The queen bee wins! Again!

You know, it feels pretty nice to be "back" - however long this particular streak is going to be, no one knows, but one thing's certain: Blogger breeds more familiarity than Facebook.
Isn't it funny how we always gripe about high school "friends" and family and workmates, and yet we rush to reconnect with those very same people, with shrieks so high-pitched it's a wonder there aren't more dogs on Facebook?
Then again, maybe "funny" isn't quite the word i'm looking for.
I've decided to accept all the friend requests i get - as long as they come from someone i actually know (or even know of), of course, and not from some perv who likes it when his/her number of friends is odd - in many different ways.
I don't send out requests, though. Let's face it, i just couldn't cope with the rejection. Which is funny in so many regards i don't even know where to begin.
The whole social network thing is, in fact, pretty ludicrous.
All right, you know what? I haven't the faintest idea where i was going with this. I started this a few days ago, but since then, i've tried to figure out focal length in zoom numbers rather than mm, had to hedge $20,000,000 as if i was a corn producer, had to face a live cockroach first thing in the morning (don't squash it! don't. squash it!), had to outsmart (ha!) the subway people for a seat on the train or just a space on the stairways (did you know the NJ people did not want you to walk up - or down - the stairs on your way to work? they don't. they want you to die trampled to death by the oncoming mob of their "brains! brains!" chanting co-commuters. and no, this is not a rage-induced stammer.), and had to face my blatant inability to do either of those things*. And you want me to discourse at length on the irony that is online social networking? Aren't you naive.

* Actually, that's a lie. The roach was coaxed towards impending doom, the fool. And flushed down the drain. I DID NOT SQUASH IT.

Call it an itch that needed to be scratched.
I may or may not be back, but i felt like writing something. In fact, i've felt like writing for a long time now, but kept chickening out. And with good reason, it turns out: after giving this link to a friend of mine, i went back and re-read some of the stuff i'd posted*.
You mad people you. Were you that bored that you kept coming for more? The crap i've written. Dear Lord the crap i've written. I used to spell "weekend" with a dash and no one said anything?! Have you no dignity people?! (Actually, i still don't know how to spell "weekend". [One word or two?] Or "no one", for that matter.)
In the event that i should be back for good (or bad, or better, or worse, whatever), i'm not sure what this will be turn out to be - a blog blog, a fiction blog, or a ghostly abandoned blog (well, i could just look at it every now and again (that green really is very pretty) and technically i would be back.) Or maybe it'll just be the same old mishmash of-- dear Lord the crap i've written.

Two things, then i'll press the "Publish" button before i change my mind.
One, I've trashed the other blog, because we just weren't clicking. I mean, we had some good times, it and me, but was it ever anything more than a glorified one-night stand? I wasn't in it for the long haul, and it had already started demanding attention, posts, a tweak of the template, etc. Way too high-maintenance. Whereas this one here, well, it's as comfortable as stinky slippers that you know you should wash but you just don't want to because, hey, if they ain't broke, why wash them.
And two, man have i missed html tags! And brackets, square and otherwise! Can't wait to use footnotes again!**

* i probably won't be giving you much advice, because let's face it, who would want to follow it anyway? but heed this particular piece: don't do it.
** oh look!

OK, here goes. I need a do-over on this thing. I miss the writing, and I have an inkling that this place is just "before", "now" should be something else.
In around a week, I should be living somewhere a little (a lot?) more permanent, which, even though I hate the idea of leaving the area I'm in right now (but I guess that's what being a grown-up is all about, right? you do NOT in fact get to do what you want.) will change a few things in my mindset, I guess, so I'm hoping that it will all fall into place. Actually, I'm going to push and nudge (with love and care, of course) it all so it stays in place.
So here's the deal. I don't think I'm going to delete this place because I like it, but I'm thinking of starting maybe another site, and counting a little on your help here (there's three of you still reading, that should be quick and almost painfree) re the new page url and/or title...
Here are a few ideas, but please if you have other, better ones, give 'em up:
- My left hand is doing stuff my right hand doesn't want to know about
- George who?
- Where are the guns?
- Something 2 - this time, it's impersonal.
- I hate the A train
- So many bars, so little time
Ugh... Maybe i should just drop it altogether. No title, and http://beammeelsewhere.blogspot.com as url. Or... something.

"Cheese-eating surrender monkeys"*

So we kind of made fools of ourselves. Was to be expected, really.
Funny to watch it in NYC, where we couldn't find a good place to be - one pub (Kinsale Tavern, and that's NO advertisement) wanted $20 a pop to get access to the big screen, and the other one, 40 blocks down, was packed to the gills. So we stood outside on the sidewalk, with loads of other people, among which two English guys (bugger) who, after quoting the title of this post (hence) decided to buy us drinks in a consolatory (?) fashion.
Needless to say, I'm rather hungover (which explains how there ever could be a post these days: clearly, I'm simply not myself...) but politically, rather pleased that France got chucked out - it would take a while to explain, but Sarkozy must be mightily pissed off right about now, and that makes me feel a whole lot better about the whole thing.
Oh and also, what is it with the Scots cheering England on? Whatever happened to Bon Accord and all that?

* Seriously, peeps. A Wikipedia article. That's like, wow.

