Likes friends she can draw on ^^

The usual rambling

Life Lesson #1: People ditch. Everyone leaves. Every single fucking one.

As usual I end up here on some inhumane hour of night because I got too bored to sleep. Cooling my non-existent brain waves with good ole T.I. radio ripping and reading a blog called AmrKhaled’sVault, which is probably the most nostalgically inspiring thing I’ve read since I stumbled upon the diary of my 7 year old self. Off with T.I. Damn nostalgia, I can’t listen to good old music with my head kicking in. Whatever. I'm not even explaining this.

Life Lesson #2: Schweppes cream soda doesn’t taste good without a cocktail. Otherwise it’s just a liquefied fart.

“Life and death are as close together as your butt cheeks and creation and destruction are as intimately connected as your...uh...other organs.” - http://amrkhaledsvault.blogspot.com

Life Lesson #3: Oranges make better heads and people don’t give a shit. Formerly covered.

Life Lesson #4: If you take your birthday off your facebook profile, the odds are the only one who ends up remembering it is your mom, well, and possibly your stalker, that is if you’re plausible/weird enough to attract those.

Life Lesson #5: Jumpstarting catharsis is better than ending up with a slit wrist. Or you could just do what I do and exercise for 2 or 3 hours till you can’t bend your legs let alone walk. Hurts like hell, relish it.

Life Lesson #6: I used to think a “Fuck Off” solves it all, but there are some things that one simply doesn’t have enough middle fingers for.

Life Lesson #7: Chivalry ain’t dead. It never existed. Get your facts straight. Next you’re gonna tell me bigfoot exists? Another word about that and you’re having one of the latter up you’re former-ous ass!

Life Lesson #8: You don’t microwave chocolate bars without removing the wrapper unless you’ve run out of fireworks or want to pull one off on your mom as she makes her morning coffee fix. Also formerly covered.

Life Lesson #9: Cheddar is Roumy that wimped out.

and I stopped at 9 because I love odd numbers.

It’s my blog, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it.

Yeah, I guess that’s enough creeping out for one day.

To be continued…Or not.

Danny Elfmann

I just resisted the urge to write an OCP blog post about Danny Elfmann, who is my synonyms to ingenuity and one of the things that make life good in my definition. You dudes explore, moving on.

Drinking coffee, tuned in to Victor’s piano solo and checking out the downturned face of the canned US military chief headlining a news article in the CNN homepage I was reading, a thought went through my headache-traumatized, allergy-pill-dosed head worthy of a royal membership as guinea pig for the ICHD, well, I thought…*blank* I don’t remember.

Well I got you reading this far talking about nothing at all, I might as well go on. Hmm

Naaaah.

Big shit poppin vs. Little shit stoppin

You just know something wrong when you have the annual Korba music festival the next day and no one to attend it with because your friend ditched last minute, as usual, for a more eligible pal to use as a time-killer. You also know something’s wrong when you care so much how someone did on a fucking test that you text five times in two days and get no reply, I mean, I know, pressure and all, but how much would it hurt to give your thumbs the exercise for a couple of seconds? You burn more calories picking your nose for God’s sake! You just know something’s wrong when your dad finds it good catharsis to bust out every metaphorical pimple in you because something went wrong at work. You just know something’s wrong when your closest friend hangs up on you after saying she’s had it with your being ice cold and dismissive just because you forgot to call for a couple of days. You just know something’s wrong when you can’t get rides anywhere without putting up a debate worthy of quoting to get it from the two workaholics roaming your vicinity. You know something’s wrong when your word count per day drops to 17. You know something’s wrong when your OCP rate drops to two idle weeks.

But then again, who wants to end up with a blog post worth posting on MLIA?

One year

13th of July.

7th of August.

Hikikomori

Brain dump

OK. uuh. I'm finding it very hard to write a blog post because my train of thought is going in all directions. Now, that could be because of a lot of things. I mean, I could always fill up this blog post with my allergy, sleeplessness and OCP syndrome, as usual, and I'm assuring you there have been quite interesting updates to each, like the fact that I had yet another choking-on-imaginary-furballs attack, slept for 15 hours after talking to everyone online on my list due to a doubled dosage of a Very Confusing allergy drug, forcing me to wake up to messages of "WERE YOU DRUNK?" and the fact that my teacher cornered me into catching up on the level book to keep the fingers in my head lubricated, whatever the hell that means, but I won't.

Now, what the hell do I talk about?

