Monthly Archives: September 2008
Amazingly vicious piece by Matt Taibbi on Sarah Palin which is so sickeningly true:
“…Barack Obama might be every bit as much a slick piece of imageering as Sarah Palin. The difference is in what the image represents. The Obama image represents tolerance, intelligence, education, patience with the notion of compromise and negotiation, and a willingness to stare ugly facts right in the face, all qualities we’re actually going to need in government if we’re going to get out of this huge mess we’re in.Scariest thing about Palin isn’t how unqualified she is, it’s what her candidacy says about America
Here’s what Sarah Palin represents: being a fat fucking pig who pins “Country First” buttons on his man titties and chants “U-S-A! U-S-A!” at the top of his lungs while his kids live off credit cards and Saudis buy up all the mortgages in Kansas.”
Related: Gloria Steinem On Feminism, Sarah Palin: “It’s Such An Insult”
Genesis by Colin Purrington
Charles Darwin Has A Posse
This morning I managed to become enraged after only forty-five minutes at work. What did it? Not the behaviour of the kiddies nor the stupidity of senior management, no, it was sitting through a Gideon Bible assembly.
Although I could have left the hall at any time I thought it was best I force myself to sit through the indoctrination of 180 eleven year-olds so that I might see “the enemy” at first hand. I had to try my very best to sit still and not sigh too audibly nor make it too obvious that I was pulling disgusted faces of disbelief as I listened to the grey little man talk complete and utter bollocks.
To sum up:
- Belief in God is like Marmite. You either like it or don’t like it but either way is okay. That’s your opinion, so that’s allowed.
- As we have never seen life existing on other planets then we cannot say that it does or does not exist. Therefore we cannot say that God does not exist.
I remember being given a little red book when I was a similar age and liking it’s freeness; I took it home and perused the problems listed inside and looked at the solutions the text supposedly provided. I thought it was a funny little thing and took much more interest in looking up the baddest problems my pre-teenage mind could come up with i.e. sex and drugs.
Let’s have a look what the Gideons suggest:
The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissension, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.Translated, that’s:
Sexual immorality, impurity: Sex before marriage, homosexuality, woman on top, Paedophile Priests
Debauchery and drunkenness: Women getting drunk
Idolatry, witchcraft: Brad Pitt, ASOS.com, the Vatican and the Wicca movement
Hatred: What small-minded people tend towards
Jealousy, envy, fits of rage: Coveting your neighbour’s iPhone; not getting a pony
Selfish ambition: Walking next to your husband instead of behind
Discord, dissension, factions: Not accepting that one human being owns another
Orgies: What goes on consensually behind some people’s closed doors
The word orgies was *so* exciting to the mind of an eleven year-old, and I don’t think I even knew what it meant. Trust.
WHY is it seen as acceptable that religious people come into schools and “spread the word”? If you replaced the Christian preacher with a Muslim one or a representative of the Socialist Party or a Military recruitment officer or a follower of The Flying Spaghetti Monster would it still be seen as acceptable to the parents of my middle-class enclave? I think not- it would be seen as warping young minds. Indeed, it is a requirement of the curriculum that school perform a collective act of worship. UGH.
I have a hatred of indoctrination of young minds, facts given in a one-sided manner or incomplete. It deeply saddens me to see such utter stupidity in action. I really want to rebut point-by-idiotic-point his remarks and I think I might try and have a little discussion in class tomorrow. See what the eleven year-olds think.
Based on observations from the Hubble Space Telescope, there are at least 125 billion galaxies in the universe. It is estimated that at least ten percent of all sun-like stars have a system of planets, thus if a thousandth of a percent of all stars are sun-like, and there are roughly (estimates may vary) 500 billion stars on average in each galaxy, then there are 6.25*1018 stars with planets orbiting them in the universe. If only a billionth of these stars have planets that support life, there are 6.25 billion life-supporting solar systems in the universe.Wikipedia – Extra-terrestrial Life (and yes, I know Wikipedia’s not the be-all-and-end-all…)
For a bit of variation I have not spent my Sunday afternoon depressing myself at the cost of living but have instead been amusing myself by looking at hairstyles.
This past week I have become increasingly fed up with my hair; I can’t get it up like I used to (heh) as it’s too heavy to respond to a blast of hairspray or a dollop of styling goo. Consequently it sort of sits there flat and lumpen or it gets in the way when I am trying to do my job. Dammit. Pay day is THANK FUCK this week and I have decided that a sound investment would be to get it all chopped off before it pisses me off even more. Plus I just feel the need for a change. Maybe it’s because of all that’s happened recently- the lack of money, the Dubai thing… My hair seems to be falling out in a greater amount than is usual too. Healthy.
When I say all, I mean short. I am not sure I want to go back to the fauxhawk as I am not sure if my fond memories of having that cut are not rose tinted ones; I want something overly textured that looks good bright red, takes two minutes to manage, can be put up out of my face and helps me feel slightly intimidating when I go out. Yes, really.
