Tuesday, September 25, 2007


Top Three Things NOT to Say or Do When First Meeting Someone:

  1. Say to your new supervisor, who is kindly explaining the gritty ramified details of your work, “Gawd, now I know why you guys store that much liquor for Fridays…”

  2. To the question 'Have you tried English Tea at all yet?' from Nice Nerdy Boy (or someone you might or might not fancy due to Jesus-knows-how-long-you’ve-had-a-good-roll-in-the-sack – especially if that someone also happens to work at above mentioned new job), distractingly answer:
    “Um, no, not quite… I want my first time to be special, you see..."
    “…I mean, High Tea! HIGH TEA!! I’m waiting to do High tea, yes?! HAHAHAHA!... Um, okay, don’t mind me – lala la lala lalala….”
    ...And then proceed to type maniacally on keyboard.

  3. Accept to proof-read your seemingly nice (and rather handsome, to be honest) landlord’s books for extra money - without asking its topic. Which turns out to be about ‘How To Trick Your Undeserved Dick In As Many Holes As Possible Without Getting Caught For the Painfully Idiotic Old Misogynistic Shitrack That You Are’. Obviously.

This has been a public announcement brought to you by Social Inept Candidate Of 2007.



...And then there was Internet.

*angels sing*

Sunday, September 9, 2007

hands away

Wales was beautiful. The hills, the greens, the sheeps. And how nice people were…. Sometimes, I looked up and breathed it all in. And those moments filled me with a trifle bit more breath, enough to stay one more day.

Because I’ve been wanting to leave ever since I had arrived, you see. If I must admit it. And it’s not something rather easy for me to admit. Not after all this time.

It’s not because I was shacked up in a complete and utter shitty moth-infested hellhole with centipedes crawling up the tub* and folks whose horseshit** depressed me in a way I had forgotten. It’s not because it turned out that I really really– really – hated my job, or because it is insanely ridiculous to find ways to make ends meat in The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD. It’s not even that I so gut-wrenchingly miss my mother’s sweet embrace, or my father’s warm eyes, or my sister’s loud obnoxious voice, or even my friends’ hearty laughs sometimes. It’s not exactly that I think I’ve made a mistake at all…

It’s because I started to cry when I was trying to explain what I was doing here to this beautiful man from Nairobi and he inadvertently gave me a Look. A Look that he quickly, politely, diverted. A Look that I quickly, graciously, recognised. A Look of empathic defeat, comforting pity. A Look that recognised me. And my desperate lies. A Look that unravelled everything.

It’s that I think I’ve slightly overestimated myself, you see. And though I’ve always known I am lost, and therefore must find a way – any way – that would somehow be mine, like a lost child that wasn’t cute enough to make international news***, the one I was counting so much on turned out to be a little… ill-fitted. For me. For now. Because, my dear, you’re even more lost and fucked than you had thought. Because you could never stand the spotlight anyway. Because it’s too soon.

And though I have come here like that 21-year-old girl who three years ago had found something she lost, something I wanted so much to find again, I am not that girl anymore….

So here I am now.
At square one.
Incidentally named Russell.

Let’s see how we get on, yeah?

* CENTIPEDES!! Yes, we all agree that I am an undeserved prissy little princess but for THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS FUCKING HOLY – centipedes!? They are WORMS!!! With FEET. Thousands, in fact. Crawling. In. The tub. Where one is naked. Now, I somehow amazingly managed to not even mind for the first few days or muster a goddamned word of complaint (mainly bc this one girl did plenty of that), but add it to my growingly shattering state of mind and believe you me that I am feeling slightly robbed for not receiving an honorary trophy of Keeping It Cool In Hell, lemme tell ya… *wiggles finger in the air for no-one to pretend to care*

** In all fairness, I’m sure they are all delightful folks to hang out with. In small doses. (Although I am considering adopting this one guy but that’s bc he saved the little vestiges of sanity I had left, mainly by being a completely pessimistic bitch – and we all know how that’s just music to me ears (he was also queer - my faghag is happy).) But horseshit, specifically, the kind that one throws around to give oneself an air of nobility, be it moral or class or intelligence, as horses tend to convey (as oppose to bulls or dogs, whose shite usually refer to the pedestrian kind one throws around without thought, harm nor belief), particularly kills bc the horseshitter actually holds on to it like dear life, believing so much in its retching stench he/she castrates and/or bullies anyone or anything that might question its integrity, as if they’re on a self-serving high-horsed quest for the Equestrian Excrement Holy Grail, and THAT, my virtual friends, is the sort of shit that kills, okay, kills!!... End rant.

*** I am a horrible pretentious biatch and will die alone & unhappy. (Apply note wherever needed.)

Thursday, September 6, 2007

obstacle 1

Am back in London.

Option A was shite.
Figuratively and literally.

More later.
Off having a good cry.
And hugging internet.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

capture the flag

Oi! Quickly before my [stolen] internet runs out!

  • I'm not dead! Yaaaay!!! Plane ride was smooth (or from what I can gather as I slept practically the entire time). Was then greeted by two beautiful breezy London days, during which time I basically ran around like a headless chicken with hungry rats hanging from its ass. Attractive much. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I"m feeling yet. It's been four days now and still a roller-coaster - albeit kiddie one - of emotions, between this-is-pretty-intense and what-the-hellness... I'll get back to that one on a later time, yes?

  • I SCORED OPTION A! Double Yaaaaaayyy!!! I'll avoid going into the details, but suffice to know that for the next four weeks I'll be roaming across the UK trying not to get my spirits trampled on and hopes crashed & buried in the ground while doing something I actually - terrifyingly - do really care about. I'll be working in a 'team' and living in 'hostels', so this might be The Craziest Thing To Do for the prissy little anti-social that I am. Thank goodness there's beer.

  • Speaking of which, I suspect the beer here are much higher in alcoholic content. Words cannot describe my joy...!

  • ...And the people? Now, perhaps I'm still quite jet lagged, perhaps people are particularly shitty where I come from, but I've come to notice that English folks are goddamned gorgeous!... Well, okay, those in a certain age bracket and socio-economic background, but the average of model*-like beautiful people are staggeringly high to me. (Then again, perhaps it's just the accent.)

  • How much beef and potato can one person eat, goddammit?

  • I once fancied myself to be a Good Packer. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that I was also delusional. Good god. I had to pay about 100$ for excess weight, and then drag that goddamned thing up ALL. THOSE. STAIRS. Fun times. Oh, people did offer to help, I was pleasantly surprised to find out, but as soon as they tried to lift my luggage, despite my polite warnings, they soon realised that maybe being the good Samaritan wasn't worth a hernia. On the bright side, my Faith In Human Scale is at a good high level and my right arm has now muscles. *thumbs up*

  • I got myself a mobile. My first mobile ever. I am working through the disappointment.

  • Did I mention how good the beer is?... And Pret A Manger?... Seriously, I have to figure out some sort of way to smuggle those through customs when I go back home....

Anywho! That's it for now folks! I'm heading out to Oxford now and won't be back in ye olde London Town until the end of the month. (...And then have to tackle the very desirable task of finding a place to live... *faints*)

Be good, play fair, see ya on the flip side!
(No really, everything's backward here, yo!)
(I kid, I kiiiiiiid!)
(I need some beer.)

* Is it customary to be asked if one is a model/would like to model by attractive London gals?... You know, hypothetical question. For a 'friend', yeah?... A friend who's very flattered nonetheless. 'Cause she's a whore like that. Alright, carry on, then.