This Year

This year was supposed to be all about a big change and motor accident.

 

And undeniably it was. I have gone through the big starting point, walking straight into a chunk of big black fog that is so sticky and I cannot see through even a glimpse of future.

 

I still have 1 day to go before being freed from annual premonition, but up until now my car has received a big dent on a door, a deep scratch on the other, a kerb shaped dent underneath, and a hideous bump on a rear, and my insurance company really nearly wanted to write it off. In a nut sell, I was screwed enough, I think. (Besides, there were so many, many tragic, unthinkable and unfortunate accidents took place all over the country, some of which I have witnessed the aftermath.)

 

It was lot less shitty, this year, compare to the last. And there were some fantastic moments. It feels to me like I have stopped falling, just because nobody special did some nothing special to me which left serious impressions on me somehow.

 

Now I am looking forward for my herald to bring the news, on what new year is bringing. I am hoping for a clean slate.

 

Have a great New Year, everyone,

Good Luck on returning to work safe and sound!!

2000!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My car mileage hit 100000m, and the same week I get 2000th HIT!!!

Thanks for whoever paid the kind attention to my page xxx

Europe!!

I have never done road trips before. Reasons being;
1. I didn't drive till recently,
2. I don't have a mate who can put up with me for the duration of a trip in a small car with certain uncomfortableness of bumpy roads and sign posts in various different languages, including Welsh. (Croeso Y Cymru!)
3. It's usually cheaper to fly, and I am not romanticised by the sound of road trips, nor besotted by the idea of being green.

Well, it's almost the end of the year, and it is the wine time. Beaujolais Nouveau was released almost 2 weeks ago, and this is the time of the year I do my whole year load of wine shopping, in France.

Sounds gloriously posh, I am sure, but the reality is that I drive down M20 in the middle of the night so I can get on the cheapest ferry of the day, get to Calais in very early hours, it is so early I can't see which side of the road I should be sticking to, so I sleep in the car, under the layers of overcoats.

Then I go to one of these wine super stores which was clearly build for Britons and not for the locals, and buy as much wine as I can put on my battered small French car, before driving straight back to the port for a few more hours of sleep, followed by another cheap ferry ride and M20 + M25 +M4 driving.

This year, because I was so fed up with my work and everything else, I have decided to extend the trip, and even take someone with me.

We have left my place at 11pm, got to Dover at 1.15am, and got to Calais at 4.30am. We slept horizontally on front and back seats for 3.5 hours, and drove for 1.5 hrs to marvellous Brugges.

It was so much fun. It was cold and beautiful, not at all threatening. We didn't get lost, and the hotel was OK. Had some tasty beers, and all these beer infused dishes, along with fries and mayo. Loads of chocs and waffles.

Brugges was very laid back place. It is a big tourist place, yet you never get hustled to spend stupid money on stupid stuff, unless you really wanted to. I mean, what sort of tourist place shut all the supermarkets and many shops just because it's Sunday?

There was one of these famous Christmas markets in the market place, around this ice rink, surrounded by blue-purple Christmas tree shaped illumination displays. Everyone had mulled wine and hot chocolate milk in Styrofoam cups, listening to no-ty's semi oldie club classics. It was just perfect.

Now I have a year supply of wine and ready to work through till next holiday. Free cheers all around!

Asking Him Out

Since when it became a norm and a OK thing to ask a man if you are his girlfriend? You have got to be joking telling me that I should have asked every single one of my exes! You don't ask a guy that because he will run for his life!

 

I have only asked this once, and I went through hell. It was only worth it as he is love of my life. But I swore that it was a naive side of me doing unthinkable in youth.

 

Besides, if you have to ask, then there is something wrong with you two. He clearly isn't man enough to be obvious, or just being sloppy and lazy and taking you lightly, or whatever.

 

Nobody ever asked me to be a girlfriend (except for the one I run for my life,) and that was a norm to me. Only one person I knew asked a girl to be his girl friend, and it was a grand gesture by our standard, as she was not giving in, and she was a big deal to him.

 

I am having a hard time accepting that that is what everyone else does. I thought that only happens in kindergarten playgrounds.

I Tell You One Thing

You don't deserve my pathetic attention just because you are bored,

 

You cannot invade into my life and drop me left in the cold yawning for more,

 

I am no masochist and I do know pain,

 

I know my boss and I know when I am in the right,

 

You can't get rid of me just because you got timid,

 

I am still going away and come back and sit still like always,

 

F-off if you will, you are a waste of everything,

 

Leave me alone, you will kill me even if you didn't try,

 

Please, just go away. (And I can never vocalize.)

On the Edge

Knowing a pain in the stomach, think I got an ulcer. Too tired to plan my holiday, too bored to sleep. Oh, my dog's throwing up blood, or something, that's sad, I feel bad.

Feeling totally isolated in the day, it's beyond hatred that is swirling in my head. Why it is always my fault. Why am I the lowest paid person when everbody esle just jerks around doing nothing.

Freezing down to my toes in the night, wearing duvet, wrapped up in furry slippers, still haven't turned the heating on. Saving energy is no act of a greener mind, it's just a bit of joy to get 200 quid back from electricity company every 5 month.

