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.

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.

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.

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...

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 3^rd 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.

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.

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.