This is How it is

This year has been a very interesting one. I am writing this now because the situation has been touch and go, and I really wouldn't want the whole thing to turn worse in next 10 days or so. I want the situation to come to a halt, if not becoming better.

Things are far from peaceful. It is like this; non-stop struggle, tear, blood and sweat for days on end, and then a hint of ecstatic joy. Not a good mixture on an impending schizo. Very confusing time. It is like getting showered with bad news of credit crunch, then realize that is only bringing down your mortgage payment.

 

This year has been all about self-hating, as a result of betrayal. I feel rotten, and so small, and all of my attempts to ease the problem, for myself and for others around me, have backfired and hurt me seriously, hence made myself unbearable to the others. 2 people came into my life, took insurmountable amount of things away from me this year. One took so much money, trust, and love from me, and the other took my time, care and what was left of my dignity. Now I feel like a new person. I have now lost all that I had on me like layers of padding, being left barebuttnaked.

 

I now am so afraid that if I go anywhere near any other human being, it will have some distinctive affect on all parties involved, in a hideously negative way. Thus, naturally, am retreating. I feel that something has ended.

 

Now, that sounds all negative and dull, but it had to be done because this is the only thing I can do to get to you, and you know who you are. You deserve nothing but a criminal charge against you. I know you don't give a damn, and that's fine. I know it will all get back to bite your arse. I am only doing this so you won't be able to glamorise the whole affair for your enjoyment.

 

There are so many things happening, even though I am not moving a nudge. There is a sense of change. If an era ended, I guess another is coming this way, and that's probably why I am hoping for a pause, because the new beginning is a scary thing. I am beginning, somewhat unwillingly, to set off to something which looking to me right now like a vast white ocean, essentially on my own. Cheers.

Let Us Eat Pie

There was a rugby match on. They are going to get trashed and customers were not happy. It's too noisy and I had no place to park with my sarny. Paul's watching the game and I couldn't be bothered to bug him while fat boys yell at lumpy players in white and red uniforms.

 

Shall I just chug a lager in the corner while munching prawn mayo on brown? I stood in the bar and frowned. Was it a 1 wonderful idea to do that before driving back to home? I was sure Paul would find that a liability. Um, not that I cared about that.

 

It was a funny day. More than half of people ordered steak and ale pies, one of which gave me a French lesson, then so many people had Banoffee pies for the afters. It was not that cold, that day, but you could smell the winter in the air. I bet all of these people got up in the morning and felt like brisk walks in woods, before coming to us for hearty pies and tooth melting banana pies. If it wasn't for the free sarny, I would have done the same.

 

No, actually, no, I still would. Why don't I just stuff my face with cream and banana, to sooth weeping soul of mine. I turned to my boss and said,

"Hey, boss, would you give me a giant cup of tea, if I buy your famous Banoffee pie?"

He replied,

"Hey, why don't you work for a bit longer and I will buy you the pie. In that way I get to watch Chelsea play"

 

Deal. Done and sealed. I mentally shook his hand and stayed for 30 min.

 

Rugby viewers were getting quiet. Well, RSA was good. Even I knew that. And boss was long gone. I guess Chelsea was kicking some arse to lose Liverpool for good.

 

In the end I sat down with a piece of pie filled with browned condensed milk and cream with some bananas, and was weeping from the eyes with joy. The pie was SO sweet and nevertheless mind numbing, my soul was now laughing.

 

Paul snuck up on me and stood by me, looking smilingly at my ecstatic face, and muttered something about the match. Then said,

"So, you had a row with your mother?"

"Ohh, yessir, I hate my mum."

"Oh no, you don't."

 

Thus it went. Anyway. It was nice of him. It was a lovely afternoon over all. What a difference a pie and a pal make. Thank ya all.

No!!

I can't go on, I had enough, this shouldn't be the way, I just want to forget everything, just want to go away, why am I ill and why should I be penalized for it, am having a worst month of this year and it's tough and who fuck cares its already tomorrow, fuck my boss, fuck the economy, fuck the lottery and fuck my flatmate, fuck my ex, fuck. Just fuck off.

Yes!!

"Don't you ever get tired of bitching about that work you hate so much? Why don't you just quit your job and get a new one if you are that unhappy?"

Well, my mum did not raise me to be a quitter, but did raise me a moaner. I can complain but I won't quit. Quitters are worse than losers. I can continue to be a loser but will not quit being a loser.

But, hey, maybe, just maybe, that IS the answer. Maybe I should just quit. I HATE my job. I hate my life while working that job. I HATE my bosses and everyone around them, and I HATE the fact they all hate me and that I am making them do that.