I mean, I could always talk about the fact that I've been more of a punching bag than a person for a couple of months. I could talk about the fact that I haven't gone out in a while, intentionally, except maybe last night, and a couple of nights before, ok no. I could talk about how I almost got a heart attack when I found out my coffee supply had been cut because mum couldn't remember to buy coffee on her 1-2 am mall spree, during which she bought every other possible object, edible and inedible, that you could muster to think of and I'm not going into why she did that, except that some of you might know. *looks at someone*. I could just settle on saying that Forgetting to buy coffee in this house is not to be taken lightly. You could choke me with a pillow for all I care, but don't take my coffee. Seriously. I could talk about how I've been taking some really Really worrying comments from people...Including "God you're nuts", "wow that's cold thank god I'm not married to you!", and I'm pretty sure "Subconsiously suicidal", "Prone to flesh-eating guilt attacks" and "Hell you type so fast without looking you could make it blind, wow go blind" were stuck in there somewhere. I could talk about the fact that I'm writing on my PC because I miss how the old crappy keyboard sounds. I could talk about getting three password reset e-mails to my facebook account which means someone, somewhere, has been trying to log in as me and was pretty stupid to even bother to hack me so it wouldn't look like someone was trying, which made me change it into a longass password that takes me three trials to get straight, so yeah LEMME SEE YOU LOG IN NOW, YOU WANNABE ASSHOLE! Come to think of it, that probably wasn't necessary. Ha! Felt good though. I could talk about the fact that I wanted to go running this morning and couldn't because I'm still scared the stalker who called me cupcake and insisted I look cold, and chivalrously offered to "make me warm" flashed back. Lol he gave me one hell of a good exercise though, took it up a notch. I never ran that fast for so long. haha. I could talk about the fact that I shovelled coffee into the mug and took back some into the jar and not the other way around. I could talk about how we were invited over dinner at a friend's house yesterday and we spent it talking about corpses. Yeah, sucks when both your parents and their parents are some variation of dentist/gynaecologist. You've got in one room the dudes and dudettes who handle every opening in your body and find it amusing to discuss them over dinner. Oh, and they can never relate to it because apparently, at one time during their med journey, they had to eat as they dissected, so they took their lunches to the morgue. Some even start to take a fancy to it, which I cannot relate to, to follow the analogy, unless you're a zombie who's trying to get off man-munching. The equivalent to the nicotine patch to smokers, eating a burger while watching a corpse as you fantasize how that could have been that chopped off ear no one found when the body came in. Oh and did you know they brought in the dead bodies of executed criminals? Good. Now you do. Oh and did you know that they were actually ecstatic when the body of the homicidal maniac called "The guizeh butcher" came in after being executed because, alas, not all of the bodies they got were in good shape, because most had been burned beyond recognition or incomplete. Oh the joy!

Hm, now what do I talk about?

bleh.

Rory less than three

Not funny Mom!

To cut a long story short, allergy kicked in again, mum gave me a pill that sent me "so high you couldn’t reach me with a fuckin’ antenna” lil wayne style like a buddy once said it.

Me: *having already dropped asleep and my eyes had lost the ability to use their shutters, as I was trying to remember what I said to people on msn before going* wha eggzactly didchu gimme?

Mum: Zyrtec

Me:Does it make yew sleehpy? * half-asleep*

Mum: *silence* No, you’re used to it, now sleep like normal people do.

Two hours later, the fastest two hours of my life, from 12 to 2, so fast that I felt the 1 digit just fell off, something made me go online and google zyrtec. Just an impulse.

That’s what I find.

My mum was sedating me.

Not funny. Stop laughing. NOT FU… oh whatever.

Posthumous Perk

Isn’t it ironic that the best Nocturnes Chopin composed were the ones that he swore would never be out on “his dead body”?

Refer to Chopin’s posthumous nocturnes, the ones in C# minor and C minor, and you’ll see the best of chop-chop’s flow. I even picked up a slight Arab twist to the tune - but that’s just me, there’s nothing like Erik Satie’s Gnossiennes, especially the first and fourth that have that, but anyway – and what’s ironic is that those were one of his posthumous nocturnes, as in he withheld their publication, probably because he felt they weren’t up to his standard at that time, which is perfectly understandable since composers in the revolutionary turn of the Romantic era fought for prominence, so copycats were all over the place. The weird tone of the nocturnes probably intimidated Chopin, he had a reputation to keep and some eccentric nocturne was not worth the risk now is it?