That stupid Nissan Z nearly crashed me against the central reservation, why these expensive cars never have working indicators. Having a BMW doesn't twist your highway code on signaling. Was thrilling to be bound by Cayenne S and Carrera, doing 20M over the limit. It was a near death experience.

What happens if I just went that way? People will all hate me for blocking the slipways, but what esle?

Look at that minced fox on the hard shoulder. Isn't that cold...

Where is My Sleep

Cannot sleep.

Someone took it away from me, because can't see it anywhere near me,

Where is it, I need it, badly,

Someone just help me to knock me unconscious, I need to go to work tomorrow,

I need to act like am a normal human being,

Not this person who struggles to get by,

Who spends every waking moment thinking of trivial things and have fits of malice like a pretentious turrets, shouting bitch to the bitch boss.

Just find me my sleep.

In Dreams

I have been having the most obvious dreams lately, where I was either being yelled at by my bosses, or, trying to get to a date, on a promise, and never make it.

 

I have been terrified of all my bosses, (I am the lowest in the company, so every other person, all 5 of them are my bosses,) and it's natural and so straight forward to be having these dreams.

 

I have always been a victim of rejection and self-pity, so it is rather text book of me to have this sort of dreams; inadequacy.

 

I don't tend to have Salvador Dali's world of dreams. I used to have sandy dreams where everything has texture of sand like things, which gave me goose bumps, but that had stopped ages ago.

 

Then, the other day, I was having a dream that was so real and I was convinced that I was not dreaming. Then I see a cat or dog (cannot remember now) passing by me in a great sun light of early summer, and it caught my attention that it had one leg amputated. But it was walking as if there are 4 legs.

 

Then I bumped into a friend who chose not to communicate with me no longer. He was telling me how his brother left the country to work in a coffee farm in Brazil, and it was making the entire family rather sad. I remembered how much I loved this guy (in reality I so did not) and wanted to hug his sorry shoulder so much but couldn't because I was so afraid that he is going to turn around and tell me how I do not deserve to be his mate.

 

At this point I woke up and realized that it was all dream, and I am late for work, and felt quite puzzled. What does this mean, really? A legless cat or dog, and a guy who refused to acknowledge my existence for some unclear reason? What are these things representing?

 

I have just decided that I was tired and went back to sleep. I then dreamt of my boss and some date.

 

I need a break and a change of scene.

RENT ... Revisited

So, tonight was the opening of London RENT. (Well, according to my boss who thinks who knows all the world of musicals because he is dating a musical producer, it is just a first night of previews. Who cares, it is in fact the first night of its returning to London after it closed its curtain in 2003.) It was supposed to be happening last night but I got a call on my mob around noon, informing that the technical difficulties forced to postpone the shows' opening.

I knew that some day some body will open the big mouth and says,
"Look around, this is no longer at the end of the millennium, and having Latino drag queen in the show is just a stereo typing and a bad publicity."

And, sure enough, RENT is over 10 yrs old, and it can look dated. However, it was never meant to be a classic, and looking timeless was never in the producers' consideration. But it did become classic, and many of us love the show as it was intended. It is not just because Jonathan Larson died and we wanted to have it preserved in his honour.

But, well, because RENT never did massively well in London, they had to give some botox injection to it, like they do shamelessly with CHICAGO. They had to jazz it up, and slut it down.

It was all rather bad from the beginning. I purchased a ticket which included a two course dinner, for £20. And the dinner costs £16 before tax. So, the show ticket was pretty much a give-away.

Then, when I got the theatre there was a guy in front of me at the box office, saying that he only bought one tickets but being handed two instead. He said he doesn't need this but walked away with it anyway. Then the box office says the same to me. Now 1 two course dinner and 2 theatre tickets cost £20. Insane. Why, are they so desperate to give away tickets? It doesn't sound promising.

Show itself was rather disorganised. One cast started with a wrong que, and one forgot a line, one repeated a line. Upper circle audiences had hard time seeing some bits of the show.

They have changed the order of the story and songs completely, and scene settings were so hard to follow. Half of the cast could not sing well so it was hard to hear what they were saying.

Casts were so wrong, too. First of all, Mark was actually very good looking, and hunky. He looked very pumped up with juice. And he was BRITISH!! (Why? Couldn't he hack the American accent, or they thought it would be more convincing for him to speak that way to be Jewish boy from Scarsdale?) And Mimi was NOT Latina and she could hardly sing. And Angel was macho, and bold.

They changed characters so much, that Mark was now creepy, no longer a loveable loser with hidden talent. Angel was undecidedly uncute and was a forcible flirt. I had this urge to figure him out rather than watching him dance around like a Soho go-go boy. He might as well had just a thong on rather than trying to squeeze in 6 inch heels and a skirt. Maureen was not at all sweet but very much of a madam. Mimi lost all the fun factor and looked like a heroine addict from the first moment. (I don't think she has smiled, not even once.)

Maureen was acted by buxom Denise Van Outen, and she really was fabulous, stealing the show completely. But, then again, Maureen is a character that has to be reinvented by actresses every time.  Roger by Luke Evans was unrealistically good, too. He did not look like Roger, but, god, that voice! Not so special to carry lines, but so sensitively crafty when singing. I could just listen to him sing all night.

I know that show is in development and might turn for better. But, as self claimed RENT-head, I must say this show is a disaster, and not even a good experiment. RENT cannot work in this digital era, full of pretension and genericism.