YES! I am moving. I am going to the states. Sorry, US, you have to take this scum of puss of inhumanbeing because UK had enough of it. YES, I am coming, it's decided!!

Deny Me and Be Doomed

So I sat my friend down, basically told him that it is not his business to say whether I am closed up or not. It is absolutely none of his business to tell me to get out and get laid, when I am saying that I don't want to.

I added to say that I have a right to remain boarded up after everything I went through, hoping for him to have full knowledge of my history and episodes. At this point he chose to tell me that my shit is nothing worse than anybody else's, and since everybody else moves on (to get laid) instead of stalling and mope, I should be doing so, too.

Ohh, OK. You went to the place you should never have. You just said my mental break downs and years of malfunctioning is just me over-reacting. You have just defended all my exes (of all-sorts) and told me to move on like a normal human-being. You have disregarded half of my life in 3 seconds.

"I cannot believe you just said that, you are supposed to be my good friend!! How could you say that I didn't go through enough shitty situations to be like this?"

I yelped.

"That's not what I said. Why do you always focus on negatives?"

He protested. I don't care any more. The damage is done. You went too far.

This is exactly why I don't have a friend. This is EXACTLY why I am alone. Go on, deny me, entertain me, be doomed. Just do it.

Well, Here is the Thing...

So my friend is trying to hook me up with the electrician who comes around to our place to fix things now and then. The electrician guy is really nice (personality-wise, not rear section-wise, according to my friend,) but is 14 years my senior, has 3 kids and divorced, then went in and came out of long term relationships. This is what I call the "bad on paper" type. My friend is really pushing me towards this guy, and although I am thankful for the attention (D is single, she is a nice person and deserves a really nice guy!) I have to stop and wonder if this is all flattering that my good friend is picking THIS guy, while really hoping for us to happen.

 

So, yeah, electricians make good money,

and apparently he is looking,

and he is dead nice.

 

I have to stop and wonder if I am being a stuck up here. And I have to think if my friend is just simple, and gullible, to determine his niceness after knowing him for 45 minutes. Should I be grateful for this??? Why can I not have someone who is not second or third hand? Why is THIS guy supposed to be the very best, so much so my good friend could barely contain the excitement when "we" are on the subject???

 

Kinda pissed here.

Over

So our pub has finally joined the rest of 34 pubs a week closures in the UK. It was a tiny part of English history. We are losing pubs, and government and NHS would put other things before this tradition of the country. Well, that's fine, I guess that's healthy.

 

We are down to almost nothing in the end. The pub was sold to the Asian folks who would take it over and change it to a posh curry house. They did not want to take stocks over, so basically everything had to go. Fosters 2 quid, no bitter, no diet Pepsi, quid a shot if we have it.

 

Everyone said, "Oh that is a shame," what else would anyone say? People just stayed for hours like a lingering odour. What else do you want to do in a lazy Sunday afternoon in a pub that's closing down forever in a few hours?

 

Girls were exchanging phone numbers. I got a few, too. And some more from customers (sorry but I will never call you.) Girls were making promises to keep in touch, I am well aware they will never been met. I hugged a couple of them good bye, because I liked them well enough, even though I was fairly sure that one of them was hitting on me.

 

Daughter of the owner and her friends came, ate ice cream, had some wines, and eventually left. It really was getting to be over.

 

I sat down with the owner, with a glass of red, in a semi darkness, I was crying because I was grateful to be there at that moment. It is a shame, and we must move on, and I will remember that moment fondly, because it was part of us, that was on the way out, complete out.

 

Good bye FOX. Thanks for everything.

Trippin’ Mug

So I was on a holiday of a life time with a person who meant so much to me. I took a loan and took this holiday, it was a symbolic trip and meant a new start for both of us.

 

After the landing I was paying for drinks, sandwiches, and tickets, soon I realized that I had not seen his purse for a while (let's just call it a purse when is carried by such a wuss.) In fact I had not seen his purse since we have left the city. I mean, yeah I made him come out for the trip, and yes, I have promised him a good time, but don't you even pretend to take it out when the bill arrives at the table?

 

What was increasingly annoying was that this guy had no hesitation whatsoever each time we sat down for a little break. First thing he asked for was a pint, followed by a full sized portion of local cuisine.

 

I was too happy, in fact, to complain. I was in an over-blissfully ignorant state even for my own goodness. He carried on spending my borrowed money. I carried on looking after him everytime he craved for goodies. Anyway, it was too late to back off then, we were already out there, what was I supposed to do?

 

I sort of knew that he had been lying to me every damn day leading up to the trip, so he can squeeze some milk out of me. The milk here being dough, rather than honey juice. I knew his mates were calling me sugar-mommy. I knew his friends looked at me and him thinking,

"You've done well, son. If you tolerate this creature while holding her hands for more than 30 sec and telling her she is a beautiful person, then you deserve nothing but these gifts!"