You see, it's like this. I'll start writing something, look something up on the internet to avoid making a complete arse of meself, and thank gawd, 'cause then I'll realise the whole premise of that particular post was completely wrong wrong WRONG, and then that'll throw me off the writing track for, like, ever.
It seems I just can't be arsed these days. Also, it seems I love the word "arse". Arse arse arse arse. Obviously Blogger doesn't like it, 'cause it keeps flagging it as misspelled, but NO IT ISN'T. I'm just having a little British-spelling rebellious moment.
Arse.
Also buggery.
I don't know. I feel like being rude in the Queen's English, or something vaguely approaching it.
Actually I blame one of my workmates: she's decided that the way I speak reminded her of the gecko in the Geico commercials - now, anyone who's heard me talk will know I sound nothing like a gecko, let alone a Cockney-sounding one.
No matter. Now I want to use "mate" every other word, and work on my glottal stop.

Whaaaa's wroooongggg????

Something's just not right here. No idea what is is, but something is. And it's killiiiiiiing me. And yes, I'll keep writing just like thaaaat, because that is exactly how I want to be taaaaalking right now, except no one is around to listeeeeeeen.
The weekend was boozy. Very boozy. Good boozy. Maybe it's all related. Then again, maybe not. I guess we'll never know.
Anyway. I've been accused of taking a break. I am NOT. My mojo is. Not that it was ever there to begin with, but, you know. I managed -- with great effort, granted, but still -- to string a couple words along in a way that made remote sense, to me anyway.
These days, wow. I can't even string two words along in my head. Even the voices there have decided that I just wasn't interesting enough, and they're talking among themselves now. Also they're whispering, which means that a) I can't hear what they're saying and transcribe it here for the world to see, and b) they're probably saying nasty things about me.
I am not amused.

Little bit of an update crisis

What, already? Yes. Deal.
It's a bit hectic at work, which is nice but got real old, real fast. Still, it's nice. But old. But ni... yeah, you get it.

I had my first actual political talk with people of the American persuasion today - I guess you can take the girl out of France, but you can't really take France out of the girl...
It ended up in me throwing my hands up in the air and abandoning all thoughts of debate for the more appealing fantasy of a very persuasive (or persuaded, at the very least) multiple slapping about the general face area in the hope that the brain would get switched on in the process. But that's what I never do when people disagree. Maybe I should try.
The good thing is I thought people didn't debate here - they do. And it was heated, even when I wasn't involved.

Oh, ooh, oooooh. Have I told you? No of course I haven't. There's a firehouse two blocks down from where I live. It's got firefighters in it and everything. I'm thinking of baking them a cake. Or... something.

That's all, folks. My brain, it has melted - blame it on some severe sun-slapping.

How do you tell someone you're sorry?

Sure you can buy them a diamond necklace, but I like to think there's more than money involved between you and me. right?
Plus it wasn't really my fault anyway - there's just no internet cafe anywhere in this town. City? I think we should redefine the concept of city/town. Surely in this day and age, internet cafes are the new cathedral, right? So if you can't find an internet cafe within 5 weeks, then it's a town, right?
I have to stop saying "right".
And I could bore you to high heaven and back with stories of me and my technomoronicness, but you want to believe that I'm the clever, brilliant, and generally super fantastic person you've always thought I was, right?
Damn.
Although, I have to say, that particular dream got shattered in a none-too-subtle fashion one day on the subway, when Earth Angel - should I pause for effect here? - got on and proceeded to tell us all about how he couldn't bear to look at guys because they are, and I quote, obsolete, and oh his eyes, his eyes... but if girls under 30 wanted to know eternal happiness, they should join him. Not over 30, mind, because by 30 it was too late, we were joining the obsolete ranks and oh his eyes his eyes again.
And all this time, it never once entered his mind that we might be going oh my eyes my eyes ourselves... Picture a middle-aged man with a dyed jet black crewcut-mullet, very likely a girdle underneath a tight black tee and long shorts. Trying to pick up nubile young things. Does it ever work?
So yeah, now I'm a technomoron too old to ever know what true happiness is really like.
But there's a cocktail bar just a block down from where I live, so I guess there'll always be alcohol.
So that was my attempt at apologizing. And yes, people of Britain, I now use z instead of s - a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to adapt. But rest assured: I still live in a flat, use the lift, and smoke ciggies. All isn't lost. Yet.

Whip... Whip... Whip...

That title here was for all the googlers who strangely land here looking for some sort of deviance.
As if.
Talking about titles, the previous one was a premonition of sorts, wasn't it. Almost two months. Wow. Which cunningly brings me to the current title, as it's all the apology you'll be getting, but believe me when I say it's heartfelt (seriously, though, thank you all for worrying. And I have the names of those who didn't).
Here's the drill: I've been at my parents' for the past six weeks. I'll let that settle a while. Six weeks. And no, it hasn't been quite so bad as it sounds.
The wait for the visa, now that's another kettle of fish... So after having it planned and organised so everything would go smoothly, it appears I'll be landing and going straight to work. Which, seriously, is hardly an exaggeration at all.
That is if I'm not rejected by the consulate, of course.

White rabbit white rabbit to all, albeit slightly late, but surely the moral of the story today is better late than never. Right?

Let's try and break a record

Let's see just how far I can go along the "sad and pathetic" scale - without even being prompted.

I have a tenant! Well, they haven't signed yet, but let's not stop at such paltry details. (and don't any of you dare warn me about crowing early or some sort.)
The stuff that I put on eBay got some bids before I had to withdraw it because said tenants wanted to keep it!
I feel validated.
People like me. And my stuff.
Take that, you stupid previous future potential tenant who didn't like my furniture and showed it!

There. Now you have a better idea.
Damn I'm tired.