gibbon-arsed ramblings of a hopeless underachiever
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Well bugger me, I'm top of the Google search wotsit for the phrase "etcetera ad nauseum". How bizarre. I have to confess to not quite understanding how these things work - the ranking and that.
Watched a tiny bit of that I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here yesterday (or "I Used to be a Celebrity, Get Me In There" as some wag renamed it). Who the hell is that "Phil" bloke? Never seen him before and they never seem to say his surname.
Aaanyway. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say (just for a change) and I really need to sleep. I'll try again tomorrow. With the blogging, the 'having a life' etcetera etcetera ad nauseum. oops.
posted by bandhag | 4/30/2003 09:00:00 PM
Sunday, April 27, 2003
This is one of those weekends that's gone a bit wrong.
I started out with good intentions - yesterday, I was going to go to the library, get some books for my course, do lots of studying, do some of my freelance work in the evening and do some more studying today. The library is still on vacation hours, I couldn't find any of the books I wanted, the VPN I use for my freelance work wasn't working properly, and I didn't understand a fucking word of what I was reading for the other assignment I was trying to do. So yesterday I bought three tops, some CDs and a pair of earrings and today I spent most of the day in bed and the rest of it going backwards and forwards to a book, swearing at it for not being good and understandable and then listening to the CDs (Goldfrapp, Led Zeppelin and Queens of the Stone Age). And then tonight I went all weak and bought beer and sat drinking it in front of 24.
Arse. In a way, anyway. I've actually had quite a nice weekend, one way or the other, but I feel bad and anxious about the fact I haven't done any of the things I intended to do. And bad and anxious about the fact I've got only 5 weeks to get all that stuff done. Ho hum.
posted by bandhag | 4/27/2003 11:42:00 PM
Saturday, April 26, 2003
Is it just me who gets paranoid when someone tells you to ring them on a certain day, and then when you do ring them you get their voicemail, but it takes a different amount of time for the voicemail to kick in each time - almost as if they're pressing 'clear' when they see that it's you calling?
posted by bandhag | 4/26/2003 01:13:00 PM
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Gah, it's doing that thing again, where it doesn't publish an entry until I write the next one.
My friend is asking me whether or not she should go to a hypnotherapist to help her stop smoking. I have no idea. Anyone have any experience of these people?
posted by bandhag | 4/23/2003 03:30:00 PM
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
It's odd, this blog business. I know that I have about two readers, and I'm fairly sure neither of them are people I know, but I do have a dreaded fear of anyone who actually knows me reading this. Don't know why. I suppose it's partly because I don't put in all the miserable stuff (though who knows, I may start - you have been warned) and partly because this is just brain dump stuff. It's ok for me to spill my head-wrongs on people who have no idea who I am but not for people I know, for some reason. No, it doesn't make sense to me either. Anyway - it stops me from talking about stuff I want to talk about just in case (and buckle up for the ultimate in paranoid fucking bullshit here, kids) someone stumbles across it, spots things they recognise could only be me and starts spying inside my head.
Er. Yeah. Aaaanyway. I couldn't think of anything to say for the past week. I've felt odd and a bit miserable, which I don't want to share with my lovely readers. I'm a girl, so let's say it was hormones or something. I could tell you I had my braids done on Friday and that they look rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. People's reaction falls into two camps - those who say absolutely nothing at all (I'm assuming they don't like it) and those who say they like it, ask how long it took and say it suits me. I don't care either way - I like 'em and they provide endless entertainment, with the knotting and the melting the ends etc etc. Talking of which, I may go and do that for a while. Or perhaps I should do some of the mountain of work that's been accruing for months and needs done by May.
Hair play it is, then.
posted by bandhag | 4/22/2003 08:27:00 PM
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
To the old man sitting in front of me on the bus on the way home: while I acknowledge the fact that you have invented the noisiest method of breathing ever, incorporating all those intricately inventive snorts, coughs and repetitive throat-clearing, I'd be terribly grateful if you would find a soundproof recording studio, lay it down on a 'track' and post it to someone who might actually fucking appreciate it (perhaps some Centre for Tropical Diseases or a noisy breathing fetishist), rather than practising it continually on a hot and crowded (and therefore instantly infuriating) but utterly silent bus. Also, the bus seat is just that - it is not a car seat. Therefore, pushing back really hard on it will not give you more leg room. It will, however, cause it to smash painfully against my knees every verse end.
To the girl who sat next to me on the bus on the way home: you're very pretty from what I saw, but that was only a glimpse, as I had to turn my eyes away when they started watering a millisecond after you sat down. For the love of GOD buy some deodorant. And try washing, ever.
posted by bandhag | 4/16/2003 08:21:00 PM
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
So, the new neighbours don't like the Pixies or Dinosaur Jr, but they do like Celine Motherfucking Dion. If I wasn't going to move out anyway, I'd be on the way to the nearest shotgun store. They have those, right?