 

He cooed me and conned me, tricking me into thinking that it would lead to some future. After all, there was a matrimony involved, and I did not think anyone whisper love and promises with such a little regards to reality. I just thought that he was using all of my money, because he was planning to pay me back when we start this new life we have been talking about. He is going to graduate and will get some job he loves and enjoy, then we will have life together where he will be looking after me without breaking into MY savings all the f-in' time.

 

But, you know, told ya so, I am a mug. It was not even a month after the trip things started to deteriorate. As soon as I began saying that I was skint he started to leg it. It was beautiful. He exited SO fast, I thought it was a gash of wind. I was left completely shattered because it was all my fault. I've let him, AND myself to do this. There is no word to describe my stupidity.

 

Admitting one's own defect, I still don't understand why they (yes, THEY, not one) seem to come to ME? Why don't ya go up to some rich lady with better assets and all? I don't have any money. You must get sick kick out of torturing half broke person with certifiable mental problems. I am too broken to even know what I am thinking any more. I have not recovered from tortures after another and I am simply a malfunctioned marionette . Swing me around, why don't you?

 

Swiiiiiing.......! (Ka....ching!!)

The Reasons I am Pretty

My boss was telling me how pretty I am by citing following reasons;

I have an exotic look,

I have long, flowing, dark hair,

I have them eyes that are dead give away of where my blood is from.

 

OK, none of them is complimenting to me. Basically my boss was super positively discriminating me and pointing out that I am not normal looking, and will always be the outsider of the community. That I am an alien. If some people find these deficits attractive then that's repulsive to me as they clearly have acquired tastes and I am just their flavour of the moment, till the next one. And the hair? Does anyone EVER actually say a person is attractive because that person decided to grow a body wool for longer than others? And again, it is hugely depending on the taste of whether you like long hair or not, and it is NOTHING to do with attractiveness I may or may not possess.

 

My boss meant well, but that talk made me feel just tad worse than I was feeling, which was basically nawt. Back to square nil, and I am pretty,

pretty contained,

the glass is almost full of air.

It Sucks to be Single

"A table for 1 please."

I said so to this little guy. He, who was barely 5' tall, in return pulled this face, which he has pulled a couple hundred times on daily basis it now has become the second nature to him, said to me,

"Oh, I am afraid it will be at least 15 min wait."

 

Not only it was so sad to dine out on Friday night on your own, but also you had to have the fact you are Solo Absolut rubbed in all over your face by the corporate franchise restaurants who don't supply small tables for singletons.

 

"You are welcome to sit at the bar if you like?"

 

I glanced down my watch, and sighed quietly. If I waited for 15 minutes, the happy hour will be well over. I wouldn't dare say that to the little man. Today's the day I learn that you need to be more than 1 to have privileges to the happy hour.

 

"Yeah, that's fine. I am starving and I need to eat."

which was actually true. I have been so frail for over a week now, feeling uncontrollably unwell, I needed a sturdy meat dish for the Friday night so I could go on the weekend of non-stop working.

 

The only place available at the bar was the far end corner where all you can smell was the air freshener from the bathroom. I am not sure which is worse to have around food and drink; smell of urinals, or the toilet ducks.

 

I had my meal, with a pint of shandy, and went home. The meal was OK, and it was a nice, calm evening for a change, and I was in a mood for a good film while finishing half empty bottle of an Australian merlot. Then the door bell rang. It's only 10.30pm, who could that be? I only have a coked up skunk who likes to bother me at 3am, but not before midnight.

 

But it was.

 

It sucks to be single. Everyone thinks it's OK to put me in the smelly corner to dine, and it's acceptable to ask for free milk out of me when I really, really need to sleep so I can make a living. ....He was so out of it I couldn't even tell him that I am in love with him. So I just threw him out instead. He came back though. I had to slam the door couple of times in his face.

 

It sucks to be single, and, yes, I love it so much I will never give it up. All the freedom, discount in commiseration, free violence, full of drama and not a care in the world. You know, all that jazz.

A Random Night in N1 0AX

"And I got a girl friend at the minute,"
so he says. Well, I wasn't asking. I am not here to beg you to take me back, and I am not here to ask you why you asked me to email you and never returned any of them when I did. I am not here to ask you why you have ended things with me, and I am really not interested what you are up to. I am only here to hear you sing.

He was so bloody nice about it. If a guy says a hi to an old flame and be that nice, then I have to say that is a gift. I guess that is exactly why none of his hundreds of exes ever killed him. That is an applause worthy talent.