Entire life flashing in front of the eyes...

So, this guy walks in to the pub, and I noticed that he was the guy I used to know in college, whom I have spoken with for total of 2 hrs 5 yrs ago, whose telephone number I did not have, despite the fact everyone had everyone's number in that place.

 

All I recalled up until then was his face and name. I had no interest in him, or his circle of friends, and I was rather happy not knowing him.

 

So this guy walks in, with a girl, and within 3 minutes I just remembered EVERYTING.

 

I remembered where he had his flat.

 

I remembered that he had a family history of diabetes.

 

I remembered that he had a Norwich terrier stolen when he was little.

 

I remembered that everyone at college was talking about his cuts.

 

I remembered that I have never seem him smile.

 

I remembered that he left college before I did.

 

These must have been all the information I have had about him, and I seemed to have recalled them all within 3 minutes.

 

 

Today, an old friend of mine rang the bell and woke me up from the bed of cold. I have not seen this guy for, again, 5 yrs, and I've only known him for about 2 days and 3 nights. He and his friends used to come to my place for free booze.

 

Again, I remembered everything within about 5 minutes. About his family, his sisters, his driving lessons, his friend throwing up in my bathroom, the whole lot.

 

I even remembered the song we all used to sing, "American Woman" after his incidence with an American, whom we all used to avoid for her "quality".

 

American woman, stay away from me
American woman, mama let me be
Don't come hangin' around my door
I don't wanna see your face no more
I got more important things to do
Than spend my time growin' old with you
Now woman, I said stay away,
American woman, listen what I say.

 

5 yrs ago, I had no interest in anyone. In fact, I did my utmost to pay no attention whatsoever to anyone. I was so afraid of getting to know people who will eventually leave me. I was so afraid of hurting people by showing any of my interest in them. And I have succeeded to such an extent I hardly knew anything about anybody in college. And they have all left and I never expected anyone back in my life.

 

Funny how I remembered the things even I didn't know I knew to begin with. Funny how it took only minutes to have them all back flooding to my brain when I can't even remember what I had for dinner last night. Isn't that what happen to old people, is not it the sign of senile, am I heading towards the end?

 

Oh, well, I had this feeling 7 yrs ago, maybe it's a cycle thing.

Luxury of Life

My idea of being well-off is to be able to buy Pantene conditioner every time I need it, instead of mixing them up with Boots Detangle Blue (priced 70p), which is still very, very good but is still a cheap alternative.

I would feel safe and sound if I was able to go to the hairdresser every 10 months, instead of every 15 months, and not forcing myself to live on 7p noodle for next 2 weeks to meet end's need.

It would be rather spoiled of me if I was able to afford a single meal at KFC instead of a family bucket that to be frozen in order to be consumed during the period of next 5 months.

My idea of well-off is NOT £4.10 glass of Merlot, served in a wine glass with some lip-stick on, while munching £3.60 a teacup full of chips served with individual sachets of Heinz ketchup. That is pretty unnecessary and is not my idea of having it in a good way.

I probably am distant to live a life with no silver spoon in my mouth. That's probably why I always hang with people who always make me their mug.

’cause I care

I once wrote in my CV,
"Customer care is my passion,"
and felt so corny writing it. Well, it was actually stating the obvious, and that I never was at ease admitting it; customer care IS my passion.

I slam the phone, bang the keyboard, and yell at the supplier, which all make my work people uncomfortable, I was even told that I am "off" because I do these things. Well, let me tell ya, I am appearing to be annoyed, because I am and you should easily see from this how dedicated I am to these stupid customers who are too lazy to call their phone company themselves.

In fact, I am so emotional when it comes to work and other people, because I am so fuckin' dedicated to each and every one of you. I fuckin' care. (Look how mad you just made me.)

If I don't give a toss about any sod I will be lot calmer and lot happier, at least in appearance. I am only annoyed and mad and pulling my hair out because I care for you. I wish I were like certain you, who just go on about each day, saying,
"It's only work."

It's only work, it's only friend, it's only another fling. I wish I never cared.

My Suckee

As I stand in the kitchen, making up ketchup ramekins with teaspoons stuck in for each table, I hear a voice. It's from Radio2, and I never listen to Radio2. I stand still and listen up, and think that I am paranoia. It cannot be him. How many times do I do this in my life time, totally stunned by ghost of him just because he is so fabulous?

I wrote about this before, how he took my breath away in a first sight after 3 long years of absence. God, I love this guy.

I wonder what it is about him, apart from the face I think is the most mouth-wateringly delicious, and that accent which is so common I can just inhale in every second of my life without having any irritation. How could someone just strike me with a lightning with just showing his face up for a second, or ranting with Jo Brand and still made me come to a complete halt, before I can even start to think it was him.

It is a good thing that I am naff (not dull, but naff) and not looking. Otherwise I would be stalking Mark with all my spare time till he asks for restraining order then I have to quit my job and stalk him at unexpected times.

I am a sucker for Mark and I wold do ANYTHING for this guy just because he stuns me like very first creme buree stunned me. Dreamy, indeed.

Poison, Egoist and Night Flight

This is 2nd of September. 2nd!! Why am I swamped with perfume commercials while watching Frasier weekend??? I refuse, yet again, to be suffocated with smell of festivity while still nauseated in the fume of recently forgotten summer sun.

