Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Click

Ladies and gentlemen, pimps and players. Halfass rappers and true-rhyme sayers. Gobshites all over the world. Apparently googling for blog post ideas didn’t work, or else I wouldn’t be here drawing on lame lyrics  by the one person I truly hate with my blood pressure a little bit gobsmacked since the only thing I found, besides imagining, to my discomfort, the last line rolling out of Lil Wayne's steel traps,  was a blog post a bout a dude who was googling for blog posts ideas when it hit him, why not write about what to write about when you have nothing to write about when you wanna write yet can’t think of anything to  write about? Well, I dunno if it’s just me but how can he know what to write about when he was googling for something to write about because he had nothing to write about to begin with? Couldn’t he have just used up the reserve of nonsensical compilation and  save me the motherfuckin chafe of it all? Isn’t it enough that I had my memory of Lil Wayne’s mouth jogged fresh?

So, going through the usuals, writing on random discussion boards and checking notifications, it hits me. Why is it always the one who doesn’t give a shit? I mean, come to think of it, it’s always the badass. This probably doesn’t make sense to most of you. Good. To those of you who do, zip it. Better.

“She fucking hates me
And I love it
Wait
Where you going
I'm leaving you
No you ain't
Come back”

Goldfish are not cute. I lost all liking I ever had for lollipops. Popping wrists for confession and threatening to punch a boob are called torture. I don’t talk slowly and I sure as hell am NOT scary. Blunt? Yeh. Whimsical, reckless and kinda suicidal? Kinda. Cold? Yup. Badass? To a reasonable extent. But Scary? Gimme a break. And last but not least, my eyes are NOT yellow.

“You ever love somebody so much
You can barely breathe
When you're with them
You meet
And neither one of you
Even know what hit 'em
Got that warm fuzzy feeling
Yeah them chills
Used to get 'em
Now you're getting fucking sick
Of looking at 'em
You swore you've never hit 'em
Never do nothing to hurt 'em
Now you're in each other's face
Spewing venom”

Cabbies should be born dumb, security guards blind and content managers deaf.

Marijuana should be legal, because other than the fact that it’s nature’s way of saying high, therapy is expensive, organized belief is poison and a gun to the head is not something you can walk off by drinking a lot of liquids like a friendly hangover. Keeping hydrated doesn’t put your head back together at that, unless humpty dumpty is a distant relative. bush_thumb

Everyone should have a life-long supply of Moro bars, gebna roumy and armed with a microwave. Who could ask for more?

“Next time I'm pissed
I'll aim my fist
At the dry wall
Next time
There will be no next time
I apologize
Even though I know it's lies
I'm tired of the games
I just want her back”.

Oh, and Maow means dude not mom. So does “brenghi”.

Sunday, 8 August 2010

To all it may concern

Sometimes I think the only reason you stay in contact with me is to let me know how "well" you're doing now that you've moved on. 

I'm happy for you. Now fuck off.

-IWroteThisForYou

Saturday, 7 August 2010

The Leash Is Never The Tuna

Life Lesson #60: If they don’t get it, they needn’t know it. There’s a reason why your forehead isn’t made of see-through material.

Life Lesson #61: It’s not how you say it as much as when you say it. But then again it’s never what you say as much as how you say it. Long story short, if you dunno when to tell or how to cast the flow, you better shut the fuck up and, for your own good, and refer to LL#60.

Life Lesson #62: If you wanna know who gives a shit, bolt and see who notices you when you’re gone. Works like a charm. Don’t do it unless you’ve the backbone to handle if no one does though.

Life Lesson #63: Talk to the weirdo, even if the rest of the flock shunned them. Individuality has a price, see beyond the quirky glasses.

Life Lesson #64: Whatever you do, don’t run away. Just don’t. Having enough confidence to handle rejection or take the fall and move on will save a lot of patching up and unresolved issues without the people you care about, which ranks a lot higher than getting in trouble for it. Even if that means you’ll have to walk around with a black eye for a month. That’s why they made em hugeass sunglasses you know.

wtd

Life Lesson #65: Time. When nothing else works, little subtle steps will make anything, and I mean anything, seep into the system of even the most radical retard you’ll ever meet. It’s  just like boiling a frog alive man, it doesn’t know it till it’s dead.

Life Lesson #66: Regardless of what everyone thinks, ego is good. Have a bigass ego and don’t deflate it for the world. However, sporting the Ray-Bans in the middle of the night is plain retarded, and comes off more as an ego prop than show you off as the hunk you’re so trying to be.

Life Lesson #67: Good or bad, right or wrong, you only ever really hear the truth after you've been fucked. –IWroteThisForYou

Life Lesson #68: Electric Lemonades are blue. I like blue. Hence Electric Lemonades rock.

Life Lesson #69: Apparently all it takes for you to dream is to be tired enough to fall asleep without realizing you just did.

Friday, 6 August 2010

Pickled Lemons

I take it back. I don’t love carrots. Carrots, we need to talk. Sorry carrots, it’s not you…It’s me. It’s not your fault, but it could never have worked out between us. You’re too bland. I’m with pickled lemons now. No, nono, save em tears. You’re like a veggie to me now. We’re better off unsliced hun. You’ll find someone who goes well with your mashed entity. My taste buds prefer to be shocked. You’re too…too…well. Meh. Have you always been that boring? Oh, sorry, slip of tongue. Oh carrots, stop it already. You’ll find someone better than me to crush you. Besides, you’ve always hated pickled lemons, now I’ve given you all the more reason to. See? It’s all a matter of cleansing the soul, well, and finding better excuses…Oh what the hell. Carrots, you’re a wimp. It’s over, get a life. I’m with pickled lemons whether you like it or not and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pickled lemons would bust your ass if you even considered the thought. Ha!

Farewell carrots. I’m with pickled lemons now.

carrot

Ah, the clichéd one-liners. Well, I understand you have to save face, but trying to play the bad boy here won’t work you know. You don’t stand a snowman’s chance in hell against my acidic babe. However, if you have the slightest impulse to have your face re-arranged, don’t hesitate to bug us.

Tata darling.

P.S. Carrots and pickled lemons are both imaginary characters. Everyone knows coffee and I are serious.

Thursday, 5 August 2010

This is NOT a sappy blog post

What is love?