And by telling me about his new flame, he was cleverly manoeuvring me out of the way, without complicating the otherwise stressful situation. Fine, I get it. I am cool with that.

I didn't really want to talk to him. I mean, what am I suppose to say? It is nice to see you again, when it really isn't? (Who would want to see exes doing well and being happy? I'm not saying that I'd rather see them bleeding from heart while spelling my name out on the wall with the blood from the gash. But I'd rather stay away from the well functioning exes.) I wanted to stay anonymous in the crowd and not being spotted, but, jeeves, that pub was SO empty.

I was trying to hide in the non-existing crowd, and I have realized that I have been there before, in my dream. I even remembered that I knew his girl friend's name. ("Carmen? What sort of name is that?" is what I was thinking in my dream.) If I was there in my dream, then I guess that was a pre-programmed cosmic fuck up that I chose to endure.

As soon as he started talking to me, all I could remember was how nice it was to spend the time with him, even though I always knew how insincere he really was / is. Again, if a guy can do that, then that's a talent. I rather have him acted all freaked out and dismissive than having being all friendly and proper, but, oh no, he wouldn't let that happen for me.

(Some guy who was giving me eyes all that night passed me by, saying good night, then asked accusingly,

"Are you with that guy?"

OK, you are either psycho, or psychic. And the answer is, no, never.)

He then sang. His songs are still great. He sounded amazing for a live performer, but he did not sound as good as I thought he would be. I was singing along as I knew most of his songs by heart. Beautiful lyrics, nice tune to sing out. Everyone around me was quiet because his voice was powerful and clear, and, of course, none of them ever heard of his songs before. Then I saw the girl. She was standing right by the stage, singing along. She knew all the lyrics, and her lips were synching with mine. Oh, your new girl friend is VERY pretty. You are fucking idiot for thinking of even dumping this gorgeous little girl, (and telling me about it.) She is so in love with you. Her eyes, full of adulation, like mine were once back then, and I was thinking how glad I was that it was all over, and that I have never gotten around to where she is.

O, Crying Out Loud

What sort of a deranged mind would think it is OK to buzz the door bell about 150 times at 4 O'Clock in the morning and start sweet talking that how much you missed me?? I AM WORKING 7 DAYS A WEEK, I AM WORKING CLOSE TO 70 HOURS A WEEK, I AM WORKING IN 6 HRS!!! You have gone absolute bonkers, and this is, what, 4th time??? Get the fucking message across, you are not welcomed here, not now, not ever, never once!!!! You earn 100 grand a year, spending half of it all on properties and coke, so why don't you spend the rest on some hookers from Oxford Road??? I would rather sleep with Jeff Dahmer than having you in my place!!!!

 

Next time I will tell you that I am in love with you and that I want your baby. That should teach you a lesson. If not then I don't know what. Yeah, I will tell you that. I am in love with you for past 5 years. Take that and get drowned in agony, psycho.

3 Years On

I was not going to let it bother me, and I actually had to look at the calendar numerous times before I actually knew it was today, that was how much I was not bothered by today.

And this bitch in a black BMW fucking honked at me at the Sunbury at 9.15, for blocking her way because she decided to sway between lanes. How dear you, you fucking so-and-so,

and the next minutes I've completely lost it. The whole day went out the window.

I could not say a word till 12.14, too scared to burst into a full explosion, instead I squeezed out this pathetic paper thin smiles here and there, while inside I was boiling and freezing, tears and blood splashing out simultaneously from my nerves. And everyone at the office was very much aware of all of this and did not say a sentence to me. Clever cowards.

By 17.25, one of my colleagues accidentally forgot how bad the place I was at and decided to insult my intelligence by not telling me the obvious but by changing her tone of voice while saying,
"I cannot possibly get you."
and I've snapped. I heard it in my head. Then I actually was yelling like a woman at this one.

By 18.45, while pushing a trolley in ASDA, getting 2 tabs of Haagen-dazs for 4 quid I buried my head in a mountain of crisps, nearly pushing the trolley into a woman with a handheld basket.

 

By 19.10 I was pumping gas and sniffling, and by 19.20 I saw a lovely couple happily laughing and started crying.

 

It is not about you. You don't bother me any more even though you have clearly ruined my life and my ability to function for next decade or so. You don't bother me because I know you will rot in hell, and that day is not so far from you. It is more about the past and the future the day represents. This is the only day I hold regret in my heart. You don't deserve that much grief from me, you fucking shit.

 

By 20.09 I was totally OK. The day is almost over. I only had 2 scoops of Haagen-dazs.

 

I just want to go.