Perfume ads should be banned, they are potentially murderous.

I Hope Today was the Worst Day of My Life

From 9.30 to 11.30 our supplier kept hanging up on me 6 times in a row,

and when finally got through they asked to speak to a man (because I am his imaginary Mrs.,)

so I handed the phone to my big boss, whom I assume knew the tricks,

and the big boss started panicking and so I told him it's OK, but the call was still hang up,

and the big boss started instant messaging me why I was not reporting him if he did a bad deed causing some trouble, (like I can tell my boss that he messed up because he forgot our conversation of 3 months ago,)

and he went how rude and unsympathetic I was for not telling him anything, kept him hangin' (because I was sorting the mess he caused,)

and he told me to make others aware of my calling to supplier in the future, which I responded I would definitely,

and he repeated that I was rude and that in the future I should be more informative rather than nipping through to kitchen to grab a cup of tea,

I said yes,

and he repeated himself once again,

so I said I won't bother him again with this as it was very difficult to inform him what was going on around my desk,

and he snapped and went on for 20 min how rude I was,

before letting me go so I could call up our supplier for next 5 hrs,

And work mate tells me that it was all my fault that boss snapped,

and the only friend I have there told me that basically I was inhumanly lacking the common sense and that's how I was making everyone around me suffer,

so I apologised to her by saying how sad it was for the company to keep me on, as well as the co-workers to had to tolerate and suffer from me,

and she tells me that is exactly why I have to change,

at which point I called her bitch.

Then after all this I was ready to go home and another guy send a message telling me not to work on my home PC during the work hours,

and I said that it was unavoidable and pre-arranged, and that he didn't have to tell me because I am so upset that my PC is actually broken and that I had no money to replace it.

I went to see a friend and watched JAWS and felt slightly better at last, so said bye-bye to her and went home.

This bloody red Micra was blocking my driveway, which was my pet-peeve as well as illegal,

nobody came out after me honking,

so I had to park on the kerb, blocking next door's drive way.

Next door came home and so I went out to apologise, and he suggested that I could still park if I squeeze through a tree and a brick wall.

Now, I am not a novice driver and I know if I can squeeze into things or not pretty well. In fact that's how I never scratched my car before. My car only bares the sand scratches from hard driving on motorways.

But this neighbour guy insisted to assist me, and I had to trust him rather than my judgement.

My brain said it was not going to work but he kept telling me to go,

and I heard this BAD noise.

He still said to go, in spite of my protest, and so I went, and there was even bigger noise.

Now this guy was kneeling down besides my car, clearly not looking pink,

I kept asking if it was scratched and he wouldn't answer.

I got out and there was this huge dent and scratch on the side. He said there was a brick sticking out from the wall (dah!) and I went OMG for 5 times before going into pieces and began sobbing. This guy then actually run away.

I did not enjoy today. It was Gazpacho Soup day bad. I haven't felt this shitty for a long time, and certainly never for all day long. Someone so miserable like I am should not deserve the day like this because it is pushing one to the edge. I rather have petite misery every day for whole month than having this again.

Please.

Are You Being Served?

I remember the first time I stepped into THE department store. The rotating glass doors were followed by costumed guards who told tourists to take the satchels off their back, then letting them to walk to hugely elaborated displays of the finest merchandise. It was a dream land. I especially loved the food court, with headless pheasants and pigeons in cold cases, with wall full of selections of wines, champagne and shelly. I loved the tea and coffee department, too. The clerks would let you sniff the tea leaves out of huge green tins, by taking out some onto the lid of the tin. They carried those tins like they are dancing with them.

It has been over 15 years ago. I went back there 10 years ago, and the place was already changing. The dreamy atmosphere was fading away. It was getting a bit common. But the tea and coffee department was surprisingly preserved in time, with this very English clerk looking professional and efficient. I ordered teas out of big green tins and he carried the tins to me, letting me sniff them, and tossing lids to weight out 100g of Flowery Earl Grey. He called me madam and I was still in teens.

I went back there once a year and the same clerk was serving me tea leaves for years.

One year, I decided that I want to buy morning tea, so asked for a bag of Morning Kick. The clerk came to me with the tin, and weighed 100g of leaves out, and put the label on the bag, then handed the bag with usual classy air, saying,
"Here is your Morning Fuck, madam."

That clerk has since gone, possibly to some other department, and I do miss him so much. The department store is really quite common and touristy now, feels like he took that dreamy air with him, leaving me totally served...

Blue Velvet

As standing in front of the office having a cigarette because it is no longer legal to smoke around people who don't smoke,

 

one gazed into a sea of tiny gravels in colours such as mocha, coral, Dover white, slate blue and nightly black,

 

and saw a piece of greyish white chunk but decided that it is a piece of really dry wood.

 

It stood out still on the corner of the eye because it was lot larger and in the different texture, appearing to be lighter in weight,

 

with unspeakably eely air to it that possibly came from the colour of grey which simmered into the piece.

 

One leaned forward to observe the piece with a cigarette still in one hand with its smoke blowing into the eyes,

 

and through those squinting eyes one sees that the piece is a partial animal bone cracked and showing its sponge like inside.

 

With much hesitation one picks up rather large piece and try to determine the age and origin of the bone.