I think it goes with my appreciation of Rosario Dawson’s character Gail in Sin City- The Warrior Woman in charge of seeing that things are done right in Old Town. So yeah, I love the hair and attitude of an Uzi-toting hooker.
I just love the feeling I get when I walk in somewhere wearing something pretty or tight in a pair of heels that left me up out of reach of most of the men that ogle me. It’s the scare the locals factor.
Anyway, I have found a few possibles as far as the chop goes, but what I have found loads of it crayzee hair- Hair that has been done to be “creative”. I have been entertained by the hair but also by the outfits and makeup the models have to wear, for example:
What the fuck is going on there? The hair isn’t too bad but the posing and the white leotard? With the fringing?
I want hair I can wear with heels and seamed stockings and my tight stripy off-the-shoulder dress. I want hair that helps me feel fierce but will adjust to doing pretty when i’m in a prom dress trying my hardest to do feminine. I must prepare myself for being mistaken for a member of the opposite sex again, but whatever, I hope i’ll feel good, though that of course depends on the stylist doing a good job. Fingers crossed…
And there were a bunch of these big green round things. Humans call it peas. by appelogen.be
I felt marvellously cosy and content today as I snuggled under my blanket with my favourite star covered duvet cushioning me; my string of fairy lights provided a gentle background glow to Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle and illuminated my tears as I cried over Chihiro and Sophie’s travails.
I still prefer Princess Mononoke to the supposedly superior Spirited– I like how raw the story is, the sacrifice and violence, but I did love the intricacies of the gods and the support network that runs the bath house. The soot sprites (shown above) were super cute too… I would gladly have them as fuzzy little friends.
On that subject…
I have been continuing to think about MW#1 and his possible move; the things he said to me about my importance were very welcome in that now I don’t feel like I have been caring without any reciprocation but at the same time what am I supposed to do with this information now that i’ve got it?
It’s not like i’ll be able to think, “Oh well… At least I know he cared for me, that I was important to him” as he sails off into the desert sun. He’s barely in my life but his presence is writ large upon my thoughts. And now he’s said he cares, is that the same as loves? Am I important as a friend or as a lover or as someone he loves?
If you love someone you want to be with them, share things and spend time with them, right? So if he stayed would he want to continue the whole not-see-me-for-months ignore-me-then-reach-out-for-comfort-type shtick? If i’m important and if he thinks about me so much then why do I feel so bad for sending him a late night text asking if at some point in the next couple of weeks he could give me some hugs?
I’ve gone out of my way to give him comfort when he’s needed it and have been responsive in doing so. He has never done so for me, although this is also because even though I might spend a lot of my evenings feeling pretty lonely I almost never seek out his affection, because i’m not in any position to ask for it.
Even after what he said, i’m still “just a friend” and “that girl that likes wrestling” and I am left feeling very alone indeed.
Borborygmus (plural borborygmi) (from Greek βορβορυγμός) also known as stomach growling or rumbling is the rumbling sound produced by the movement of gas through the intestines of animals, including humans. The word borborygmus is an onomatopoeia for this rumbling.How excellent is that word? When i’m next experiencing a rumbly tummy I shall be able to grandly say
“Pardon me, I am experiencing borborygmus”which to my juvenile fact-sponge mind is all kinds of excellentness.
CAVE by btm
Even though he’s the one who has caused my recent angst, what I’d love right now is to spend an evening curled up with MW#1 somewhere warm and dimly lit and insulated from the world. Like a sort of comfy cave… you know, with a TV, fridge, a fire, masses of duvets, pillows and blankets. And a pile of takeaway menus. And thick slabs of steak. And good wine. A cave.
Maybe more like a big nest.
I suppose I feel this way because he is a source of comfort (when he’s not upsetting me!) so I immediately gravitate to wanting a hug from him; It’s not incredibly different than the usual feelings I get when i’m lonesome, just a bit more pressing.
As much as I feel in the need for a hug on a fairly frequent basis, I just curl up in my room and hope that one will somehow materialise. I don’t do asking, just longing. It’s super healthy.
Frank Sinatra Grave by chynna67
Post blitz ahoy…
What is potentially happening in November?
Well for definite it will be my birthday (for which I have zero enthusiasm for apart from it means I get to ask my brother for Supernatural Season Three); the potential happening is MW#1 relocating to Dubai, permanently.
I am listening to a LOT of Sinatra.
In The Wee Small Hours is a fucking masterpiece. Srsly.
The rest of the world may rejoice at this news of his possible departure from my life (MONKY IS FREE), I on the other hand feel deeply unhappy. Whereas I shed maybe a couple of tears over The Monster moving to Australia, I did not care that much, as by that point i’d put up with years and years of shit and I was finally disentangling myself. As time has passed I have grown firmer in my utter contempt of him and now I am completely happy to have absolutely nothing to do with his toxic self. I mean, the fact that he didn’t choose me to be with me (I dodged a bullet I tells ye) tells you all you need to know. Bish pleeze.