- “But love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah” – Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley

- It’s finding out that mom put my Calamine lotion in the fridge so that when my ambiguous allergy fits hit in I can find it cool.

- It’s the fact that yesterday when I choked in my sleep, no one was home and I called dad after I took my allergy pill, he kept calling back to wake me up even though the allergy pill made me pass out twice so I wouldn’t choke again. He had appointments.

- It’s saying you’ll do something and actually do it.

- It’s knowing exactly when and how to fuck off and be selfless enough to leave, because you’re aware you’re not wanted, and still don’t mind.

- It’s waiting in the heat and sun at 2 pm for 3 hours for someone. Or walking for an hour and half to and fro a little gift shop so you’ll get a tiny little thing you know someone will love, and not mention it.

- It’s cussing at people and knowing they’ll take it because it’s one of your scant displays of affection.

- It’s calling at inappropriate hours with no biggies involved.

- It’s about tying someone else’s shoe laces. Or undoing them for fun, then eating candy with the same hand without feeling slightly conscious of it.

- It’s about someone knowing how jumbled your wires are up there and still wanna tap into you down there. And no not THAT down there. Well, aaaannnd there. But that’s besides the point. Head/Heart analogy went bust. Yes it was actually about that. See how much I suck at analogies?

- It’s about having random piano video calls with your friend, even though they’re currently in a different continent.

- It’s when a close friend remembers to give you a hug they promised that you’d forgotten about and it still is sweet after they’ve made fun of your hugging strategy. In my defence, IT’S BECAUSE I’M SHORT!

- It’s about someone pointing out that the mug cake recipe you just found out about and wanted so much has 1000 calories and when you ask what in the world the mug cake ever did to that person to get murdered so viciously, the reply is the very heroically altruistic plot of “el 3afw 3ala eh, mesh a7san a2olek badal ma u eat that every day nd then gain weight nd become more prone to heart disease nd wake up one day realising that ur diabetic because of all the sugar?” Yup, my life was saved...Hooray? However, that same compulsive calorie-counting person ‘ =P’ defined love as

“The flavour of the Belgian fondants melting in my mouth nd lasting for what seemed much longer than it actually was”.

- It’s about having someone who can tell you to shut the fuck up without automatically reverting to having their self esteem deformed in every possible way in less than 3 minutes with a queue smartass comments, because even though it’s a classic “shut the fuck up”, it doesn’t quite register as an attack. That very same person’s definition is

“Love is discovering why god created something/someone. It's like feeling the comfort and safety of home, with a fuzzy feeling to add to it.” – They could have just said love is Cats.

- It’s about having a look with a person to telepath an entire conversation without having to mouth it. That telepathing buddy thinks:

“Love is laughing at someone's little quirks and then immediately feeling guilty. It's knowing what the other person is going to say before they say it, and what's more, knowing what they don't say.”

- It’s hanging out with your couple of close friends looking like shit and talking like a suicidal maniac without giving anything you say a second thought because you know for sure it’s not being scrutinized, just accepted.

- It’s how your dad calls you up at 1 am at the foot of the building, because he’d just gotten back from work, had a bad day and would love to walk it off with you. A lot. Even though you might have beaten him at a pillow fight shortly before it.

- It’s having someone who is mad about Kurt Cobain actually agree to share him with you. Even if that meant a necrophiliac threesome.

- "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
Dr. Seuss

287935_full

Monday, 2 August 2010

I Hate Titles

I haven’t written a decent blog post in some time, the fact being traced back to the perennial tedium of my cyber life that has take place because dad’s car is getting repaired. Well, and quite some time before that, but that’s not the point.

So I had this nutty idea to start a YouTube channel, besides the two that I have, well three, and am not sharing with you. Back the point, I was thinking of starting one and actually just Vlogging into thin air. Yeah? I thought it was a bad idea too. Well, I already write that stuff, I might as well mouth it? No? Meh. I dunno. I’m bored =/  I’ve been photoshopping for almost 4 hours and drank my first mug of coffee in 23 days. Ignore my incessant blabbering. Or just fucking shut up and read on like a good bot. “If you can’t make a robot, be a robot.” –Grandpa Simpson

Nom nom, what do I blog about? Ongoings? Well, I had a slap awake fight yesterday from a close friend that felt like the emotional equivalent of a crushed femur. I need a shower. I need to go shopping for something that will not be revealed for privacy issues, which is a polite way to say it’s none of your fucking business even though I have no idea why I had the urge to be polite in the first place. Ah, always feels good to cuss. I’m on my away status stating the reason as “bleh”. I had heart-to-heart convos with a couple of busters I hardly know, and as I listened to their dilemmas that they were sharing quite candidly it occurred to me how my anti-social habit of going against the status quo, that is to say on the rare occasions that I actually see it,  and actually talking to the pariah everybody rebuffs is one of the best things you could do to yourself.

wrong

On an unrelated note, stop saying good morning. It’s presumptuous, sappy, uncalled for and it won’t get you anywhere to have high hopes only to have them crash with a phone call or summat. Do what I do, say Morning. It saves your psyche a needless bounce.

Back to newsfeed. Two days ago I was upbraided for standing up to something. The usual. Further details on that are repetitive and are starting to claim a permanent slot of the things I get shunned for, so by all means fuck it.

I hate annuals. They have that fucked up nostalgic trait that forces all of your senses back to the day “IT” happened, and it’s almost impossible to stay in the now with your head plunged in that little window of time, which feels almost as if someone’s drowning you in by putting your head underwater long enough to feel like dying yet just in time for you to take a breath for no other reason than to prolong your life for yet another agonizing fit of “IT”. Being detached doesn’t help you with that, I should know. It’s almost as if that little number on the calendar strips you of all defence mechanisms to ostentatiously prove to you like a 3-year-old crying its lungs out for momentary attention that it’s not just another day. When that annual coincides with a friend’s birthday, supposedly a happy occasion, you shut up and hope to god you can keep that little 3-year-old motherfucker locked up in your head.

sock-it-up

I need new posters since two of the ones I have up are ragged and torn beyond recognition, in part because of the temper on one of the housekeepers when armed with a dusting towel and in part just because everything seems prone to affliction by time and gravity, even if their parallel and weightless let alone not human. I found out that I like it when the breathing shows as you’re singing, even though it’s one of the leading mediocrities for vocalists, it humanizes the song. At that Jeff Buckley is very human. Perfect is ugly, Shrek is beautiful. Be an Onion, or better, an Ogre.