 

One wonders if the gravels were a scheme to a perfect crime,

 

someone being dried and cracked by a hammer,

 

broken down into millions of pieces before scattered in front of every office in U.K.,

 

safely hidden up until the law changed forcing every cigarette butt sucker to come out and wonder their eyes into the gravels in front of them,

 

and gaze into the odd ones out,

 

those odd coloured, obviously-not-stone substances,

 

those sad looking pieces of someone,

 

wanting to tell stories, or wanting to be left alone.

 

The bone was put back into the gravels, to join the rest of the body.

 

See you again on next break.

Why Not

I remember this TV ad provoking audiences to do something out of ordinary. Not outrageously, but ever so slightly. It urged you to overdress for work.

 

One of the hardest things in day-to-day lives is, to wake up and pick up clothes to get the hell out of the door. I wake up in the morning, feeling like death, and barely manage to feed my dog, brush my teeth and then I have to get dressed. I have to do this every day. And Doing it every day does not come to me naturally at all.

 

I have an entire drawer dedicated to black clothes in all sorts of fibres, and that's where I reach first thing in the morning. Then I end up looking like Elvila or Vampira, a little moaner, or a goth secretary, or whatever takes your fancy.

 

By the third day of the week I get colour impaired, so I have to do colours. I go spectacular range of colours, yellow tops with pink skirt, with white socks, or whatever. I don't care if that's appropriate for work. I don't care if I partially blind the accountant by wearing a 60s red wool dress, or make people wonder what composes my coverage by wearing 3 different tops in one go. I don't care, because I am in absolute belief that nobody is looking at me with personal attention.

 

Call me adventurous, call me tasteless, call me ugly, call me original, call me loud, call me unique, call me whatever you call me. Why not.

Thank You, My Love

My Olivia has passed today at the great age of 16. She was my dear friend who went through thicks and thins right beside me. I loved her from the moment she came through my Baltimore apartment door, being a chunky little yorkie who had good heart and mind.

I thank her for everything she did and was. A truely beautiful dog in every way.

Thank you for everything. Love you, and sleep well. Say hello to Mandy for me.

2 yrs Today

The price for an ounce of happiness, was 2 years of absolute hell which tailed right after. It is something of the vicinity of you asking for a pink bon-bon, of which joy lasts for 3 minutes, and then you fall in to a diabetic coma for next 8 months.

Price of happiness is shot high, not even a comparison to the property values in London. That joy mashed me down to particles and I was high and dry, waiting to be blown off by the gash of wind.

"How other people were surviving,"

the dehydrated mind of mine was thinking,

"...in this mean world full of malice?"

The hatred was the first thing formed me back into human form. It was unhealthy but was better than nothing. Just knew that I was in the right and thus hated the ones in the wrong. Sense of justice was making me a bitter thing while I was reconstituting into breathing life.

I am OK now. I shouldn't be but I am. I still hate them. I still am angry. But I am OK. Never wanting happiness though. Anyone trying to make me happy has no business in my life because I will never trust one.

Happy 2 years anniversary. I wish you burn in hell.

Assumption is...

I was born under self-pitying stars. Us stingers are destined to sob in every corner of our lives and say,

"Why, why me? Nobody ever understands me!"

I am, very much, like that, but hate imposing the wrong "ass-u-me" on people. Fair enough, I am devil in a penguin disguise, any sod will not take me as serious and useful, but rather as creepy and weird. But that does not suggest me that you don't get me.

Being misunderstood is kind of a luxury. You can take an advantage of such situations. It is all about human psychology, and disguise is a useful tool when it comes to manipulating others.

Then, again, it can be the source of self-pitying, in some occasions. For instance, people decidedly call me a jumpy paranoia, who look at the half empty glass and put up defence walls all around me. I get accused for blowing up bad stories done to me because I jump to conclusions.

There is a difference between pointing facts out and assuming what other people think. If you are being a bully, I'd say,

"I think you are mean because you did this and that,"

I am merely pointing out what you practiced, not that I am assuming that you hate me. You being not nice to me is not making me to whip up a conclusion you don't want to hear or admit.

Yes, I was ignored by them bitches at work, and yes, they were loud and not working, and yes, one of them forgot to tell me what he was supposed to do and made me pay a few hundred extra quid to cover it up, and yes, I filed the complaints because he was not listening to me. Under those circumstances, did I ever say that them bitches hate me? No. Even though I REALLY do have to think they must dislike me, I NEVER said they did. You do NOT guess what's going on in others' head.

Assumption is a mother of all fuck-ups. It really is. Face the music, and eat the reality. (Tough!)

a Few of Your Favourite Things

You know how you fantasise about having something, and you just want it more and more over a long period of time, and the idea of having it becomes some sort of obsession. Then one day, out of blue, or after making so much effort, it becomes yours. Then you just think, that, it is not as good as you thought it would be. "IT" can be anything. Can be a puppy, can be killer jeans, can be being size 0, can be your love, can be about living in City.

I am quite obsessive over materials, facts and figures, as well as theories, hypothesis and phenomena. I like ideas. And I like collecting things. I am a geek and am unique and proud of it.

When growing up, I was obsessively wanting to drive. It was not a short running dream, but rather a life long plan to be achieved one day.