Which got me thinking, isn’t is quite ironic that the best of Chopin’s work is the scribble he hid for not being good enough? Those crumpled papers with the math equation deciphering trials…How many times do we do that everyday? Re-sitting a test, deleting a line for the umpteenth time because it sounded too cliché in your head when you picture people’s faces reading it, adding a thousand aromas to the recipe that no human nose, no matter how developed their sense of smell is, could tell apart, or just, I dunno, fixing your hair in place in every mirror you can find on your way from the bedroom to the door… We all do it everyday, we all hide those non-stereotypical yet ingenious nocturnes just because they didn’t sound good enough when in fact they might have been just perfect… The art of ruining, the massacre, is in fact the editing not the scribbles. The dissonance and chromaticism that was hated at the time – Unsurprisingly because they didn’t sit well with the ordinary things they heard everyday –  instead of all the harmonic boring crap.

I mean, you wanna hear beauty, raw unedited elaborate beauty that has outstripped all others, listen to Debussy’s work. I mean, there’s a reason that dude’s name is the only one that pops up in your head when anything about the “Impressionism” phase pops up in a conversation? Breaking the boundaries of the classicals that were not only drained and exhausted by repetition during that time, that dude, perceived as nuts and actually driving other people nuts like Rebikov who thought Debussy was actually copying him! but then again he also thought he was haunted… so yeah that that doesn’t really count. What I’m trying to say is, if you’re mad enough to come out with something Unique, don’t trim it beyond recognition to fit the status-quo, for God’s sake have some balls and come out with it, it could be the next posthumous nocturne!

45

D'oh!

When you can’t fall asleep even though you didn’t have coffee that day, with no other earthling awake, having wasted the daze the first allergy pill sent me into by taking another allergy pill that got me right back up on my feet and hopping, the Simpsons reruns start to get really cosy. Besides, Danny Elfmann composed the theme music. >,> I’ll just  quote Homer and wrap up the post, he says what’s swirling in my head and more. “Dear Lord.. The gods have been good to me. For the first time in my  life, everything is absolutely perfect just the way it is. So here's the deal: You freeze everything the way it is, and I won't ask for anything more. If that is OK, please give me absolutely no sign. OK, deal. In gratitude, I present you this offering of cookies and milk. If you want me to eat them for you, give me no sign. Thy will be done."

Ow

I wish…

I’m weird like that

1. I deleted my favourites list on msn. The one who always talks has always talked and will always talk to anyone else, that being me or not. The one who never says hi stopped saying anything else too. The one who never talks should never have been put there in the first place. Et voila! However, one day later, I put it back, because conventional or not, they’re my favourites.
2. I felt suicidal today, so I went for juice hoping for allergy to kick in once and for all, when that didn’t work, I went to get water with the lights out.
3. In my case, when it comes to going for a can of coke vs. juice, coke is actually the healthy choice for me.
4. Even a cartoon with guns/car accidents could actually get me to break down. Personal experiences. I could never talk my way around it, and managed to unintentionally freak out a friend today when she recommended 45-Shinedown and another friend a month earlier for posting an imageshack still photo.
5. I never lie when people ask I’m ok, yet people never notice when I’m not. You’d think a yes or no question couldn’t get more obvious.
6. I’m so poker-faced I think I could get a fortune if I tried using it gambling.
7. I wash my hands up to 12 times a day, my face up to 5 times a day, shower almost twice a day and still it doesn’t feel enough. Weird thing is, I never thought of it as weird until they portrayed it in an episode as an OCD trait in “Monk” sitcom.
8. My ego is three times bigger than my head, and my head is big.
9. Almost everything I own is one shade or another of blue. My laptop, cell phone, glasses, toothpaste, clothes, pens, slippers and pyjamas included.
10. I run through headphones more than I run through socks. This month alone, I managed to wreck two, one of which was a pro LG pair. Right now you’re thinking about socks, aren’t you?
11. 500 ml of beer does not get me drunk. Yup, too much coffee in my blood system, or should I say too much blood in my coffee system?
12. I’m always on the hugged side of any hug.
13. I trained 2 hours a day for as long as I remember except for the last 5 months, professionally as a kid in the gymnastics class, then on my own after that. They never sounded good enough, until I learned that Taylor Lautner with all his bulk actually trains an hour and a half a day. Prowlers or not, streets here I come.
14. I block more than I appear offline, and most of the time I tell people when I block them, just for the fun of it ^^ “You’ve been blocked” “Eeeeeeeeeek!”
15. When friends describe me on Facebook applications or quizzes, of all the adjectives, “Crazy” is the one they’ve all used in common. That says something now doesn’t it?
16. I mentioned it in a previous post, but I quote: “Out of all the genres, it is actually Rap that soothes me”.
17. To venture all the way to mama’s brit relative’s grand piano every once in a while, I have to go by the cat, and I handle the allergy to play it. That’s how much I love piano.
18. I have short-term memory loss. People don’t believe it, then start to get the hang of it when I forget what they were talking about the next day, but still get mad at me for it. I can’t help it people!
19. I don’t dream.
20. Last but not least, if you ask me about your haircut and it sucks, I’m probably going to be the one breaking the news to you.