You are THE Leg, Cyd

R.I.P. Cyd Charisse, you are my eternal godess, my idle, my love, my air and my tears. You have taken my breath away god knows how many times, you are beyond genius, and you are the best, always have been and always will be. You were the muse of so many, many great films, and you are the history, my life did not become what it is without you.

Oh Cyd, you were just too good to be true, like an absolute beauty dropped from heaven, and you are now taken away from us. I sincerely do hope you had a happy life, and that you are resting in peace. I love you, and thank you, Cyd.

Soul Train

Listening to this album for 2 months solid. It is a great piece of work by Mr. Rabbit himself.

Letting my hands being dirty, leaving a TV on

Drifting into a shallow sleep

There are plenty of days I say nawt to no one

No big deal that is

 

The nightly darkness is deathly deep

I am at a loss, don't know what to do

 

No breaking news, no nothing,

So walking down the hill from her room to the station

In that fancy suites, she don't look bad at all

I know we have tiffs here and there, but

It is just too long a wait for me to see where we are heading to

 

How boring the world is that I'm in

While leaning on you on and on

My heart is still chilled and not firing up

And the sun sets yet again

Over that railway, dragging my hopes with it

 

In a little town there is always someone coming and going

Where is the text book to tell me

What the hell I can do now

 

Met someone new, she says, turning her back to me in the bed

All I can hear is that train going without anyone on it

 

How nonsense the world is that I've made into
While ruining you and turning you into this

My only, dying soul

Is struggling to get out for a change of the scenery

Melting into a mass of red then flowing into somewhere

Somewhere to start anew, perhaps,

Somewhere, maybe the edge of the world, the absolute end

 

No one is a saviour

No god can save this, 'cause

 

My soul only listens to me, and

Your soul only listens to you

 

Nobody's word can reach it

Nobody's

Nobody's

Soul Train - K. Inaba

Miracles to Go On

Ohh my god, this is just too good to be true, my life was far from dust, was in the vicinity of perfection anyway (thanks to my beautiful tuna,) yet somehow is taking a turn and now may be it's gonna be the "Greatest" British Duck Race day.

 

http://www.thegreatbritishduckrace.co.uk/

 

I have missed this last year, I was 3 miles away from it, working, oblivious to it all, how could I.

 

As they have never announced it to be an annual thing, I was gutted to miss this event of the lifetime.

 

Now it is back. I am going. I am NOT working. I will be THERE. It will be HEAVEN.

Miracles Do Happen

RENT has now been extended its showing till 7/Sept. I wonder what the hell will happen to those ticket for the original final call, that was selling for 9000 bucks on eBay. Why am I even going to see the show next month, if I had a choice to do so later on when I have more money.

But in all, who cares, that show deserves all the attention it is getting right now, and even if it ends up somewhat a money making scheme (ther is always someone who is so realistic and practical, turns everyuthing into cash,) it still is OK, I guess.

It’s like these Barbra Streisand shows where people keep thinking that she will never perform again, only for her to return a few years later. Like a phenix, or something.

I’ll cover you. You’d be my Queen.

Things I Do for Kicks

Leaveing the work and going home with tank on empty (*AFTER that red warning light comes on on my dash board, informing the petrol level being almost empty.)

Not going onto the left lane to exit motorway, until I go past all 3 arrow signs; 3 arrows, 2 arrows, and 1 final arrow! (ONLY when it is safe to do so. Honest.)

The alarming light comes on when the tank has less than 5L of petrol. My work is 30 miles away from home, yet I have to drive 3 extra miles to get to the petrol station called ASDA, just so I can save 6p per litter. There is nothing quite this thrilling as to drive all that way while constantly looking at the indicator going lower and lower. I mean, the needle on the meter is hovering around 5L line to begin with, then goes half way down to "E" and began shiver above and below "E", then the question is no longer, "How much do I have before it goes empty?" but "How far can I go after it IS empty?"

(Actually, it is useful to know exactly how much / far, even when you are not doing it for kicks. It is extremely handy for the occasions such as when renting cars. You start driving with what they describe as "1/3 tank full of petrol", which you have to refill as you return the vehicle to the rental company. You are already pissed off that they charged extra for some stupid insurance, which you will most probably never going to need, and the last thing you want to do is to give them free gas. You want to fill the car 1/3 up, no more, no less, and get the hell out there before they ask you for some more money for whatever reasons. So you time it. Crafty calculation and such is needed there, along with the precise knowledge of this, "How far can I go before" business.)

I totally do this every week. It is so much fun. No, no, I did not forget to fill her up, and no I certainly did not go on doing 110MPH this morning while racing 1 or 2 BMWs and a Golf GTI, because they did not indicate once before cutting in front of me. No, I didn’t.