It took years before I finally even set off to take lessons. My plan of "things to do before 30" was not at all going well, I did not buy a second hand mini when I was 25. I knew since 1990 that new "BIG" mini was coming out at around 2000, and I wanted to be prepared for it, by having a second hand mini for a couple of years, but I didn’t make it.

When preparing for the driving test people asked me what is the first thing I’d do after passing. I always said,
"Am going to garden centres, one after another. And will probably go midnight shopping in ASDA"

And that’s exactly what I was fantasising to do. Stindgy, but not from practicality. These are the things that represented the freedom to me. The joy of going to garden centres is strictly forbidden by any of my friends and such. The pleasure of cruising around in ASDA past midnight, looking for a carton of tomato juice only to go back to display fridge for a fresh one, only belongs to myself, none other.


When I finally passed, and started driving, it was not unlike what I thought it would be. It was actually better. The feeling of freedom, the fact I can hop to garden centres any time, and go to ASDA on a minute notice, not coming back till the trolley was filled with booze and veggies and meat. Then the driving extended to 20 mile range, 40 mile range and before long I was going to places 250 miles away.

Joy of freedom. Or, perhaps, the word "freedom" might be a wrong choice, because that word has touch sense of being positive and having your competitive sense fulfilled. What I feel is rather like "sense of detachment". How lovely feeling that is. Not wanting to want anybody, and not needing to realize not being wanted. I don’t even need a 2.0L car to ensure that feeling. I don’t need to go 200 mph to keep remembering that I am driving. All I need is a road, so I can keep going, leading straight to that high contrast sky, out of everyone’s sight, into my fantasy world.

Being Mrs. Such and Such

I have been married a lot of time. Working in a call centre and part of my job is to proxy some dumb customers with loads of stash means to pretend being some people I have never met. One thing I cannot pretend is the sex, so naturally I tend to end up being their Mrs. so and so. I had to come up with excuses of himself not calling, such as;

"My husband is on a business trip to Europe and not returning to UK for another 3 weeks. Are you saying that I have to be stuck in the house without phone service and internet for that long?"

"I have a friend in the area so I am staying here for a few days, but we are not actually living in this area yet, and my husband is not even in this country."

blah, blah, blah...

I am a big fat liar, and that's how our business works.

Every time I become Mrs. Such and Such I feel so dreadful and cynical. Hate the whole institute of marriage. I never wanted to get married, and I never will. Even fictitious marriage makes me feel drained. And every time I come across strong, as if to say,

"Yes, I can ask you to do this for him because he is my husband and I have his consent."

I am laughing in my head. Since when being Mrs. gives anyone any right that has anything to do with any man? Being married to the guy should not give one any power against certain phone company to skip credit checks and go ahead with 12 months contract. It is just absurd.

(Why even be with you? I have no right towards you, your life, and your schedule. You cannot need me. You are you.)

Business as always.  Illusions make good money.

Love That Chi-Chi

Wouldn't intentionally cyber stalk them, I find that disturbing. If I find something by accident, then, I let them know I did. If you give me a link, that's another story, though.

 

Love that chi-chi, and them cat-fish.

 

Actually, I remember the first time I found someone I knew on Wiki. That was crazy. He was a total arse and I hated that guy. I found him after trying to reach some old friend who moved to the same town I was in. Wiki?? What a geek.

 

Then I found another one. He was like, super famous, but I never believed him. He was this creepy guy with some fucked up head with serious problem and was not charismatic like he always made himself sound like. Wiki?? Seriously.

 

Well, hope they are OK. Haven't seen neither of them for a while now.

Decadence

I think it is a complete madness that you are able to check up on your next date on the internet, listening to interviews and read reviews, references in Wiki and all that. Girlfriend, that's just wrong, you got to stop and re-think the whole thing, before putting on that plunge bra and stiletto, with layers of lip gloss and powder cheek, then dashing out of the door. That's what groupies do, isn't that?

R.I.P. Edward

I will miss you Eddy, so very much. Not that I loved having you because you were like the symbol of my well being, but because I just love and admire your work. You are the pop prince of the classicals, you always have been and always will be. Having said that, your work is never tacky and gimmicky, it just is easily absorbable harmony of spirits. Adam Smith is like my mum's hero, and he will never take me fancy. I was grateful to the culture which honoured you in the way it did till to-day. You will phase out gradually, they say, and I will probably toast to every minute of the time you will be around by putting on the Enigma Variation.

 

R.I.P. Edward Elgar on twenty pound notes.

This is How Road Rage Happens

You are fed up after feeling pushed and punished so much. You are not even blaming anyone else because you feel at a fault, and feel apologetic to everyone in your life, and you are fed up because you cannot apologize any more and started to feel sorry for your helpless self.

 

One day, you sat in the office feeling absolutely paranoia because someone told you a long time ago that you were hated everywhere you went, and it certainly seemed like that way at that precise moment; everyone else was chatting so happily; the quieter you got the happier they chatted, or so it seemed like to your paranoia eyes.

 

You just want to go home, to sleep, rather than sitting one more minute through amongst a person who puts "sh" in every "six" and a person who's dress sense is of Irma La Douce's, tittering together at top of their voice over some TV shows you cannot watch because your Sky is a goner. You overload your work hoping to feel numb and deaf.

 

You are officially overworked, and very, very tired but have to drive to go home.