With MW#1 i’m not at that stage. Biased as I am I believe that I will miss him more because he’s given me a hell of a lot more than The Monster ever could or ever did. We enjoy slumming to similar things and he doesn’t engage in the petty pissing games of control that The Monster did all the goddamn time; conversely MW#1’s lies are much more insidious and repeatedly abominable.
I think what has affected me a lot is that I have found out from discussions with him on this subject (well, MSN-ing… we are geeky) that it seems that I matter to him. Like, he’ll probably go anyway because I don’t matter *that* much to keep his career here but it was almost shocking to find out that I am important; why oh why could he not have told me this in such clarity at some point over the last couple of years? I would not have spent as much time feeling that my affections were one-way and very wrong.
Shocking, but then if I am important to him, why do I spend most weekends alone in my room?
On a similar theme to Hahnemann-ing, I feel the need to be juvenile and summarise and quantify some serious and less than serious aspects to the concept of MW#1 (in no particular order)…
– Knows how the world works
– Good arguer (annoyingly so)
– Very tactile with me
– All I could ever ask for intimately
– Able to make me laugh (a lot)
– Smells peculiarly good
– Pleasingly dorky at times (mockability)
– Good taste in films
– Likes wrestling in a non-ironic way
– Accepts me how I am
– Seems to prefer others to me
– Seemingly chronically unable to commit
– Reckless with his body
– Drinks to what I consider harmful levels
– Has issues that encourage him to make unwise choices
– Totally inconsiderate with regards to my feelings
– Seems to have difficulty communicating his thoughts
– Pretends that his feelings are irrelevant or do not exist
– Not good at buying presents, or remembering to do so
– Has never bought me flowers
– Prone to snoring
I’ve been hunting around my bedroom for money for the last five minutes… I really must go to sleep now…
Billy Joel and Marlee Matlin sing and sign to Oscar the Grouch with Just The Way You Are
Corny yet overly appropriate track of the day:
Tell Her About It (YT)
I’m obviously not as okay about things as I had previously thought earlier on today- Too much Billy Joel can’t be good, can it? Or at least tearing up at too many of his tracks… How about even liking his music?
My feelings of sadness and my random tearing up at things will probably go on for a while yet, until there is a resolution of some sorts; if it ends in a negative way (for me anyway) then my sadness will continue unabated.
I feel sad because of what is happening and I also feel sad that again someone else has judged me to be not *quite* enough. It’s the “you’re too good to be in a relationship with but are super easy to leave behind” where the leaver will then proceed to spend years following my life from afar whilst I work very hard at not giving a fuck.
And yes, I know that whilst we are all flawed beings due to our humanity I know that my flaws are much less hurtful to others. I am not the one at fault here.
This evening I feel very tired and a bit wobbly like i’ve been crying a lot (when I haven’t, just leaking slightly); there’s an ache in my chest and every time I think about November I start to well up. It’s happening again as I type. Fun times.
Taken from Uptown Girl by specialkrb
Oh Good God- WHY does the video to Uptown Girl make me well up? We’re talking brimming here.
Can someone *please* explain?
Whoa oh oh oahhh oh oh ahh Whoa oh oh oahh oh oh ahh…
Although the issue I was troubled by last night has continued to float around my head all day I feel a bit better about things. Maybe i’m just tired :)
I will feel terribly sad if what I expect to happen goes ahead and it will feel like a part of my life has been taken away from me but there’s nothing I can do about it so I just need to wait and see. And think, and ponder and worry. If I am pessimistic and become resigned to the fact then perhaps I will accept the loss more easily? Like prepare myself. Or something. I dunno. I need a nap…
untitled by daarkfire
Yay. I have just been ambushed by another thing to add to my worries… and something that has potentially much more impact on my life than my ability to pay my bills.
It’s a question about commitment. I am not selfish enough to think that I am the only thing to sway your judgement on this issue but…
Do I matter that much? Am I that important? Would your life be the same without me?
(don’t worry avid readers this is not a cry for help, it’s directed towards someone in particular)
I would guess that the most probable answers to all three are NO.
I mean, if you can’t commit to me for a weekend, can I really expect you to commit to the country I live in? Isn’t it all pointless anyway if you can’t commit to me?
In all this newly stirred-up angst is the deeply illogical part of me that aches and pines and knows that it all makes no sense and is totally stupid but also knows very well that it would be like a part of my life was torn away from me. I’d heal, eventually, but i’d carry the scars and they’d hurt.
This is *exactly* why I never ask for anything. I never presume to get a hug when i’m next to someone (I just sort of curl up and hope) even though it’s the thing I most long for because I know that one day that person won’t roll over and hold little uncommunicative me. When I am unsure if it’s okay to stroke their hair they won’t encourage me, they’ll just lie there and snore.
It’s like i’m eternally bracing myself to be let down/left behind/forgotten. I knew this day would come. I know i’m never that important.