They both begin with Os anyway.

“I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don’t really care for music do ya? It goes like this the fourth the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah…’

‘Well maybe there’s a god above, but all that I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya, and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not somebody who’s seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah, Hallelujah”

Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley

Baffle out.

the-finger

23 days

34440_409423862774_566362774_4793783_1784036_n

Coffee. Oh. *sniffs* Ooooh. Ah. Ehhhhmm. *sips* Nom. Ahhhh. *gulps* Aaaaaaaaaaah.

COFFEE_BREAKDOWN

Sunday, 1 August 2010

Euuh

Life Lesson #50: It’s probably for the best not to have internet access when you’re doped, or else you’ll end up with an inebriated blog post you don’t remember you wrote about how much you miss coffee and whether carrots love you back. Oh and did I mention how everyone keeps asking you if you’re drunk?

Life Lesson #51: Nothing beats hot chocolate and your lucky sweater on a cold day, even if it’s in the middle of august and it’s supposedly blazing hot when you’re actually shivering, reason unknown.

Life Lesson #52: Chamber music and hot chocolate are probably the best things you could leak into the orifices limited to your head section.

Life Lesson #53: Don’t call people in early mornings. Never. Not ever.

Life Lesson #54: The Man Who Sold The World – Nirvana

Life Lesson #55: Annuals hurt. Even when they coincide with the birthday of a close friend, you’ll always be worried you’ll be the one moping and ruining the whole setting. Annuals fucking suck ass.

Life Lesson #56: If you know what katanas are, well, you’re a geek. :)

Life Lesson #57: When all your =@ turn into =/ start worrying.

Life Lesson #58: When you’re watching a cartoon movie called “Batman vs. Dracula” on a perfect Monday morning, something’s off.

Life Lesson #59: Richard Clayderman is knows his way around diminished 7th, but Mercuzio would kick his ass any day of the week.

Saturday, 31 July 2010

Doped

Euuh…Hello

uhm. erm. uh. Morning. People of the world. You know what happens if you’re doped to sleep and drink coffee? That’s like what happens when you have a frying pan that’s smouldering hot then jam it under a tap of cold water. As a good friend puts it, it goes “Tshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”.

Euuh, you know what I do when I want coffee? I make tea. :)

And and, molten gebna roumy. That helps with the coffee fix.

Wow. This feels awesome man. I mean, wow. This dope is some screepy shit. I wanted to say scary but then I started to say creepy. Whoa. I can’t make a fist anymore. haha. Not funny. ha-ha. I’m laughing though. No I’m not. Yes I am.

Did I tell you how much I like grilled carrots? Well I do.

And I bet if they were real they’d love me right back.

But carrots are real, in some sense of the word.  You could touch and see them and all. So carrots do love me back.

How do you think carrots feel when they love you so much and you actually grind them to death and feed off of them just so you’d save calories on that bag of chips?

Well, carrots, I do love you back. I even grill so you’d go soft and the grinding wouldn’t hurt that much anymore. See? I care about your feelings…And my teeth.

Carrots vs. Coffee.

They both begin with C !!!

You know what I do after I make tea? I wait for it to go cold then I don’t drink it. Because I don’t like tea. I just give my hands the illusion of preparing a hot liquid to get over the coffee fix. You see, getting over the coffee fix is more in your hands than your oesophagus.

I miss coffee.

And you know what? I bet coffee misses me right back.

I didn’t even say if it were real because it is real and if you say that coffee is not real I will grill you and grind you without even the courtesy of calling you a carrot.

My hand says hi! It’s upset because no one wants to talk to it. Talk to the hand goddamnit! Jeez the size of the ego on ya.

the-hand

Carrots wouldn’t like you. Carrots are altruistic, they’d love you even when they’re in the grinders. Ooh the carrots. Can’t live with them, can’t live without em, can’t eat them in the presence of bugs bunny.

Oh for the love of coffee people. You gotta love carrots.

Oh for the love of carrots people. You gotta want coffee.

Oh for the love of coffee people. You gotta ban allergy pills.

Oh for the…nah, no one loves allergy pills. They’re the best dope after marijuana though. And carrots. And coffee.

No.

Coffee takes first place.

Then Carrots.

Then 7asheesh.

Then allergy pills.

Nonononononononono. NO. Coffee. Carrots. Apocalypse.

bahh. grah. feshfesh. kaboo

Thursday, 29 July 2010

Head Popcorn

There’s a reason why ditch and bitch rhyme you know. It’s not just a coincidence…

“What would you care if you lost the other? I always wonder why did we bother? Distanced from one, blind to the other…” – Sweetness Follows by R.E.M

Milkshakes = Ice Cream + Milk

I found out that I like bald guys or guys with long hair. Does that mean that I’m prejudiced against half-inchers? Now that’s a thinker.

“It’s these little things, they can pull you under. Live your life filled with joy and wonder. I always knew this altogether thunder was lost in our little lives…” – Sweetness Follows by R.E.M

Toz.

Debussy = Delirium + Rocket science

“oh, oh, but sweetness follows”. Nu-uh, no it doesn’t! Because karma’s a bitch.

Bas keda.