She Ain’t Called Bitch for No Reason

One of our suppliers has a tech team, of which manager I have spoken with a few times over the phone, and emailed a numerous times. His only son died at the tender age of pre-teen, with sudden illness.

"He fell ill on a Tue and died on a Fri,"

The email from his colleague said. That is so Forrest Gump.

 

First thing that popped into my head was to somehow reach the guy and give him a hug and comfort him, but as it is not practical, and probably OTT, the next, and decent thing to do is to send him a condolence card.

 

I turned around to my bitch boss and told what happened. She didn’t move a muscle.

"It is just so terrible, don’t you think?" Well, so I thought maybe we can send a card or something."

 

And the first thing the bitch said was,

"Do we really have to do something like that?"

 

"What? Well, I don’t think that’s compulsory, but don’t you see how sad and terrible..."

 

"Yeah, maybe, but he is not my friend or anything."

 

I was actually speechless after that. And people there call ME insensitive.

 

"Are you saying we have to send a card everytime our suppliers’ staff’s family member dies?"

 

She was asking me.

 

"It’s not the same as his mother has died. It’s his only son, and he was a child."

 

"Oh, maybe you got a different system in you. I don’t have that sort of sense in me."

 

She concluded. I deeply regretted to ever bringing that up there. I could, and should have just sent a card personally.

 

How is that people love her and call her lovely? And I open my big mouth and that’s how people hate me even though I never, ever, had an ounce of malice in me and am full of compassion.

 

I am so sorry for your loss, P. I really am. May nature bless your son.

the Question is...

So I hate it when people make that sniggering noise whenever they hear me play any kind of music, before start giving me lectures on how wrong I was to think that was even remotely a good piece of music. I hate talking music of any kind with people, unless I am there to win. (He-he.)

Music is a survival game, everyone has to win in that battle field of beat, rhythm, lyrics and tunes. Once you lose you are a lamb in the frock, you are a follower without definitive taste and philosophy.

Everyone is fighting for life in such matters;
you couldn't tell the difference between clarinet and soprano oboe,
you didn't know that tune was a remix of a pop song from 90s, rather than a "cover" of that tune,
you heard some line into a mondegreen and thought it was about a dude with one leg and a broken heart, while it really was a song about a teenage kid screwing every girl in sight,
you erroneously consider a guitarist to be genius while he really was just a Jimi impersonator,

What the hell, there is no winning, I am suffocated and there is not even a smallest room for me to actually enjoy music.

So when Ben started giving me how I should not like Scooter I was ready to leg it. Didn't want to fight a 18 yrs old pretty washer upper over stupid DJs. (And my saying of, "Scooter is NOT a DJ, it's a 3 men band," did not make Ben back off.)

Honestly, I love Scooter and that's that. I am not interested in the genre of techno, or hardcore, or whatever the names I never even heard of. Stop telling me that Scooter is not Happy Hardcore, because they just are! And they are a band!!

And Ben went on criticizing Scooter on the basis of the fact that they did not follow the fashions on techno variation as all other "DJs" made all drug crazy young Britons to follow and warship.

"I don't care about your history of so called rave and all that, I am too old for that anyway. I just want to see them perform. In fact they are coming to Hammersmith in March, taking a part in some dance event."

I said to Ben, half giving up.

"Which day? I might be on holiday."

Ben replies.

"Maybe not, then I want to go. Hey, we can go there together."

A-what? Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to a rave with a 18 yrs old pretty (and thin) washer upper who grew up with Eurobeat and amphetamine being a norm. I am just a Scooter fan. We do not mesh well there. And I am sure he will repeatedly ask me there why I am not taking any pills, and wonders off before I answer him, and that would be quite annoying for me.

Turned out he IS on a holiday with his folks (awww, how cute is THAT?) and can't make it anyway. That's good. I mean, he is nice enough and all but it is rather sad if I actually went there with someone like that. It is sad enough that I am going there at all.

Love Thy Wheels

I was shopping around for something the other day, and this is something they said to sell certain products.

*Offers safe handling.
*Excellent grip at low temperatures, even with a light covering...
*Eye-catching tread and sidewall design make P2500 ideal for personalising small to medium sized...
*Improved comfort and lower noise levels add to the pleasure...
*The reduced rolling resistance.
*Comfort. Relaxed.
*Performance. P3000 provides excellent grip and drivability.
*Safety. P3000 is predictable and forgiving in nature, conferring a strong feeling of security

OK, I edited out some words at the end, but still, these descriptions of tyres sound vastly of sexual innuendoes.

Helmut Newton once did AutoErotica and that was laughable, even though I do comprehend the connection between automobiles and sex. Yet, I feel more comfortable using the word "sexy" to describe food than using that to cars.