Bullshit-intolerant

So I was thinking, since we can’t figure out the source of my allergy; guava has been exonerated because my trachea was swollen shut yet again today, despite the fact that guava never broke the restraining order and had an alibi, I have worked it out in my head quite wonderfully into a compromise. According to my previous post, “Guava kills and people don’t give a shit”, it would most fitting that I be bullshit-intolerant, that way I’d be able to detect when people actually do give it, besides there’s nothing else to pin it to and I almost died twice. I’m looking on the bright side, I mean, how many of us experience what it feels like for a cat to choke up on a hairball? Now I do, and I didn’t even have to wait for my next life for that. Meh

It has been a good couple of days, I’ve resisted the urge to write about them since it’s too crowded inside my head I don’t want you rummaging around in it too. Yes you. Besides, they’re my memories, not yours. Get a life. This blog is not for living vicariously through me. And yet again I find myself talking back to that certain hostile figment of my imagination being an insufferable know-it-all. You’re beginning to grow on me I should give you a name. 9 seconds later, after googling “annoying names”, a light bulb popped up on the top of my head Looney-tunes-style, how about calling it The Grr? Yea, most gibing.

After re-reading the last paragraph, The Grr answered back.

The Grr: This is puh-tha-tick.

Again, resisting the urge to spend the rest of this post making a conversation with the certain hostile fig…I mean the Grr, I’ve decided to go on with the argument in my head while keeping you ransacking dweeb out of it. I abuse my Grr, you abuse yours.

Moving on, as if being deluged in piano work was not enough, I got assigned a 413-page book, with a genre that I don’t remotely like, to get done by Monday –Yup that’s one day after piano lesson, so they’ve got to overlap – and actually research the 6 books in the diarrheic series the author nonsensically worked up, to write a book review. If that’s not frustrating enough, the 250 word limit is too limiting. How the hell do I go over 6 books and discuss the seventh in less than half a page?

Now, what really gets to me about all of this is that every time I try to vent to someone about whatever crap that hit the fan on my side of the bargain, they seem to come up with the perfect excuse to own the rights of moaning and make you feel hangdog for even considering to inhale some more oxygen to finish your sentence. By that I mean a friend complaining about having to type out an interview of a dude with an accent even before I got to mention 25o words wouldn’t justifiably cover a brainfart. It's not just you by the way, you’re just the last one in my short-term memory register. Annnnnnnnnd I think the last venture just lost me a current reader. Dude, don’t go. You have the right to quetch, anything you say or think can and will be kept in my head next time, next to the Grr and right in the ransacking-free area.

The Grr: Puh-thaa-tiiiiiick. Ha!

If you’ll just excuse me I’ll go smack the living hallelujahs out of the Grr and get back to you.

OCP

Swamped in Piano work, for no other reason than the fact that I am a proud OCP. I take it from the silence that you don’t know what the hell that means. It’s Obsessive Compulsive Pianist! Meh. I’ve got two sheets that I’m working on, "Sorry seems to be the hardest word-Elton John”, arranged by my favourite off all time, Mercuzio. Yes, I warn you all non-musical nincompoops out there, this post is gonna be ultimately nerdy, piano-wise. The dude’s head is a note blender! And No, I won’t take any bullshit about you trying to make fun of the fact that I still listen to Elton John, the dude was a genius, well not exactly, but he has the most elaborate piano transcriptions for songs, in part because of his originality and in part because he was so damn lucky as to have arrangers handle his work more than most. No, I don’t like the Beatles. In my head, Elton John was mind-linked to red leather suits and mad 70s sunglasses, but still the song is awesome and its piano work is so professional I spent a week on the first page alone when I read 3 pages of “Good Enough-Evanescence” in  a couple of hours. Why am I talking back to a hostile non-piano-playing figment of my imagination being an insufferable  know-it-all?