Monday, 26 July 2010

Triplet Polyrhythm

I think I bit off more than I can chew this time. Beware people, this is an OCP blog post, so all of you who wouldn’t tolerate national geographic for more than a couple of minutes on end, this blog post is NOT for you. Ok, usually when you play an instrument, you hear a piece and you know exactly whether it’s within your ability or not, and you know exactly which parts in that piece are gonna take up the most time as you practise, sometimes even knowing exactly how long it’s gonna take. With Debussy, just to put into perspective, professionals dare not play any of his compositions without a year of pre-practice, just to get the feel of it and not make complete and utter shmucks of themselves on national television or whatever. Now, It’s still duable for all of us average Joes out there. What one man can do another can do. SO, with passive provocation from a fellow piano player, who’s younger and certainly a virtuoso, I’m nuts enough to start off on Debussy’s 1st arabesque. Besides the idiosyncratic elaborate progressions, the chromaticism, the inhumane tempo, the unpredictability in the improvisational flow of that composition, that defies patterns and tedium, that  actually led the probing of classical musical into new age, but that’s not the point…Point is, after all of that, it is actually the triplet polyrythms that are a pain in the ass. To all of you non instrumentalists, I’ll try to bring a little light on it. Music Theory is simple. Music consists of beats. Sometimes 4 notes take two beats, meaning that 2 take one beat, so each has half. Now there’s that little thing called triplet, where 3 notes take one beat. So, try to synchronise it in your head so that the 2 different beats coincide into, bringing the triplets together with the 8th notes aforementioned. What happens is that they don’t go together, imagine putting your fingers together, just so that the fingers of one hand fit into the spaces of the other, but with the first two fingers meeting. Now accelerate that into high speed, cancel thought and give it a moment’s notice, now double that and triple it, that’s how hard it is. No probably it’s even harder.

Image 1

Moving on, just because I can hear your brain cells screaming out to me in anguish to stop. And no I’m not a snob. Green bug feel, suck it up for a bit. I’ve been practising the first two lines for 3 days, just the finger exercises, because it starts of in two progressions then the actual intro, that’s when I got to the triplet polyrythms part. Aside from the fact that the right hand alone, or more professionally speaking the treble clef partition, required a lot of syncopation not to mention all the fingering and getting used to it, because practising is all about getting the piece to sink in beyond your conscious level of control so that your hands know what you’re doing without you having to think beforehand, because there won’t be time to think as you play a piece with that tempo, your motor control handles that for you. If you’ve watched Wilhelm Kempff play and you’ve seen how he seems to stare into space then your jaw drops with the cam as it shows that the two hands playing are actually protruding from his detached face. And by detached I mean has nothing to do with the rest of his body, because you can’t pack any more feeling into those wrinkles than this.

It explains the perverted “Your-hands-know-what-they’re-doing” part. So besides that, the fingering is just horrible. And no, not THAT kind of fingering. I know this blog post is a mine for all of you with a “That’s what she said” passion. Cut me some slack guys. Fingering as in knowing which finger plays what so that the other one gets to reach there. On top of all of that, I’m driving my teacher nuts. Last time, his “I-didn't-sign-up-for-this” vibe was pretty potent, even more potent after I named Chopin's nocturne opus (Op.) 9/2 by ear that he was showing me to brag, my identification of it cancelled the boasting effect. lol. Well, he’s stupid, he had to pick Chopin’s most famous nocturne and my favourite of his besides the posthumous ones to brag? Pfft. I was really embarrassed though, he was uncomfortable that I chose to work beyond the limits of the curriculum, especially at the part that he stumbled on as he showed me, so the criticism wasn’t exactly nice. His “danty fay2a” was a bit too grudgingly given off than I thought was polite. That’s when I decided I’m gonna make him fret even more by practising right then and there. God I love driving people nuts. :)

Triplet Polyrythms kind of remind me of something a friend dared me to do a couple of weeks ago. He said hop on one leg while rubbing your tummy and tapping your head. lol. Needless to say, no one can quite copy a chimp unless they are genetically predisposed to regression into the ape they once were. So, All I have to do is reach in for that little musical ape within me, get down with it and wish for the best. And don’t go TWSS on me.

If you give a shit, there’s the link.

Saturday, 24 July 2010

I am Flawed

Image 1  I’m flawed and blemished. I cuss more than I say I miss you, and when I really need to say it I wait till someone else does and say me too. I only hug people who are really close to me, and since those are few I might end up with a couple of hugs a year. I am a coffee addict and a clingy asshole. Cold and a snob. I regularly buy Boy T-shirts. I don’t hang around in one place for more than a day or with one person for more than a couple of hours, I call it independent, people call me arrogant. I keep an open-mind, and my closest people break every boundaries you can call within the norm. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, and hence I’m shunned and called names. I’m blunt and wouldn’t lie to you to make you feel better. And to tell you the truth, I don’t want to be anything else.

Perfect is ugly. Be a chocolate chip cookie.

Friday, 23 July 2010

Flipping the bird

I don’t feel like updating my blog with some bloggywoggy karma-hostile bullshit-intolerant post that goes to prove a point, more like typing my fingers short, because the last 48 hours have been, as always, quite odd, but let me start off with a certain announcement to all of those whose lives afford the time to probe into others’ : If I feel like using the word fuck, shit, dick, bitch, or asshole, by all means I will. If you don’t like it, you can always move that little concerned finger of yours get to the (X) button on top just where it belongs. However, taking my friend’s advice, I will however put a Parental Advisory Badge on top for all of you with a sensitive ear. I do appreciate your concern, however misplaced it is.

Now, starting off with my odd 48 hours. Went for a jog, I overworked my leg and my jogging buddy can’t move her knees, so we were tagging along as the hunks fly past us and the old men slowly yet surely beat us to the end of the curb. Charming eh? She walked me back home, we shopped for neckband headphones and I trudged back up, too lazy to even think of taking a shower, let alone changing. Somehow a couple of hours fly past, during which I’m used as a guinea pig as a friend tries skyping with me from their phone and suddenly dad feels like taking a walk. I tag along, even though I find out that I can’t walk without a limp. A 17-year-old with a limp, not a charmer. On our way down I met my friend who’d immigrated, unpacking on the curb. I said I’ll catch up with her in a couple of hours, and since she hadn’t seen her dad in two years it was a win-win. My cutting her some slack and her catching up on good old quality time with her dad. Sometimes the best thing you can do for the people you love is to bug off. True Story.