 

Then you set off to a M road, in unusually congested traffic. Everyone was cutting in front of you without indicating, swaying lanes left to right, and you just are keeping eyes on the road trying not to kill anyone including yourself.

 

Then there goes this lorry. This ONE, BIG, STUPID LORRY WITH A PICTURE OF A NAKED WOMAN IN NOTHING BUT A THONG!!!!!!!!! There was no trick there, it was not a picture that looks like a naked woman but not, but it really was. It was not even a drawn picture to exhibit playfulness of the driver, but it was a photo of advertisement. Photo of a woman from behind WITHOUT her face showing, with a logo of some legit company. Oh, and this lorry was clever enough to be PC with a photo of naked guy in a boxer shorts on the side (in much smaller scale, coincidentally.)

 

You began see your views filled with red, FAST. Your brain was swamped with the darkest fantasies similar to the scenes "DUEL", "Thelma & Louise" and "North by Northwest". Then more scenes from "Matrix Reloaded", "The Island " and "I, Robot". You want to turn into a monster truck and run over the lorry, while untangling the chains to discharge mega giant iron rollers to crush the lorry alongside the gigantic bazooka or that sort blowing the lorry into pieces.

 

Now, this is how it's done. Now, this is how Britons are full of red.

Job Interviews and Dating

I think I am getting really good at job interviews. Of course, had a few interviews which are so disastrous and I rather die than talking about them, but it is my general view to see them as valuable experiences than embarrassing memories. Practice makes it perfect.

 

The more interviews I have, the more I feel the similarities between job interviews and dating scenes. I mean, you attend both in best possible make-up, clothes and smile, hoping to give the best (may not be the real) impressions of yourself. You are never sure if you'd get it before attending either. You always have some expectations for being rejected from both. In such an event, you tell yourself that they are the losers and it's their loss for not wanting you and you are so much better than them.

 

The only difference is that with job interviews I feel there is next one, while with dates I don't. It is not like I go on a date with such a desperations and love to give. In fact I cannot remember one date I went on thinking that I hope I'd get this, while I went on almost all the job interviews thinking I want it.

 

I cannot help but to wonder why dates are harsher rejections than job interviews are to me. I am pretty sure there is another date in every corner ahead of me, though yesterday's interview might have been for the best possible job for me. Why I can get better at job interviews, feeling more and more confident each time, and get totally chickened out with any shadow of date?

 

Another job interview tomorrow.

Getting Lost in Central Park

I went to N.Y. once, years ago. On the first night I had my first (and probably the last) keg party. I shared a room in a hostel with a lesbian couple, and next morning I had a few hours to kill before heading to the Grand Central.

 

I don't remember how I met this guy, it must have been in the hostel over a dry toast and a cup of coffee. Or was it at the path in the park? Did I ask him to show me the rocks? I really can't remember, but I recall that he was taking a walk with me in the Central Park.

 

This guy was a British in America, living a new found life, being really British and making tons of friends, or so he claimed. (I didn't buy this at all, since he was talking to ME.) Within a few minutes I was more or less convinced that this guy was trying to get me to a cult / self discovery seminars, or similar. He was on and on about how he re-discovered himself in US by attending these meetings or lectures. I really, really wanted to leave him but I had no idea how to get out of the park without getting lost, making it on time for my train to Chicago.

 

He was telling me that he knows this lovely spot full of roses, which was near by a gate close to the subway station. I knew he was delusional, since it was in early April and there still was chill in the air. But I had no choice but to follow him. I kept some distance away from the guy and was ready to leg it any second, yet following the guy who was desperately looking for roses.

 

He never found the spot, and he did show me to the station, and nothing bad did happen. I just was left with quite a bad impression regarding Britons who are living in the US. Funnily enough, he was the first and last real British I met in US during my short US life. People's prospects for British things & people were fairly biased and twisted, always dusted in pink powdered sugar. People just loved British anything.

 

Ignorance is bliss, for better or worse. History and common sense are all about what they believe.

Thoughts When Being On the Pole

Nothing excites me.

 

The thought of new things don't tickle my heart.

The thought of new people don't tap my fancy.

The thought of people cheating death don't even shake my nerves.

 

The feelings for you don't excite me any more.

The feelings for you have disappeared.

The feelings for you were never there.

 

All I recall is the anger.

The anger never last into oblivion.

The love remains only in the form of memory.

 

Sweet things used to make me excited.

Wrong doing used to make me aggravated.

Superb thing used to make me inspired.

 

Sarcasm is another thing.

Brain is yet another.

And there was always the one.

 

I like you, yeah, you are nice, yeah, just like every body else.

 

What a waste of life, can't even be average, can't even fantasise.

 

Monday is blue, Sunday is bluer, Friday is blur.

 

The week is starting. This is the beginning of next 5 years. Precarious.

I Might As Well Blame It On the Postman

I got bollocking from my big boss because I screwed up a shipping arrangement for one of his personal friends. It was a simple clicking mistake (damn Mac mouse) which never happened to me till this THE essential customer/personal business mate. Shite.

 

In my experience, 3 out of 5 times my packages get lost or gone somewhere, and it's the sales departments' cock-up, nothing else. Do I ever complain? No, never. If I wanted my stuff in reasonable time at my door, then I will pay extra shipping fee before I start yelling down the phone.

