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.