But moving out I am, with luck. Had my interview for the housing co-op tonight. I have no idea how it went, because I was really nervous for some reason (which probably isn't the best way to be when you're trying to get into a laid-back and very social community, ho hum) and I'm always shit at telling how interviews have gone. Fingers crossed, anyway.
Oo, and the braidy lady may be coming on Friday instead of Saturday, which will be cool as it will solve various going-out arrangement difficulties I was having.
It's very hot here. The cat has melted into a fur puddle and doesn't seem to have moved from her position - sprawled out as flat as she can get to the ground - since I left the house this morning. Still, at least she doesn't have to wear Summer Girl Clothes. Bleurgh. More on that another time - for now, I needs eats.
posted by bandhag | 4/15/2003 08:00:00 PM
Sunday, April 13, 2003
Pff. What a day.
Got to the college library at 4:55, planning to do some work until midnight, when it closes. Except it doesn't, during vacations. During vacations, it shuts at 5. So I called my old housemates, since they're that side of town, went round there for a bit and then we went off for an evening of pubbing, where we met up with another friend who none of us have seen since some time last year. So that all worked out pretty cool.
But back to before the library thing. I was walking along the path, minding my own business, when this bloke starts walking next to me and says hi. I, the woman who regularly gets into long conversations with the lonely old folk at the bus stop (must have one of those faces), make the mistake of saying hi back. Then he tells me his name and asks if we've met before. "Oh Jesus", I think. "No, I don't think so", I say.
"Are you sure? I've definitely seen you before" he says. And then it comes: "I've definitely seen your face before - maybe it was in my dreams".
If I'd thought for a second he was actually interested in chatting me up properly, I might not have laughed so hard.
"You should probably stop eating cheese before you go to bed" I suggested.
I said I had to turn off the path (was at college by this point) and he asked me my name, so I told him a fake one. THEN he asked whether he could get my number and give me a call some time and we could go out. He was kind of blocking my way, and wouldn't accept it when I said I didn't give my number to people I didn't know, and why didn't he give me his instead. So I gave him a fake number, and hoped to God it didn't actually belong to someone.
I dunno. I'd really like to be genuinely chatted up by someone who was really attracted to me, but that was actually a bit creepy. I just panicked - I should've been more forceful about saying no. Still, he probably knew I was talking bollocks. So that's all worked out ok then, yeah?
posted by bandhag | 4/13/2003 12:47:00 AM
Friday, April 11, 2003
I live in a downstairs flat - been here about a year. There used to be a couple living upstairs, of whom I heard very little - the occasional row and stamping; perhaps every now and again they'd thud a bit as they went up the stairs. A few weeks ago, the rowing escalated sharply, the girl moved out, and a couple of weeks after that the flat was completely empty.
I now have new upstairs neighbours. Since they moved in, I have developed two new theories:
1. The previous neighbours stopped having sex a long time before they broke up.
2. The architect of this building clearly thought that making the floors and ceilings out of paper (or some kind of kerrrayzee sound-magnifying substance) would be a neato idea.
That'll be me off to Boots tomorrow for a bumper pack of earplugs, then...
posted by bandhag | 4/11/2003 11:26:00 PM
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Warning - this is a pretty gross post.
At the risk of sending the Google searches crazy, I read on the Popbitch newsletter that "Necrophilia is about to get banned in Britain.The forthcoming Sexual Offences Bill includes a clause that will, for the first time, make it a crime to have sex with a corpse." Yet apparently, morticians will be exempt from this law. As will those who penetrate any part of a dead body "fully believing the person to be alive, but who is in fact dead, or unexpectedly dies during intercourse".
Riiiight. So, the questions that have to be asked are:
1. This wasn't illegal before? Eeeww times 10 to the power of infinity.
2. Why the special treatment for morticians? Is it considered a perk of the job for them to be able to "take care" of the people they're taking care of?
3. Call me naiive but if I was a bloke, and the person I stuck my bits into "any part" of turned out to be dead, or died in the middle of the act, I think there would be a world of things going through my head before the thought "Oh dear, I might be breaking the law". Things like scrubbing my cock with bleach, screaming until I burst my vocal chords, losing any trace of libido forever, and so on and so forth.
And as an aside - that bit about "penetrating any part of a dead body"... can we say: rigor mortis..lockjaw..ouch.
But seriously, how has it taken this long for this to be made illegal? And I still don't understand the "doesn't apply to morticians" bit. Frankly, I'm not keen to go searching too hard to understand more about it - somehow, leaving search terms like "necrophilia" in my Google history really doesn't appeal. So meanwhile it'll have to be one of those things I wonder about instead of sleeping.