My dad kept walking ahead, then slowing down, then walking ahead as I fall behind, then slowing down, falling in and out of pace yet never out of train of thought. I found out about a new bookstore called “Alef”, a bit past Diwan bookstore not 20 minutes away from home, so that’s awesome. Now I have two bookstores in reach that I know how to get to without begging for rides and appointment rain checks. It’s this little store, with the entrance hidden from view with a slight hedge, entrance made out of cobblestone steps in the grass with the most annoying gate ever. Getting in, it’s apparently new and didn’t look like it was in business for long. The book collection per author was quite limited, and the titles were slightly out of date and the way they placed the books on the shelves made it impossible for you to ease one out to read the plot with the entire line of books falling to one side. That didn’t look like someone who knew their way around the block. Getting past the cons, the prices were awesome, almost 40% less than virgin megastores, levelled with Diwan a bit. Anyhow, I subscribed to the bookstore for the membership discounts, grabbed a couple of brochures and stroke up a convo with the salesman and walked out with a book that a friend had recommended, “The Book Thief – Markus Zusak”, there was this other book I wanted to get but didn’t have enough cash on me, called “The book of other people”. Apparently plotless with nothing but autobiographies of imaginary characters.

the-book-thief the_book_of_other_people.large

For someone who found her cell phone in the trashcan a couple of days ago and who usually goes out Bag-less, phone-less, tissue-less and sometimes even money-less for 6 hours on end alone, it’s one of em times I wished I’d packed in an extra banknote. Yes, I’m stupid that way. With dad as a guru and sweetheart, and my hip slightly lubricated, I mind mapped the way and we got back. I had bought a book for my friend as a return gift, of her favourite author, knocked, hours fled past, blablabla, her dad was jetlagged so we hung around at my place catching up on everything that happened, could have happened and should have happened that year, hence talking the top of our heads off till 4 in the morning then we both passed out, fast asleep. I hadn’t slept in a couple of days and she was jetlagged, so we were quite sure, even though I drowsily set an alarm, that we wouldn't wake up. I woke up at 11, she wasn’t there, I’d missed the morning jog without cancelling on the poor dudette. A couple of hours later, spending it online with another friend, fumbling at the door and they’re packing to leave. I go out, say my goodbyes only to come back and find, cutely enough, that my friend fell asleep on the keyboard.

I re-read this and I’m aware that there is no punch-line. Well, I did tell you I wasn’t feeling bloggywoggy.

Oh and just for the sake of it, have yourself a “Fucking” good day. :)

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

Badass vs. Smartass

My day. Hm, let’s see. I set the alarm on my cell phone to wake me up at 5 am, for no other reason than the fact that I like odd numbers. I hung around, patched up something to eat that I don’t remember, got through my coffee-craving, a close buddy came online and we chatted till like 8:30, then I had to rush off to meet my jogging buddy on time, I was late anyhow because mom had hogged the bathroom at a moment’s notice. I had overworked myself the day before, so my ankles were absolutely strained, I couldn’t even walk let alone jog. Anyhow I was out of the house at 9, notwithstanding the fact that I was supposed to be there at 9 in the first place. Anyway, thanks mom. Pfft. I got there to find there’s some sort of security dilemma, with security guards all over the place, and those undercover queer-looking people with sunglasses, and people with walkie-talkies saying their 5 km away from something, and people prowling about gardens that are too young to be vagrants. It was plain scary, especially with the fact that my MP died on me, so now I could hear all the comments flying at me, I changed tracks fast and got back, calling my friend as soon as I did and told her to ditch. She got held back because some dudes in a car stopped near and wanted to pick her up. The little fuckers. Anywho, I got back to find someone had sent a document to be translated from Arabic to English. Apparently the document is a bigass research! I didn’t sign up for this, “helping out” did not include drudging for inhumane hours so that some old fart would skim over it and ditches it for picking his nose!

quite-a-pickle

I had the Google translate on my side, being bilingual was never a good thing at that. It’s not my fault I don’t know “zorroof” is the same as conditions. 7 pages out of 14 into it, I research a term only to find the exact replica of the fucking research online! AFTER 7 HOURS OF FORCEFEEDING ARABIC WORDS INTO MY HEAD TO GET THEIR ENGLISH EQUIVALENT WHEN I DON’T KNOW THEM IN ARABIC IN THE FIRST PLACE, I FIND OUT THE OLD FUCK HAD JUST TRANSLATED IT FROM AN ONLINE SITE! My nerves. I could hear my brain cells dying as I drudged on. It was fucking too much. I copied and pasted the rest, wasn’t too nice to the person and swore on my coffee that I’m NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT helping *them* out again. Then, close buddy was back on, we agreed I’ll be getting Smartass 101 tutelage, since I’m already a badass. Right now I had a blinding headache which comes and goes in a flash, but will hang on for a bit because I promised them I’d be there if they couldn’t sleep. Now, I found out that I messed up my WMP lists by moving the location of most of the songs on an impulsive organizing fit. Fuck! Well, Good news, I have cupcakes sitting next to me, and I said no to the coffee that mom made for me without asking. That’s about it people. =/

burned-out

Monday, 19 July 2010

Catharsis

Lemme tell you what I do when I feel like punching the face off someone. I go jogging. I run till I can’t walk anymore then run some more, and then for the entire next day, I can barely walk let alone stand unpropped, but I feel better. Call me masochistic or opheliac or whatever, but somehow the 2 or 3 hours of running and a day of painfully stretched leg and ab muscles are the best catharsis one could ask for, besides trashing a car or grabbing a spray can to graffiti a building beyond recognition. You don’t go to jail for overworking your legs. Of course you have to add to the hours every now in then , because your body gets used to it as it grows fit. If you're thinking of trying that out, 10 minutes should do the trick. My way of punching it out in a pillow, so to speak. Somehow, overworking the muscles “underworks” the head. I dunno how it works, but it does. Besides the shot of endorphins, you’ll feel like you own the universe.

jogging route

What I see when I go jogging:

  • The Dog-walkers. People walking their precious dogs, which is usual in this area since the dogs outnumber humans two to one. I remember watching this stand-up comedian, Seinfeld, put it way better than I ever can. “On my block, a lot of people walk their dogs and I always see them walking along with their little poop bags. This, to me, is the lowest activity in human life. Following a dog with a little scooper. Waiting for him to go so you can walk down the street with it in your bag. If aliens are watching this through telescopes, they're going to think the dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them is making a poop, the other one's carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?”.
  • The Couple. If they’re old enough you’ll see the telepathic understanding that makes you think they’re almost communicating in imaginary winks, never jogging out of each other’s pace or even looking at one another, yet are synchronised. If they’re young enough, there are three types. The first where the female is talking nonsensically and incessantly into thin air, laughing at her own jokes with the male uncomfortably looking ahead with brief toe-checking head bows, so obviously unused to being perceived as in the realm of couple-hood. The second, the male talking and bragging, also into thin air, so that it almost seems as if he’s trying to exercise every muscle in his body, including his tongue muscle, whereas the female is usually uncomfortably sporting a tight lipped expression, breathing harder when she exhales in one of those concealed sighs. The third and most boring, are the quiet ones. They do not stand in  comparison with the older ones, because to an outsider’s eye, all of their energy is going into the effort of keeping in synch with one another without actually talking. Reason unknown, but they’re taking themselves a bit too seriously.
  • The Hunk. Sporting up his headphones, six pack abs and floating near by to the ground bending and reverberating with his weight, almost bouncing him back up in between hops, so full of himself, conscious of exactly how hot he is and hiding the smirk till after he passes you by.
  • The Timid Hottie. The female version of the aforementioned hunk. She knows she’s a looker, and takes her time, turning heads and breaking the crumbs of ego left in the menopausal maniacs. We’ll come to that later.
  • The Teens. Those are usually in twos and threes, more to chatter than find safety in numbers, confrontationally sporting egos bigger than their oversized shoes, jogging effortlessly back and forth exchanging jokes out of breath so that you hear the most absurd lines out of context.
  • The Lonely Spinsters and The Menopausal Maniacs. The former usually fat and not so presentable whilst the latter in flirtatious clothes, so obviously asking for it, almost always giving you the sideway glance in pure despise you couldn’t possibly have had it coming. More often than not, they’ll do anything to outrun you, and to tell you the truth, I usually slow down till they pass me by, right up into their depressed bubble.
  • The Old Man. Barely able to walk, inventing a jogging pace of his own, where he walks wobbling, thus giving whatever balance centre in his head the impression of jogging without actually having to do it. More like a bottle in the sea, the sideway duck gait as he handles himself with the utmost care, knowing how breakable he is. Nevertheless, they hang around more than the couples, spinsters and sometimes even teens. I’m beginning to think one keeps their determination in one’s knees.
  • The Desperate 40ers. Usually males, the best dressed and most groomed, jogging for an ego boost, relishing the feeling of control more than the burning of calories. Their jogging pace shows it so, bolting all of a sudden in all the glory of a couch potato, then panting and coming to a halt out of breath not a couple of minutes into it. That’s when the fancy water bottles and other unnamely gadgets start showing up. Oh for the love of coffee, go masturbate or something.
  • The Prowlers. The scariest genre. Usually passive with the exception of the active bunch. Hanging around in parked cars or walking back and forth calling people names and following you around till you’re scared out of your wits and end up making a scene or running for it. I usually run for it, most of them are too doped up and suicidal to think twice about turning you into an obituary picture since most of them wouldn’t even afford one.
  • The Joggers. Usually misfits with sweat stains like inverted halos on the backs of their cotton T-shirts. They know what they’re doing and they don’t look farther than a couple of tiles down the road. They know their way around, with padded sneakers to decrease impact and perfectly spaced out breathing patterns to get the most out of the cardiovascular workout, so they don’t look like an overworked track dog before you can say “good morning”.

Sunday, 18 July 2010

Karma’s a bitch

Life Lesson #40: Don’t expect. Ever. Anything. Not one. You expect long lost friend to come, she doesn’t. You expect a call to work, it doesn’t. You expect someone to drive you to a meeting they don’t. Just. Don’t. Karma’s a bitch. Not even qualified to be a slut because sluts are easy.

Life Lesson #41: There’s nothing more ironic than the fact the you wanted to go running and didn’t because you couldn’t find your pants.

Life Lesson #42: Tic Tacs are not food. Nutella crêpe and shawerma are.

Life Lesson #43: Nothing beats microwaved "gebna roumy”. All molten and spiked up. Well, except maybe Nutella spread on crunchy toast? But no. Molten Gebna Roumy. Yum

Life Lesson #44: If you put a Nutella jar in the microwave, it doesn’t explode into smithereens blowing up the microwave and killing you with the flying figments Batman style. :)

Life Lesson #45: Maison Thomas <3

Life Lesson #46: This morning, I felt like extending my jogging route, just so I’d get a better chance at catharsis to tell you the truth, and I ran into one of my schoolmates! Apparently she runs in that part every morning, along with another 2 buddies, so if I’d extended it before I woulda bumped into them long ago. Grr. Her tuned in to BSB and me to me good old T.I. we hit the road. When you meet a friend by coincidence at a point on your jogging route, it makes you wonder why karma is being nice to you all of a sudden. To kill you in your sleep? Just balancing the odds here. Well, I got grounded that same day anyway, so yeah, I won’t get killed in my sleep after all, it’s already balanced up.

Life Lesson #47: When you think your social life can’t get any more fucked up, Karma rushes in to prove you wrong. It takes guts to handle rejection for being uncategorizable, because some people are just not open-minded enough to accept people as they are, or leave you alone to it. Well, I’m sorry nuttos, I’ll take your criticism, I’ll live with you shunning me, but I’m not changing for you. Go on calling me names. You’ll never get it.

Life Lesson #48: I’m a shawty and proud of it. Looking up to people is not that bad after all.

Life Lesson #49: Cold war ftw.

Friday, 16 July 2010

Go die in a hole…like Mozart

Life Lesson #30: You can be impulsive all you want, within national limits.

Life Lesson #31: Looking at your laptop for 5 hours won’t make things happen. Dumping  your laptop for 5 hours will.

Life Lesson #32: When you hug someone and they don’t hug back, it means you should probably buzz off, actually that shoulda buzzed off long ago. The only things allowed not to hug back are trees, and I have a friend who is a firm believer that trees do hug back.

Life Lesson #33: Best friends are the ones who get the best of you, but it’s the close ones that close the deal. Pwned.

Life Lesson #34: With a good book glued to your hands, headphones stuffed halfway into your head and a good jogging route, you couldn’t ask for more. Probably new running shoes though, but you get the point.

Life Lesson #35: Doing a 446 Interview on an FB app that you know no one’s gonna read is one of em stop signs fate smashes, zeuss-style, in front of you almost skinning your nose in the process. Stop. See how pathetic that is. Move on.