Bed and lots and lots of hugging Patrick. You’ll never leave me, will you Patrick? Well, you will probably sort of dissolve into a mass of stuffing. I’ll cry over you that day too, my little inanimate friend…
Original: Condensation on a sandwich bag by quinn.anya
I may never have the money or company to make it to Hawaii but there are some things I am looking forward to purchasing that I will actually be able to obtain when my pay comes in at the end of the month…
In no particular order:
– Sandwich bags when I go on a big shop
– A birthday gift for Bobby Convey
– A pair of vibrantly coloured opaque tights
– A replacement pair of seamed tulle tights
– Ice cream (Chocolate Fudge Brownie)
– A duvet cover in a bright pattern (on sale)
– A night spent consuming good food and good beverages whilst feeling pretty in a pretty dress and heels
– A haircut. The fauxhawk is totally beckoning.
– More red hair dye
At the end of October lurks half term as does dress up fave Halloween and an excuse to get the rubber dress out for an evening (hoorah) ; i’ve only worn it out once this year and it is so much fun to wear.
Looking through my upcoming bills I am fairly sure that some will bounce; I am that close to my overdraft limit. Car insurance, phone bill, contents insurance- these alone add up to more than I have, I also have to eat and pay my tea and coffee money to the department, otherwise I won’t be able to get my much needed work intake of caffeine. Sigh.
When I was under/unemployed I had more money than this, but then the last time I was a national statistic I didn’t own a DS Lite nor was my underwear collection as exotic. But those were my “holiday”… FUCKWIT
Only one and a half weeks worrying to go…
Ho ho ho…
A pirate hobbles into a bar, with a steering wheel apparently stuck in his trousers. The bartman gives him a funny look and says “You know you’ve got a steering wheel sticking out of your trousers?”Although it is approaching 7pm on a Sunday evening I am currently modelling the conservative version of what I usually sleep in. Conservative in that i’m wearing a vest, short shorts and a hoodie as opposed to just pants; I’m also delighting in having cosy toes courtesy of my baby blue fluffy bed socks. Slum-tastic.
“Aye,” said the pirate. “It’s driving me nuts.”
I spent the early afternoon watching Iron Man – it really is rather good – and thus further cemented my love of the Downey Jr… My how he fills out his vests. Hee. I’m now waiting on Casino Royale to finish buffering and am eating home made (Hello Betty Crocker) brownies with my cup of coffee. And crisps. Two bags of ready salted at a time. Mmm.
This weekend has been a usual one, without time spent getting up close and intimate with mash pits nor crawling into bed at 7am. I spazzed out over the return of my beloved Dean with the first episode of season four (Hello Busty Asian Babes– Oh Dean i’ve missed you) and as per usual I depressed myself at the cost of housing. It’s a regular thing.
Caversham Princess has a new job (hooray!) and it’s in Lahndahn Tahn so soon I will be needing to find a new place to live; more than anything what I would love is a place of my own, not to own of course but just to rent. A studio or a one bed flat would be awesome as I have discovered I seem to be quite a private person when it comes to my living needs and i’d really like more space; unfortunately the powers that be conspire to make living solo a very expensive option indeed, and probably unobtainable without serious sacrifices on the financial front.
I’d like somewhere quiet where I can hole up and be myself- no insane neighbours shrieking, no boy racers showing off their stereos and their associated tiny penises. I’m not after much size-wise but even the smallest places that are in any way half-decent seem to be massively overpriced. If I cannot afford to live alone i’ll share (who with is a whole other problem), but the temptation of living alone is writ large in my head. Sigh.
Of course what I have to do before anything else is get to the end of the month without running out of money… Only a week and a half to go ’til payday… Ugh…
Oh for the days of yorrre, where me window was doubly-glazed and I had a lock on me doorrrr…
Avast! Here Be Pirates! by Kaptain Kobold
Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!
So no public celebration of the formerly important dressing up night this year; I wore my skull and crossbones blouse to work today and amused parents taking a tour of the school as they entered my classroom. Two of them even knew why I was wearing such a print. Arrrrrrr…
I am very glad it’s the end of the week; I feel very tired and wobbly… I think a slab of protein is required in the shape of steak and chips. Mmmm….
sunset at the Amanyara by chichochon
I have barely enough money to get me to and from Lahndahn Tahn five times, with no accompanying hot chocolate and zero spending once i’m in, but this evening I am browsing luxury holidays to places far far away and am trawling though pages of stripper shoes. But of course.
Where would I go in my stripper shoes? Well, I think French Polynesia, St. Lucia or Turks & Caicos look lovely but of course my Hawaii fantasy lives on as does my desert sojourn too.
This browsing of unobtainable things has reminded me of a conversation I have with Caversham Princess and Bobby Convey a while back- They were encouraging me to attend a New Year’s Eve get together this year, but of course I know from experience that I am unable to have a good time at such events. So they suggested a party around NYE, sort of Christmas-y. Whilst I was turning them down I realised that I will only be able to enjoy attending a New Year’s Eve event when I don’t have anything to feel overly glum about.
When my personal life does not leave me longing, when I don’t have to wonder what the person I care for is up to because they are content to sit alongside me, only then will I be able to attend a NYE party without feeling desperately unhappy. And isn’t it really rather sad that that’s how I feel, and how things are going to be for years to come?