What is it that people see in cars that reminds them of sex? I certainly cannot see cars serving the imagery of manhood, and that's ridiculous. Having a Land Rover with 4000cc emission does not mean you are well hang. I don't see any appeal to it. Then, what? Money? Style? Fashion? A confided space? What is it?

Never had a boyfriend who owned a car, never even dated one. I am not sure what does that say. Am I avoiding something? Do I enjoy being the one with car? Is that what it is wrong with me?

Bought new front tyres. I am happy now, and there is nothing wrong with that.

How Much is the Duckie in the Window??

So, I have a little obsession over some birds. Not many people know this because I don't tell them, it is kind of silly to come out confessing the fondness for ingenuously cute things like them. And people didn't want to know about what I have secretly liked anyway. Who cares this one collects famous grouse, or punky, or anything of the sort.

I've always liked the whole idea of bath ducks, but never liked things dipping in the same bath water with myself, as the result of my peculiar phobia, so have never owned any duck. Then I came across this glorious collections of ducks, while getting lost looking for a mussles restaurant in Bruges. They were spectacular swatches of patterns and styles in the forms of plastic ducks, and were expensive. Now, something this expensive and dizzy are clearly not for floating on the surface of water mixed with human grime. They belonged to nice display shelves, or even in galleries.

I desperately wanted one, but it felt like a barren to purchase a bath duck out of that many, and I certainly could not afford to buy the entire clan.

Since then I was head over heels hooked on rubber ducks of many kinds.

Ducks were expensive enough to be bought as a small to medium gift. How I then wished that I had a friend who would buy me a duck, and how was I somber to determine the non-existence of such person.

I am so sad and losery,  don't even have a friend who would buy me any gift, let alone silly, but super gift like a rubber duck in colours or costumes.

Then, one day, a packet arrives at my door, and there it was; my very first bath duck, sitting on other even nicer items of presents. Bang in the middle of the core of my desire, how did you know??? Someone clearly read my mind, or was actually looking through my pictures in here.

I will never guess how you did it, but, I just have to tell you, over and over, how happy you made me, and the duck is now sitting on my screen. Thank youuu!!

Ben

Ben is a student / washer-upper. He is tall and skinny, a pretty boy of 18 year old. His complexion is pale, and he has dark hair which is ashy than jetty, and has greyish blue eyes; typical Irish look, I'd say. He has Beatle length hair with a beenie on top. Oh, and did I mention he is skinny?

He washes dishes in fashion, he's very typical of youth and Brits, and he mumbles so nobody can hear him. Ben is probably popular, looking at his face and taste in clothing, and the fact that he seems to know every trivia of every subject, and he is probably a real nice guy regardless of me not knowing so for sure as I never understood the half of the things he said.

I always tell him that he is pretty, as I am way too much older than him, and I am a photographer in nature. I don't look at pretty men and drool, it is quite the opposite in fact. but he still blushes a little when I say this. I hope he does not think I am hitting on him, that would be creepy and almost illegal.

Ben disappeared for a week, everyone was worried about him, as was told he was unwell. Oh, poor Ben, is he OK?

Then he comes back with a new hair do. It is almost shaven, or whatever the newest term of cutting hair with various equipment, it is just really, really short. I went passed him a few times and kept saying,
"Oh, sorry, didn't know it was you,"
He looked so different. And everyone kind of reacted that way, and poor Ben took it rather badly.

One day I was standing next to Ben, and we were sort of sharing the moment of silence, where one felt like being really honest for no apparent reason, and I blatantly went with it.

"Ben, do you know what you look like?"
Ben looked at me by rolling his big eyes.
"You look like one of these Jewish people in Nazi concentration camp."

Ben then flipped and said, basically, that it is so nice talking to someone with intellect, he cannot get enough of me yammering.

I am sorry Ben, I have watched "BENT" too many times, and it was really a complement in my very bad way; I am jealous of your skinniness, and I thought Clive Owen was bloody hot, let alone Allan Cummings. It really was a praise. You may look like you could use extra pound or two on you, but that will come on naturally in time, so Ben, it really was not taking the piss. You are pretty all the way, man.

Peach Time, AGAIN

My ultimate idle, my axis of worship, my hero, has been arrested AGAIN today. Fucking narcotics. He even did time and came out only 3 months ago. I fucking hate drugs, and all of those who cannot know how to live in control, rather than leaning on something to lead you into the ocean of mess. I hate those who cannot get hard-on without manufactured porn, and I hate those who cannot feel life without soul contaminating substances, and I hate those who let us down despite the fucking brilliant talent that is so rare and should be praised for rest of our history. What a fucking waste. What a fucking shame.