 

I mean, today I had to take a WHOLE day off to wait for certain satellite company engineer to show up. I lost all my TV channels because something happened to my dish or the box back in Dec. This company didn't even bother expressing the service for me, and made me wait whipping 3 weeks for this appointment, which was not time-slotted, so I had to be in the house ALL day.

 

The engineer guy comes around and  took one or two looks and said that he can't do anything because of snow. He then went out to make a call to his company, and disappeared. My phone rang, informing that I need to book another WHOLE day appointment, which is available in first week of March. WHAT??

 

I asked the satte-TV company person that if they are seriously suggesting me to wait over 2 months to have ANY telly back? (My place and my TV does not work with terrestrial channels) and they say they will refund the fee back, as if that is their almighty magic phrase.

 

This satte-TV company screwed up my broadband order, too, and I am waiting for its delivery for over 2 months now. This is just ridiculous. I work for IT and if I made anyone wait 2 weeks I get barked up my derriere and I develop an ulcer. I screwed up one shipping arrangement and I was tormented all day by email, ON MY DAY-OFF.

 

Honestly. That satte-TV company should re-train all their sales and technical staff, or them Arabic satellite company will kick their sorry arse out of this hemisphere.

Saved by the Nigritude

I am absolutely determined to quit my job. I simply cannot afford to be ridiculed and made feel crap of a human being for 4.50 quid an hour. I am sick of being treated like that pretty pewter mug everyone want to have in one corner of the pub but nobody wants to use it because it will either dent or will be not good for actual drinking or, even, because nobody knows what it is for. Really, if you polish it the pewter is still very much practical and nice in hand!

 

So I have been looking for my 3rd job, which will be my 2nd as soon as I Adios that horrible ale pub. Found a few, and got an interview booked. OK, I know that place so won't be tough to cook up something to chat nicely in the interview. I am fairly confident. Just by knowing how to drive to there is more than half way to scoring the interview.

 

So, I got off at the Winnersh Triangle and headed back to Wokingham. It was quite busy and I only had 4 min to be there, which was more or less enough minutes, unless...

 

That unless came and hit my nerve about 3.5 minutes later. The shop was gone!

 

I drove like mad and went up and down the A329. I was clearly late. I was so confident I didn't even have the phone number of the interviewee. Damn, damn, I began swearing in 2 piece suites and mid heeled shoes, cursing at the Citroen in front of me.

 

I went around like I never did before, going through heavily wooded areas and small bridges, and suddenly saw a sign. The sign said the name of the place. It was odd. One tiny shop in Wokingham moved to this woods and doing what?

 

I followed the sings and went past this enormous facility, looking quite grim, with trails of cars going in and out (mostly out.) I drove another 3 minutes and thought,

 

"Nah, this is ABSOLUTELY middle of nowhere, I got to get back."

 

and went back to this facility. It was dark, and odd as so many, many cars coming out in such a hurry.

 

Turned out, it was actually the right place. And the entire place was dark, due to the power cut. I was asked to wait in the darkness with one or two emergency pilot lamps on, for about 10 minutes. I saw shadows of patrons walking about in gym kits and chatting to apologetic staffs. I could feel the cooling steamy air from wherever the speciality rooms were. I was sitting on a must-have-been-posh-in-light looking settee in a large reception room, waiting for the interviewee to show up.

 

I was, in fact, 26 minutes late for the interview. There was no way I would have been picked for the job if that was in normal days. But, no, not today, not in the total power loss. Not in the severest weather day in 15 years. I was, at last, nicely asked to come back later. This, I agreed more than enthusiastically.

 

London was stormed through, lost some lives and lost many cars and spent so many driving time on M25. Berkshire lost power and I gained another chance. I really do hope that this is not the beginning of 7 signs.

 

Sign 2, Daraness gets another job interview. 

Sign 3, the great river turns red.

Conspiracy Theory

I was discussing with work people about conspiracy theories and unconfirmed theories. I am not big fan of these stories and I rather choose to ignore unknown "maybes" than being scared of my neighbour secretly controlling the universe while orgasming to Easter eggs.

But my work people were all up for devoting themselves to infinity of possibilities such as some portion of entire human population consisting from reptile like creatures, and even the rest of apparently non-reptile like humans are actually aliens from outer planet.

"I don't see how we possibly evolved into what we are today without having aliens as our fathers and mothers back in 100 B.C."

was our company director's saying, (yes, I work for a company run by a guy who doesn't buy Darwin's theory.) and I was wondering if us evolving from aliens is more likely than us deriving from an ameba.

That is like saying,

"Oh, I think Coleslaw is the gift given to us by aliens. I don't see how possibly some human came up with the idea of it!!"

(Coleslaw is, truly, without a doubt, one of the best inventions in human history.)

I once read a story where there was an empire, with far advanced technology and philosophy than what we currently have, could have existed million years ago. Their citizens are very much like the slugs of our time. They developed so fast to so high standard, they quickly managed to invent the weapon to wipe out the entire empire in one go, shortly before they started their world war, subsequently led to extinction as a result of it. Because they were slugs like, they left no evidence of their existence apart from their architecture such as sphinx and pyramid.

Now, that's a story. As much as we lack the evidence of them existing, we equally lack the evidence of them never existing. I like that. It's dreamy. Melting slugs are lot better than reptile like creature dominating powerless humans.