Anyway… This week I am rather pleased with myself as I have managed to make one 340g jar of pasta sauce last five days. I ate it with pasta with vegetables and lots and lots of garlic and parmesan then sandwiched the leftovers in between fried tortillas and had quesapastadillas. I’ve reduced my portion sizes (which is probably no bad thing) and am trying to stretch things out by going a little easier on sauces etcetera and hitting the store cupboard for flavour. I’ve got lots in the freezer so I’ll be fine food-wise but it’s unnerving being right at the very limits of my overdraft.
Whether or not i’ve a job at my current place of work next Summer at least I will not be in the situation I find myself in now; I will get full pay over the break right up until the beginning of term, so I won’t have to worry about my expenses (such as living) quite as much.
On a completely different track: Fainting goats. Check out the YouTube video. Nature is so gloriously bizarre.
My unfortunately impressed upon toe is improving and I don’t think it is broken; an evening with my foot up on a pillow and a bag of frozen peas has really helped take the pain away. I can walk relatively normally now, and the toe is only painful if I poke at it with a finger (note to self: don’t do that); when I shower the warm water drumming against my skin encourages a low dull pain to creep along the bottom of my foot. At least my toenail has not fallen off, which although an apparently common outcome after such an incident, would be very weird indeed.
It may be only Tuesday but I feel very tired already. My face and nose are pain-free but that horrible taste still flows down the back of my throat at every opportunity. Hooray for ineffective antibiotics. Patrick’s innards are leaking everywhere so I have wrapped him up in a tea towel to try and stem the flow of stuffing. It is odd indeed to wake up next to a ball of polyester wadding. Ugh.
It’s TLAPD on Friday and this year I have decided not to bother celebrating what has previously been a big day on my rather anaemic calendar. I added up the number of people who would be on my crew list and who would attend and it was so astoundingly low that I figured there was very little point in doing anything.
I feel the need to write a lot this week but I know that I won’t focus long enough to do so; the time would be better spent writing an email to Vegas who I haven’t been in touch with for over a year or My Beloved Texan who I think is feeling very blue… I must stop being such an utterly shite friend. This of course would take some effort and I would much prefer to shed some tears over Detective Sanchez or curl up on my blanket and daydream of better times.
On that subject, if my finances weren’t so completely fucked then I would love to go to this: NSFW Bedroom Burlesque and Seduction for Beginners. It’s held at Coco de Mer in Lahndahn Tahn which is filled full of beautiful lingerie and sex toys to drool over but at seriously pretentious, take-out-a-mortgage-with-40%-deposit-required prices.
Not feeling like such a complete uncoordinated klutz would be an excellent outcome of the class, as would increased confidence in how I feel when nude. I know that whomever i’m showing my skin to is not going to mark me down for my smallish bust or the fat around my middle (or at least they won’t ever vocalise those thoughts) but I find it difficult to walk around topless for instance, and that is the sort of thing I feel as an adult I should be able to do.
In bed- no problem, getting dressed in the morning- just a little bit unnerving. I’m at ease in my skin up until a certain point, but does it make sense that I am fine being nude and sexual whereas I feel awkward being nude and non-sexual?
Bed, hot water bottle, Patrick, hug.
I have a love of The Closer and out of the many fabulous characters (and actors) on the show I particularly like Detective Sanchez, gang specialist and intimidator par excellence.
He’s played by the excellently stocky Raymond Cruz who seems to have made a career out of playing military types, even though afaik he’s never been in the service. I loves me some “Hey- It’s That Guy!” action and have been delighted to see him pop up with a weapon in a variety of outings, such as The Rock, Clear and Present Danger and Under Siege.
Det. Sanchez keeps himself constrained within himself most of the time and is very soft spoken but he’s tough and can be vicious when he lets his temper go. I have a bit of a soft spot for both Sanchez and Lieutenant Provenza (GW Bailey, Police Academy is all forgiven) but whereas the mysteriously un-firstnamed Lieutenant draws attention through comedy, Sanchez draws attention by being so quiet in the background.
He has had a rather bad time of it of late with his brother being shot and killed in a drive by because he disrespected a gang member by not taking his baseball cap off when challenged. He’s taken a long time to recover from this and watching him sob in the arms of Provenza was terribly sad. The scene of the crime:
I was watching the mid-season finale- bombs, teens, Darwin, automatic weapons, blah blah blah, shoot out…
Imagine my unhappiness when I was *completely* blindsided by three bullets thwack thwack thwacking into the poor Detective… and I have to wait ’til January to find out if he survives. Boo.
Image courtesy of glockgal
(Vancouver jerseys? Puh-leez)
Today whilst manoeuvring a trolley stacked with still life objects a bump in the terrain encouraged a lump of rather picturesque wood to hurl itself off the top of the trolley and freefall the metre or so down onto my foot. My big toe to be precise. Ow.