Life Lesson #36: Hang out with the people you can “not make sense” with and call fucktards without them minding. Formalities are nothing but wedgies up intimacy’s ass.

Life Lesson #37: When you have better stories to contribute on FML and MLIA, it’s also one of em nose-skinning stop signs, only this time up your ass.

Life Lesson #38: Ditch. Be ditched. Don’t ditch. Be ditched all the same. I say fucking ditch.

Life Lesson #39: Not getting coffee when you’re a coffee addict should not coincide with major events in your life. Life’s coffee is de-caff. You need the coffee fix.

Idioms

Out of the blue, I find myself googling idioms.

Bend Over Backwards:
Do whatever it takes to help. Willing to do anything.

Having flooded my friend’s wall, even though they wouldn’t be reading it any time soon, sending a text into outer space knowing it won’t get there for coverage but sending it anyway and just, well, raping their wall…

Dead Ringer:
100% identical. A duplicate.

Having almost called another friend at 6 am to say  “I’m gonna miss you” and “Try and smuggle a friggin cell phone it’s a fun camp for God’s sake and not strike-against-modern-technology-to-get-dusty-and-have-fun-being-homesick camp!”, to find out that I thought tomorrow was today so I could have woken them up at 6 am only to make a complete idiot out of myself as usual…

Doozy:
Something outstanding.

Having found out that today’s the 17th out of sheer coincidence, because for some reason I’d believed that if yesterday was the 16th then tomorrow’s the 18th, considering that you’re standing somewhere on time’s butt crack. Or it could just be that my subconscious wanted to wipe 17th off the calendar, for that’s when my long lost, no-shit-giving friend ,who could be reading my blog only to see that so many people know her as the one and only wicked witch of the west by now, is coming back.

Eighty Six:
A certain item is no longer available. Or this idiom can also mean, to throw away.

Having worked with a friend on a joint article, narrated through the eyes of a 7 year old autistic boy after finding that yet another person I click with is fleeing the city/country within the two weeks during which fate has decided to give my social life a bone crushing massage. Do I look like a fucking people person to you?

Finding Your Feet:
To become more comfortable in whatever you are doing.

Having had a headache, on and off, during the last withdrawal week so that your head doesn’t remember what it’s like to be headache-less anymore. In addition to another passing-out inducing, headache-invoking cause, headaches are really beginning to grow on me.

Flip The Bird:
To raise your middle finger at someone.

Having done all of that, I bend over backwards to try and find my feet and feel all doozy without the headache only to find that the prospect is a definite eighty six and that karma’s flipping the bird on me.

Dead Ringer luck.

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

Once upon a time

Once upon a time, a little introvert called Rory, known to have escaped decaff-rehab, has 3 close buddies in the whole wide world.

One night, she learns something.

ONE is travelling out of the country for 2 whole weeks. She flips.

TWO has a camp for a week, going a day later. She flinches.

THREE is going hit the beach on the coast for 2 whole weeks, leaving a day later. She goes officially nuts.

Let’s hope she doesn’t kill herself.

The End.

Mush-enhanced blog post

Image 3

#1 : Quit sleeping, drink all the coffee humanly possible so my waking hours would double. Wasn’t much of a sleeper anyway and I’ll be getting enough of that when I buzz off.

#2: Eat all the ice cream and chocolate that can fit comfortably inside a human stomach, then cram the rest.

#3: Hug the fuck out of everyone I give a crap for with and without reason to. Waiting for the opportune time never did anyone any good, but then again clocks hate me so I’m not one to judge.

#4: Write a really long book no one would really read.

#5: Give away all my stuff to a couple of my friends, I’d hate if my laptop ended in the hands of some Somali who used it as an umbrella, my logo T-shirts as butt wipes and my Rubik’s cubes for knocking out a turkey for dinner.

#6: Say everything I thought would be creepy if said out loud, except that I already do that. Meh.

#7: Attend a Yann Tiersen concert.

#8: Get a Karma transplant and wish for the best.

Backspace

Image 1 

Backspace. Backspace.Backspace.

Had this blog had no readers, I wouldn’t have stopped to think before clicking publish, but you see, I’ve never been good with audiences, or with anything personal for that matter. That’s why my drafts folder is always full. God I wish I could just write my heart out you know, but you can’t do that now can you?

Yes you can.

My friend took me out last night only to ditch me in the middle of a place overflowing with people that already know each other backwards, because she found something more interesting to do and someone more amusing to hang out with. For sometime, when I got tired of socializing only to find that I got  people’s attention for not more than a couple of minutes at a time, then they’d slightly and almost magnetically re-adjust the way they were standing to form a perfect circle that I’m left out of, I walked out on all those crowds and sat on the stairs staring into nothingness, waiting till it’s 10:30 so someone will pick me up and get me back home.

You know what sucks? That’s a close friend of mine.

There is a bright side and a dark side to everything you know. Since I’m used to people doing that to me and, well, used to moving on my own, someone over there was nice enough to call her mum and say she’ll hang out for a little while longer just so she wouldn’t leave me hanging till someone picked me up because I didn’t know my way around. She didn’t have to do that. I didn’t ask her to. She just did. She was nice to a complete stranger, for absolutely no reason at all.

That’s one thing.

 

Are you talking with *name*... ?

no

Wait what?

do you mean like generally or now

?

lol both

generally yes

now no

*they’re* offline

lol

ok I don't want to be mean to you, but *they’re* online..

oh

oh

oh

See?

ow

I'm sorry if that hurt.

I understand why

no actually I needed that

It’s my fault actually

S:

I'm gonna go now

 

I kinda had that one coming though. For being a clingy asshole.

But that’s another thing.

Bright side? I’m not sure. And you know what sucks? that person is a close friend too.

Do I go on? There’s more you know. 5 more. In 2 days. More with the ditching and more with the things I always backspace.

Meh.

Monday, 12 July 2010

37648_10150218230880632_739285631_13297023_4884417_n

Why I love coffee

#1 : It never let me down, unlike most people.

#2: It kicks in each morning, light morning kiss, warms the insides, makes you feel great in just a couple of minutes.

#3: Jumpstarts your mood, and makes you feel awake enough not to typo yourself out of the human realms or others out of sane ones.

