our differences, I had problems with certain things about him, he disliked things about me. But it was the greatest relationship ever, while it lasted. It is just, All's Well That Ends Well, if not it remains crappy.

It is so hard to replace him, because, apparently, I am not so fag-hag material, it turned out. I had boyfriends who were closet-cases, though. Well, apparently, apart from the obvious flaw (i.e. I am not pretty enough) this one is too hard acting and attention grabbing by their side, not for the right reasons. Fag hags are there to prove how good taste fags have, and I don't serve that purpose.

If I were to advertise on Lonely Hags, will state the following;

I am fun, outgoing person who enjoy dancing around you like a little bumble bee.

I guarantee that we WILL get attention from that guy you had your eyes on for weeks.

I won't claim for good taste in fashion, so you can totally do over me whenever you like.

I can be used as "an encyclopaedia of camp history".

I have wide shoulder, so we can swap tops.

I have a mini bar to suite your ever-so-changing drinking needs.

Thursday 16 February 2006

Sheer Annoyance

All fairness, I am not the best driver around. After all, I can't even do parallel parking. But I can still bitch.
Drivers I don't want to come across on roads.
Stomper
(Why are you putting brake down SO many, many times, when doing 30mph on 40mph road??)
Silent Breaker
(How on earth can you slow down without braking?? Are your brake lights just broken???)
Black-outer
(Especially when doing right hand lane on motorways at top speed to catch up with the car in front of me. Do you even know what the indicator is???)
New-ish BMW
(What's up with that noisy LCD lights?? Who put bloody LCD on cars???)
Switcher
(You are not even a boyracer, why are you going right to left, and left to right, and right to left again???)
Bonker
(Stop bonking me rear, I can brake and you can crush!!)
and whoever who don't put hand brake in traffic jams, and people who insist on beaming up my eyes at night time.