Bombshell

My mother, on the phone, drops a bombshell.

"You do know that because of the global warming, all these polar bears and penguins in North and South Pole will be extinct by 2030, don't you."

She said that in a so matter-of-factly way. She didn't even leave any room for me to state that I don't believe in global warming. This declaration shut me up completely, I couldn't even say,
"No, I didn't, mum."
or,
"No, that coulnd't be true."

It only made me produce this great grief for losing all the penguins in South Pole (mum, there is no penguin in North Pole,) and 20 odd years from now on I will be looking at the pictures of Emperor penguins with deep nostalgia, begin weeping like a camel in a night in a desert, encouraged by possible menopause rather than a dry sandy breeze.

It was a sad vision to have. No penguins in the world, and me menopausing like actual woman and sobbing over the fact of no penguins. That is sad. It would have been not too bad if that was about to happen when I was seniling and was looking at the pictures of Emperor penguins and cry like a careless child while dribbling saliva mixed with sedatives from the corner of my mouth. Then that would be all harmless because, all I have to feel then is a guilt in a fog, for causing the greenhouse effect by eating burgers and drinking coke. Burrrrp.

So, I squeezed aching heart to say just this.
"Mum, I am sure some people would think it is feasible to keep them in a giant freezer, rather than seeing them go."

Mum just laughed at this, light heartedly.

25 past Midnight on M4, Italian Style

Heading back from Chiswick to Berks, I was racing with a Mini, who was first blocking me at 90mph, then started flash me with its beam. M4 between J8/9 and 10 is always pitch dark, but there was no need for any beam. I so wished for a police to show up from the hard shoulder and stop this psychotic Mini, and that's pretty much what happened.

Police might have gotten me, I was doing 100mph to get away from the Mini after all, but Police went for Mini with stupid beam on doing 82mph, perhaps because I was behind the police car and didn't make any sudden movement.

Anyone knows this; go with the flow, just only when you are on the road. And NEVER take over a police car.

Good Bye RENT

Today I receive an email informing the end of RENT in Nederlander. I can never go and see the show after that, and I cannot face that fact. Before thinking through I was clicking the link to see if I can at least get the ticket, then so I will save up and fly for the last performance. The web page kept saying that data not found. I then phoned the ticket master, and yelled, "AGENT!" with the slimmest hope to hear, "We have a ticket available," but the guy tells me that he's received tons of calls about the show today and unfortunately the tickets are all gone.

 

I might still go. Just so I get to see it in N.Y. again, probably not the last performance, but just any one, before that grand show fades away like youth.

 

Is this mean that I finally have to be a grown up, be one of them, being in the mainstream, pretending to be alive with a sex drive, hide in work, never light the candle, any day but today, let die the Bohemian....?

 

197201 minutes left now.

Try Me and Love Me

Went to a product test for detergents. This was the first non edible product test I have ever done. Didn't have a clue on how I test the things without actually using them, in 30 min.

The lady who always gives the introduction read through the general statement and purpose of the test, which she must have done like 20 times already in that day. She always wears shoes which colour matches her suites.

"You will test 3 detergents today,"
She said, but I swear she mispronounced and said,
"You will taste 3 detergents today,"
which is what she always says.

She told us to sip water to neutralize our nose. Alternatively,
"You smell back of your elbow to do this, if you can."
Was she concerned about fat armed people, or about people who has phobia of body pits?

The test ended with us saying something like,
"This smells like a good degreaser."

I think Henry does not look like a good hoover, but he really is. You should never judge a book by its cover, or its smell.

Twilight Road

There is this road work going on at J2 on M3. It has been there since June last year, as far as I can remember, and Highway Agency and all other sources kept telling us that it would be completed by the end of December '07. All this time the traffic news kept informing the "sever delays" on the spot, every minute of every day, even when it was not so severely congested.

Now the deadline has been and gone, the work is nowhere near being completed. There are hundreds of traffic cones still blocking the lane, causing everyone to slow down, with two temporary speed cameras effectively causing the natural congestion. There still is minimum of 10 minutes delay from J1 to J3.

However, according to Highway Agency and ALL other sources, the work has been completed now and all the delays causing substances are scrapped, and there is no blockage at J2 on M3. None. Nada. There was not a single traffic news reporting ANY delay for the spot since 1/1/08, as if the very visible traffic cones and speed cameras and emergency recovery areas are all the products of mirage.

Not meeting the deadline is a norm and we all take that like bitches and never moan, but faking the road work's completion and PRETENDING the work not to be existing is just taking the piss. Or is it some sort of a conspiracy? Are we all being experimented for some government scheme?

Traffic news are as useless as weather reports, with different reasons, but in the same effect.