On the balance of probabilities it might be broken but teh internets has told me that there is little point in going to A&E or my GP as all they will do it tape the toe to its neighbour and let things heal all natural like. That is just so boring- At least give me crutches- I would be able to poke unruly kids with them, and that would be FUN.
It’s swollen and sore and I every so often I am treated to a little spark of AHGH that shoots from the swollen tissue up through my leg. Ibuprofen and a liberal garnish of frozen peas is helping though I still gimp along when trying to go about my business. Muy sexy.
So the above picture is welcome… Season Four begins at the end of this week. EEEEE. Will Dean-o find his way off of those meathooks and back into the world of the living? YES.
Image of a door next to the Electrowerkz courtesy of Nitram
So, Bang Face 59- A total mission but an excellent night out.
After spending days attempting Egyptian Princess I duly transformed myself into the best tomb-raiding mummified Egyptian princess I could be; to finish off the look I went for the big black-rimmed Egyptian-style eyes and liberally applied patches of gold to my lids, cheeks and forehead. I even had me some go faster stripes. Hee.
Me and Leia Ewok Village (looking suave in black) trained into Lahndahn Tahn to Islington and a de-costumed Nitram. It had been a long time since I had seen the Gabber Lover and it was really great to see him. After a slight spazzing-out due to lack of food (I go hyper) we filled up at Wagamama before heading out into the very private locale of the middle of a shopping centre where I accessorised and Nitram put on his outfit. Leia stood by us and laughed at our collective insanity.
Nitram had decided to come as a sort of Rave Egyptian Mummy, with the cunning application of a ruler and permanent black felt tip to his painting overall resulting in an excellent albeit amusing costume. This was topped off with a couple of rolls of bandage to the face and the overall look was just the right side of insane. The insane side.
Although we had pre-purchased tickets, due to a severe lack of foresight and organisation on the behalf of the “organisers” we had to brave a queue filled with pretentious hipster/trust fund fuckwits for forty-five minutes whilst door staff shouted at us to get out of the dead-end street that had no traffic running near it let alone down it. This was *taxing*. There was also a severe lack of costuming going on, at least in comparison to the Star Wars event I attended. Eventually we queued up in another queue and breached the doors…
Inside: Electrowerkz is a goth club when it’s not Banging Face so the decor was shades of black with black cages and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The Bang Face Hard Crew had papered the walls with Egyptian-themed images- Cleopatra, camels, pyramids, women in veils sucking cock, women taking it up the arse via camel, the usual. The crowd was pretty insane with an interesting variety of inflatables bouncing over the bouncing patrons as we struggled to get through the various rooms.
A man called Matt (I was “Marie”) with very clammy hands (agh) dragged me through the crowd to the cloakroom when I asked where it was- it was that sort of evening- Not really any aggro, people fairly considerate and nice. A real change from what happens when I go out in my local haunts- I kept expecting some fucked off their face bloke to come up and start sleering over me (slurring whilst leering).
Hello new word.
Although I had planned to get my booze on I spent the entire evening drinking nowt but coke or water; I usually have to have had a few drinks before I get the courage up to go dancing, but I managed to get crazy on the dance floor with relative ease. Progress.
The crowd were great, the club less so. The toilets were absolutely grim, worse than any festival portaloo i’ve frequented, and there were very few for such a large number of people. Consequently, queues formed, toilet paper was tracked everywhere and as the doors were permanently held open the unpleasant aroma of urine mixed with the scent of sweat, weed and smoke. Niiice.
Whilst going super crazy to some God-knows-what very intense “music”, a girl getting happy with her glowsticks got talking to me- or should I say, we shouted. Apparently she just wanted to tell me that I looked “really pretty” and that it was her first rave and she was only seventeen. I thanked her and complimented her on her lovely waved Afro-Caribbean hair; I also told her that I was a teacher and that I would have to get her chucked out. Jokes.
I told her to keep hydrated and have an excellent rest of her night and off she twirled into the darkness. She was still going at 4.30am. My makeup and outfit were obviously on the popular side in that in addition a rather lovely Kiwi told me that my eye makeup was really hot and a Bang Face Hard Crew photographer told me “good effort” whilst fingering my crown. Why am I always more popular with the girls than with the boys?
Dancing to the intense music was my favourite part of the evening (Although Chime by Phil Hartnoll was *so* great)- The music is just so odd and you have to try so hard to keep on rhythm yet not try and just go with it. It’s like dancing just for the joy of moving your body in crazy ways, like a toddler dancing to Motorhead. Or something.
After pushing it toddler-style I was pretty much a lost cause so Leia and Nitram and myself collected our gear and made our way to a night bus and the train home. On the way Nitram looked for a suitable receptacle to dispose of his rave mummy suit in; excellent comedy moment of the evening was when he went to stuff it in a bin only to find that it was already full up with a similar suit.
Finally after removing my impressively-still-on-my-face-after-ten-hours makeup and rinsing myself off under a hot shower at 7am I screwed some ear plugs in and got seven hours blissful sleep…
Upon waking (I had some interesting dreams) in the best tradition of Big Nights Out I cooked myself a fry up. Awesomeness, and an appropriately excellent ending to what was a fabulous night’s (sober) crazyness spent with two most excellent human beings.