Moving on, short-term memory loss never actually bothered me, I mean hey, I’m not complaining, it’s a blessing and a curse. Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory, as a wise bumper sticker said it. And apart from Guavas and Cats hindering the former, I’m theoretically the happiest oxygen-inhaler alive. That was not the case when I started playing “It’s a Jungle out there-Randy Newman” only to find out that a month’s work has been flushed because I couldn’t remember the chords straight. Chord progressions are a pain in the neck, I have to say, never work the way you foresee them, which is weird since that is the sole purpose of their existence; being able to foresee how chords are gonna work out. I’m not worried about that however, I mean the monk theme is not exactly the most elaborate piece of work, so that should take about a couple of days to brush off the rust around the edges. My hands usually remember it, which I know sounds weird, but one thing about playing a musical instrument is that most of the time you have no idea what your hands are doing, whereas they know their way around the block. That didn’t sound right…

Planning to work on all that, besides trying to remember an old tango by Piazzolla and a stupid twilight repetitious 5-page compilation of fluid nonsense by Alexandre Desplat, besides the fact that I have the level book to magically get out of the way by Sunday, yeah I’m not getting off the keyboard for some time. Oh and there’s that other twilight one by that dude, what’s he called…AGH I can’t remember. >,< Having just googled him, it’s Carter Burwell.

I’m so busted.

Oh, and in case you gave a hell as to what I’m talking about, which I seriously doubt and intentionally refuse to believe since it conflicts with the theme of my previous post, there you have the links to the pieces I mentioned. Actually, I think you’d check them BECAUSE you don’t give a shit as to what I was saying but wanted to get at least something out of it by youtubing any listed nonsense. There you go, knock yourself out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbZ3JCd71XE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7fyMZMfiPA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_lGwZGS8q4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I91AYolqmxk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1bMW-iCuw0&feature=PlayList&p=E7864358BDF13852&playnext_from=PL&playnext=1&index=4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na8oGIWX5oc&feature=related

Guava kills and People don't give a shit

Last night marks the last time I'll ever taste the murderous yellow goo that claimed my trachea and almost killed me. I'm gonna miss my yellow goo...Not

Today was one of those blank days. I had to cancel out on the movies with a friend because mum and dad put me on house arrest with a restricted diet, eliminating an element everyday till they find out what I'm allergic to, going with Guava first. I overheard mum talking to Grandma saying I almost choked and they stayed up after I slept to make sure I'm ok. It was at this point that I decided not to tell mum that my throat wasn't exactly cool.

I photoshopped the Logo picture on top, took a lot of time and still I'm not that satisfied with it. I keep saying I should check out a couple of new tutorials, because I only learned about 4 new tools from the last project, but I end up on photoshop playing around with the same old things with slight improvement. Oh whatever. A couple of days ago I was so bored I almost photoshopped an orange that says "I'm not a grapefruit" instead of my head. I gave up on the project because it didn't require many tools, what a waste of originality, eh? A couple of minutes later I ended up back on photoshop adjusting that orange right on top of my neck again, that's when I decided I should make coffee. For the third time however, two days later, I feel the urge to photoshop an orange instead of my head. Oranges are way better than heads, they're way quieter I bet, not a lot of blending going on in it. Pun intended.

Now on with the "people don't give a shit" part. Do you know how it feels like sometimes when you think your life is there for the sole purpose of proving a point? over and over again? Like someone's existence is required to prove that luck doesn't exist, another one's that dogs are man's best friend? I don't quite know how to get my point through, but I'm pretty sure if my life had a theme, it would be: "No one gives a shit". I'm not about to go over my life for a complete stranger over a couple of drinks here, but hear me when I say this. No one gives a shit. I can prove it to you, but I don't have the energy to go over a scene that has been stuck on repeat for as long as I remember, just look around you and you'll see it.

Oranges wouldn't care either, which is another reason why it would make a better head. When everyone around you eats fried cats, you'd be nuts to wanna have chicken, but then again I was never good with analogies. I'd rather photoshop an orange instead of my head than put it in some sappy metaphor that people would read once, have a brainfart, then forget about it for as long as they live. Mark my words though, they WILL imagine an orange instead of their heads.