#4: You’re not exactly awake without it, and it never ditches. All you have to do is sip, it does the rest. If I wasn’t sure I’d say it’s better than family.

sleep_thumb

#5: Coffee doesn’t talk back. It keeps its mouth shut and takes it like a man. Not only does it shut up, but it also gives you a buzz. You don’t find that kind of altruism anywhere else.

#6: It’s never the same. There’s coffee with cream, there're are coffee cocktails, latte, that long refreshing coffee, a single espresso that is gently poured into a tall glass of steamed milk to diffuse into a layered visual delight., you name it. So you don’t have to worry about it boring you, It’s probably more self-renovating than your own skin.

#7: No need for a breath mint, you’ll smell like coffee for a couple of hours afterwards, so not only does it actually work on you, but it actually improves your socializing experience! I guarantee people will come around sniffing and just, well, drink you up!

#8: Coffee makes you feel better, think better and, hence, live better. Turn water into Coffee!

JC-Coffee

#9: Coffee is probably the last legal narcotic, and that’s probably because “they” haven’t realized yet or because “they” know it and choose the keep the last drug that keeps them sane temporarily for the price of driving them nuts on the long run, which is probably better than being old, icky smelling and demented.

#10: Which reminds me, when you’re old, you won’t be old, icky-smelling and demented, you’ll be old and alert with a coffee aroma following you everywhere you go, because you’ll probably spill coffee all over you because coffee develops Parkinson’s syndrome, but it’s all part of the smelling good strategy I assure you, all for the sprinkling effect.

#11: It keeps the withdrawal headaches away. I mean I know you can all relate to that, coffee loves you so much it might get possessive sometimes, claiming a sector in your brain that goes bad without updating. I’m sure you can excuse coffee, it’s coffee’s way of insurance you won’t walk out on her after you’ve been together for so long. You can excuse the clingy asshole when you remember all the early morning loving that sobers you up the second of contact. You know what I mean dontcha.

coffee #12: Coffee has its own way of saying I love you. It makes you feel so good with her that you can’t live without her, and rot in hell and headache and pain and withdrawal and craving and dementia. Sleep wouldn’t be the same without her. Work wouldn’t be the same without her. Just well, you wouldn’t be the same after coffee. You think Karma is a bitch? Ha! I bet you’re a coffee virgin then.Getta load of it, however, and you’re hooked.

gilmore_girls_thumb

#13: Nothing that sweet and secular is legal anymore, enjoy it while it lasts.

#14: Coffee keeps your mouth busy, distracting it from doing a lot of other “stuff”. *winks*

#15: It sacrifices its existence, passing away on your taste buds, to make you feel better. Who does that these days? It might as well be the human equivalent of pushing you from in front of a speeding car only to get squashed into man sauce!

deadline500 Coffee. The modern saint. The mug of instant gratification.The ultimate philanthropist. The jealous mate. The dangerous ex. The “THE” in life.

Sunday, 11 July 2010

Coffee-less, grounded and lonely.

Sappy eh? Shut up.

Life Lesson #20: Populus Vult Decipi. People want to be deceived. The more honest you are, the more screwed you’ll be. Sugar coat and sweet talk to get what you want. Can’t? Time to learn, puppet.

Life Lesson #21: I learned a new word this week. Manbooz(a). Charming isn’t it? No it isn’t.

Life Lesson #22: If you’re distraught enough to make tea and forget to drink it when you’re trying to go off coffee, then you need help. When you still drink your tea all cold an vapid, just because you need a pseudo coffee-fix, then you need help.

Life Lesson #23: When your ego won’t let you cry, then you need help. Any help, from professional help to slap-me-around-a-little-till-I-feel-anything help, you name it.

Life Lesson #24: Meet me on the Equinox – Death cab for Cutie

“Meet me on your best behaviour
Meet me at your worst
For there will be no stone unturned
Or bubble left to burst
Let me lay beside you, Darling
Let me be your man
And let our bodies intertwine
But always understand
That everything, everything ends
That everything, everything ends
That everything, everything, everything ends”

Life Lesson #25: You don’t put the teabag inside the kettle. I’m still not sure why, but the kettle didn’t look very happy about it.

Life Lesson #26:  You get to abuse the people who convinced you to go off coffee all week you’re suffering from blinding withdrawal headaches. Guilt-free. Relish it.

Life Lesson #27: Silent treatment hurts. Especially when you’re too egotistical to break it and ask for a pain killer for that headache that seemed to leak to you neck. Oh well, I guess if your ego won’t let you talk to get the pill, it should equally work to shut you up from blogging about it.

Life Lesson #28: When you dread the day your supposedly oldest friend is back for a couple of weeks, you know something’s wrong.

Life Lesson #29: However plausible it sounds at its time, don’t kill yourself. You’ll be a selfish asshole quitting on people like that, not to mention the mess you’ll be making. Blood stains you know. Suck it up and handle it. Stop being a wimp and stop listening to evanescence. Rhetorical?

Bah

It’s not the greatest feeling being online with supposedly your closest couple of friends on but they don’t bother to say Hi. It’s not just that, but they also don’t wanna talk to you even when You do. With no apparent reason than the fact that you’re probably a boring fuck.

Going on with the UNpleasantries, I learn that my ex-bestie, who’d immigrated and never wrote back, and by wrote back I mean doesn’t reply to my msn/fb posts, also for no apparent reason than that she just is not interested in you once you’re more than a door away, not that she was when you were, is coming back on the 17th for two weeks. I’m having another one of em ego battles here people.

Speaking of ego, it got me grounded :) oh yeah, not the most pleasant feeling in the world. Being too confrontational doesn’t always do me good you know. Cancelling out on a couple of outings wasn’t a very pleasant feeling either. Well not a couple. Whatever. Time to man up and take the fall I guess.

This is going nowhere. Oh for the love of coffee…

Just another one of my blabbering blog posts. Whoteva. 446 questions on that interview app got me all bloggywoggy.

This is the second day on my “Coffee-less Week” quest. Got one of em 3 hour mind-splitting withdrawal headaches. You don’t wanna try those. Hold on to your coffee mugs people, don’t do that to yourselves. Coffee is NOT evil. People who tell you to go off coffee are.

Gawd what I’d do for a mugga cawffee now… Meh