I am going to (warning- sound) Bang Face tomorrow with Leia Ewok Village and Nitram for a night of Egyptian-themed madness to mark the erection of Cleopatra’s Needle in 1878.
The flyer says to “come dressed as Mummies, Pharaohs, Tomb Raiders & Egyptian Gods…” after spending hours trying to make myself look acceptably regal I gave up on my Princess of Egypt costume and have now decided to go as part tomb raider, part Ancient Egyptian and part mummy…
…covers all the bases and will be much cooler to dance in than the sheets I was previously going to wear.
Although I am excited to be taking part in such stupidity with such good friends, I have already planned out possible wee small hours escape routes as I know that the lure of my warm bed is already calling and I have not even got into Friday yet.
I figure I will spend most of the weekend post-banging my face getting intimate with my orange blanket with either headphones or earplugs blocking out the world outside my room. Quesadillas sound good… as does sleeeep…
This is the end section of an email I have just received from a student I used to teach:
i watch my life a rear view mirrior, passing me by, i am stuck in a rut i am not the person i want to be. compared to me in year 10 to now i have turned into someone unregonisable, i dont live any more i exsist. i exsist because i have to. but i would never do anything to hurt myself i couldnt. i just want my friends, i want people to understand and not just think that i am being boring, miserable, and self piting. because thats not me, all i want is to be liked for me, i feel tired, and broken… i dont know maybe its just me and it all seems worse than it is because im young, but i dont believe that i want to live again be me. i will try and sort things out with my mum, make her understand she will listen.I promptly got on the phone to the NSPCC and had a good chat with one of the advisors on there; she was very helpful but I feel like emotional abuse isn’t enough to get her out of that environment, my ex-student has to be hit (repeatedly) before anything can be done, which is ri-fucking-diculous, as from the above excerpt you can read how deeply unhappy this girl is, and that help really is needed…
This sort of thing is happening all over the country and it makes me feel so sad for the children and young adults involved; I just want to scream at the adults- “What the FUCK are you doing- You are ruining a child’s life- Can’t you see?” To sit there and have to listen to how she is treated… It makes me so angry!
Why the fuck am I, a second-rung-of-the-career-ladder art teacher having to deal with this sort of stuff? My job description is thus:
– To be a teacher of Art and Design
– Take on a form group if required
– Be responsible for updating the departmental website
Do you see social worker on that list? Councillor? I understand that as a teacher I deal with humanity and therefore deal with the flaws inherent in society, but I wish I would not have to be in the position where I am one of the few people in this poor girl’s life who will listen to her. Not even do anything – just listen – she’s got no-one in her family to do even that.
FOR FUCKS SAKE
So I got at least seven hours uninterrupted sleep last night (the earplugs worked), so why is it that I had to battle to get myself up this morning? And why is it now i’m home I am having to work at resisting the urge to crawl under my blanket and drift off into fuzzy oblivion?
its time by julkastro
Tonight I find myself in an odd situation- Being in bed before Cinderella hour.
Now if I can successfully screw a pair of earplugs far enough into my head I might just be able to drift off… Just got to keep the noisy world outside my bedroom at bay. Le yawn.
From Wikimedia Commons category Hugging In Film
Ah… Le weekend. Alas, le temp c’est tres mauvais, and the dim light and heavy showers put me off for most of the weekend from venturing out for anything further nor more exciting than a pint of milk and a chocolate bar. Yes, I could have jumped in MR T but then it’s the traffic, the people and getting my parking space back. As my students say, that would be “effort”.
I’m very tired after my brush with bacteria and all of four days at work (how sad); the weather has not helped lift my spirits much, and my mid-week trip to see Hellboy II left me filled with an intense longing for hugs.
Giving and receiving hugs comes high on my list of comforts; my orange blanket and it’s awesome fuzzy softness is sort of a portable substitute hug that I have to use most of the time. Hugs with someone you care about are really important to me and very intimate. Sex with that person where you willingly let them violate the boundaries of your body should be classed as a much more intimate act than squashing next to them and wrapping your arms around their body, but I know that some people consider sex to be a physical act lacking in any emotional value.
That was the longest sentence ever.
As I say, hugs to me are intimate, which is why I guess getting them and the (subjectively measured) quality of hug given is important. You get to feel the warmth of the other person full against you, get to smell their hair and skin and feel their texture too. Their arms around you help you feel secure and if you’re lying down then there’s the added bonus of being able to rest your head against their chest.
A hug should ideally contain the following qualities to be considered good:
- Good torso – torso contact (and not just leaning in torsos- upper legs must be included)
- Firm holding that lasts for a good length of time (i.e. anything longer than five seconds)
- Holding that is not ended by an extra-firm squeeze (this I really look down upon)
- No patting of heads or backs (I HATE)
- Both arms used to hold
- Inclining of heads into necks
I absolutely thrive under close physical contact – it’s one of the things i’ve discovered post-Monster – so being held is something I long for. I know however that if I am feeling in the need for hugs I have to rely on the whim of someone else to provide me with the comfort I might need. There is no way I can ask for a hug, just as there is no way I can ask to be kissed nor for example tell them that I miss them or that I would like to come over and nest for a while. There are many such things I cannot say.