Urgh. Thanks, Popbitch.
posted by bandhag | 4/10/2003 09:09:00 PM
Even I know not to smoke when I'm poorly sick. Which means that I'm ill and going through cold turkey. I haven't dared look in the mirror today, but strongly suspect I look like one of those Government health warning posters about heroin. What I really need is some whisky. Medicinal, of course. And a man to rub Vick's on my chest. Yeah, so it's my throat that's poorly - what's your point, caller?
posted by bandhag | 4/10/2003 08:46:00 PM
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
Make that very ill. Came home from work again at 2, have only just got out of bed and feel worse than ever. urgh.
posted by bandhag | 4/09/2003 06:41:00 PM
Bah. I'm ill. Double bah, I'm going to have to go to at least my day job anyway as my boss isn't around, so I have to hold the fort. This is one downside of being a contractor - no facking sick pay.
posted by bandhag | 4/09/2003 08:56:00 AM
Monday, April 07, 2003
Lawks. The bloke who got beaten up has a broken cheekbone, on which he had to have keyhole surgery yesterday, his jaw's broken in two places and he had to have 10 stitches in his head. They only released him from hospital yesterday. And apparently, one of the regulars who'd got stuck in the middle of it all had been speaking to the bloke who started it earlier in the night. She asked him what kind of music he was into and he said "Jungle. I fucking hate this kind of shit so I thought it'd be funny to come up and see who was here"....uh...huh. So - in no way came in looking for trouble then.... Why do people have to be such wankers?
posted by bandhag | 4/07/2003 09:19:00 PM
Sorry for the absence�again. No real reason other than feeling a bit miserable, which is not a state I find conducive to posting on here.
Sooo, what've I been up to? Well, I've learned not to make jokes about violence. On Friday night I went to my friends' rather marvellous club night and there was a punch-up at the end of the night - some bloke laid into some other bloke for no apparent reason, several other blokes piled in, the whole caboodle fell on top of a girl who started fighting back and all of a sudden there's a heaving mass of punchy punchy on the dancefloor - and not the "getting over-excited to Nirvana" kind. Somehow, my friend (who runs the night, with her husband) managed to pull out the guy who was most badly damaged from under the pile of bodies, and I managed to pull out the one who'd started it all and all of a sudden it was over and everyone went off, to run away before the bouncers came/clean other people's blood off themselves in the toilet, while I held this bloke by the scruff of his shirt until the bouncer came to retrieve him, and R went off to help the owner patch up the beaten guy. Afterwards, I felt a bit sick. It's not that kind of club, things like that don't happen. I felt so bad for the bloke who got really badly done over - he's a regular of the club, and bore a striking resemblance to someone I love so it was all generally very blurgh. Also there's the small matter of wondering quite what possessed us to wade in like that instead of waiting for the bouncers - not that we did any hitting, it was literally just a case of grabbing them and pulling them out of it, but it could have turned out a lot nastier than it did.
Saturday we went to MVE at Notting Hill Gate and I bought lots of luvverly old vinyl and then we went to see some bands and it was good and nice and then we went home and had something to eat and A said I loved the man from some band, but I don't, so I went to hit him and accidentally threw my pitta bread with haloumi (mmmmm) on the floor and R told him off but not me ha ha and yesterday I came home. *gasp for breath*. Hmm, perhaps I'll post all my blog entries in the style of a primary school newsbook. What d'ya think? Nah, ok. Maybe not.
And that's about it, really. The rest of the week has been taken up by work, work, work. Oh, and getting the Hot Hot Heat song stuck fast in my tiny brain. I can't help bobbing my head around while I sing it. This makes me look like a twat.
There have been other things. I'll think of them later. For now, I'm meant to be working.
posted by bandhag | 4/07/2003 04:29:00 PM
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
I am obssessed with getting my hair braided. I've wanted it done for years, and now I'm looking into it properly. Mid-life crisis a bit early, perhaps? Maybe I'm just distracting myself from Mother's Day. And work. And college. And blah blah blah. Still, I'm really excited about it, like some big stoopid kid.
Sorry, my brain is empty again today. So empty, in fact, that when I couldn't find my lighter on the way from one job to another, and was talking myself out of asking the shifty-looking man in front of me if he had one, I imagined the scenario if he turned out to be a flasher.
Me: 'Scuse me mate, have you got a light?
Him: [coat open, cock flapping in the wind] HA!
Me: [still looking him in the eye] I said have you got a LIGHT?
Him: What?...I - I'm flashing you
Me: No, you're showing me something that bears a striking resemblance to a child's thumb, which I can barely see past that gallon-of-lard-wrapped-in-skin that passes for your belly. Look, it's really very simple - you give me a light, I pretend to be shocked and horrified by you flashing me, you get your thrills, I get my nicotine. Now, let's try again: Have. You. Got. A. LIGHT?
Him: [crestfallen, buttoning up overcoat] No.
At which point, I would proceed to kick the shit out of him and shriek "Help! Pervert! Police!" in my best shrill girl-voice.
Of course, in real life I probably would just scream and run home.
Note for tomorrow: remember your walkman, you fucking nutter.
posted by bandhag | 4/01/2003 01:18:00 AM