Those desires I am unable to express are writ large in my head- their importance, the inequality and unfairness of it when I know others happily rattle off what to them are mere fripperies. When i’m wrapped up warm and safe and stupidly content in a hug, none of these things matter.
And things were going so well…
My first few days back at work have been very busy but very good- I’ve got more lessons to take not being an NQT any more and I am also teaching part of the AS Photography course. My form are lovely little (scared!) individuals who are friendly, good-humoured and polite- Long may it stay. Fingers crossed on that front…
Unfortunately this spate of lessons spent actually teaching and not performing crowd control ended today as I got to meet some absolute shocking Year 8’s who have definitely put a dampener on my enjoyment. They were notorious last year and seem to be lumped together in my class, which also happens to be full of lovely, wouldn’t-say-boo-to-a-goose girls who I taught last year. Ugh, they were fucking awful little bints, and i’ve got them again today. JOY.
The antibiotics continue to be popped and the infection continues to lurk; hopefully by Monday and the end of the course things will have righted themselves. I seem to have lots to do both inside and outside of school and I tend to come home and spend most of the evening trying to stay awake as I try and get through the paperwork for my classes and my form. There is a *lot*.
I’ve got out the orange blanket out for warmth and fuzzy comfort and I have a feeling I will be making use of it on an all too frequent basis as the term wears on and the weather begins to turn. Last night I snuggled down imagining I was curled up in a Hellboy-based hug… head resting on his broad chest and held tightly by his excellent arms…
Hey, blankets and fictitious characters are all i’ve got…
Also, Sarah Palin- WTF?
A summary of the soundtrack to my evening
Andy Williams – Can’t Get Used To Losing You
Jack Teagarden – Mis’ry and The Blues
James Brown – Cold Sweat
Ernie K-Doe – Here Come The Girls
Oh Red… You’re the demon for me…
You’ve horns and dodgy hair and are not human and are red but you’ve a broad chest to curl up against and good arms and are strong and humorous and look like you’d give really good hug… sigh.
We could make it work.
The cats would however have to go…
Last night I got around one hours sleep courtesy of the intense pain emanating from the inside of my head and my inability to be anything other than a mouth breather. Hello sinus infection. Ugh.
Although all I wanted to do is walk into the consulting room and say “I’ve got a sinus infection, please give me some antibiotics” I had to play the game and pretend that I did not know what the horrible-tasting gunk running down the back of my throat that makes me feel sick meant…
…nor anything about the hot, painful swollen areas of my face and low pain in my back teeth. If it had been my consultant I was talking to he would have not needed any of the explanation. Just give me the drugs! Grrr.
I am now faced with the question- Do I feel sick because of the antibiotics I have taken, the foul gunk in my throat and stomach or because of the pizza I just ate? Time will tell…
My favourite Agent was in the news this past week admitting that he had checked himself into a clinic to deal with his apparent sexual addiction.
The TMZ/X-17 Online/Perez Hilton’s of the world cackled with glee whilst I sighed heavily and tutted, but not from a moral perspective, far from it.
I don’t believe sex addiction exists. I’ve come to this conclusion by reading far too much about a “thing” that I do not consider I am addicted to, but can understand how people can be motivated by a set of circumstances into becoming compulsive.
Yes, I may long for intimacy but I do not go out of my way to try and find it, nor do I equate sex with intimacy- Sex can be sex or sex can be intimacy. Personally, I appear to be unable to have sex just for the sake of it.
Today there is an excellent article rounding up the major points as to why it is not an addiction at Petra Boynton’s always fascinating blog:
Dr Petra – Medicalising sexual behaviour – some interesting stories in the news
The article also touches on the increasing medicalisation of non-medical issues. I could easily be classed as “suffering” from female sexual dysfunction but I know that a hit of Viagra is definitely not the answer to my “problems”. Also of interest:
Marty Klein – Why There’s No Such Thing as Sexual Addiction — And Why It Really Matters
Original image by Stefan-Xp… My Photoshop mad skillz :D
Hooray! MR T is fixed! I am happy :)
The specialist garage I took him to was great, and the receptionist earned my love by getting her hands dirty bringing out my rusty, split exhaust and showing me where it had corroded away. So it wasn’t just me imagining the loss of power, and how it sounded like I was driving with a turbo when my ‘lil car is nowt but a glorified shopping trolley. A trolley I think of as a sports car, but it’s not quite the performance vehicle.
So they fixed it and now it doesn’t hiss as I drive and it’s back to being a nippy little thing. And best of all it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, which is uber important this month as financially things are looking rather tough.
Work starts tomorrow with an INSET day which is a downer but at the same time I feel a burst of happiness due to my newly well car. Huzzah.