27 avril 2006


I lied.

Patience, grasshoppers...

I'm working on something for tomorrow which should be hilarious, if I dare say so myself.

25 avril 2006

Hard day's night

My entry for Jason's short-story competition.
There are real gems in there, I strongly suggest you go take a look.

Walk in the door, head straight to the bar and pour a stiff drink, maybe even drink the whole day into oblivion — that was the plan.
When he turned on the hallway lights, one of them was flickering. Would the hassle ever stop? Why did he need two lights in the hallway anyway?
The plan held. He would take care of the lamp after the first drink.
He kept the first sip of bourbon on his tongue a while, anticipating the rush of alcohol, looking forward to the light-headedness that would come with the second drink. No food all day would help ensure that.
Second drink down. Nice.
He poured himself a third one and went to have a look at the lamp.
He screwed the bulb tighter and turned the light back on. Still flickering.
For crying out loud.
He set his drink on the table, and under he went, fiddling with the outlet. No good. Maybe a wire was loose in the cord. He couldn’t be bothered with it now though. He felt nice and cozy under the table, like a child’s comfort place. And comfort was exactly what the doctor had ordered just now.
Startled by the phone, he jumped up and knocked himself cold against the sharp angle of the table, spilling his drink in the process. When the dripping bourbon touched the outlet, a spark flared up, and the flickering briefly worsened. The fire was quick to spread.
His last day could have been better.

24 avril 2006

Oh look!

Voice of a City has been updated!
It's for kids and for grown-ups! There's suspense! There's comedy! There's no sex!
Hmmm. That sounds a bit like Sabrina the Teenage Witch...
Anyway. Having used all of my limited brain power for that, you'll pardon the lack of update here. Will you? Will you? Yeah go on, you know you want to.

Blogger is screwed, my darlings. If you see this you see this. If you don't... you don't.
But don't blame me.

20 avril 2006

Hear ye, hear ye

All right, you'uns*. Jason, over yonder at Clarity of Night, is having a short-story contest. You might want to go, take a good look at the picture, and enter the competition. You might also want to make sure that what you write is good, but not too good, because I would really like to win. If I enter the competition myself. Which I may or may not do, it's undecided as yet, but still. In the event that blah blah blah... give me a chance.

Apart from that... Not much. Oh yes. Christopher Guest may just be my latest celebrity crush. You gotta love an understated actor. And please don't judge me by that picture. Obviously his agents don't like him much.
Other than that... Nothing really. Oh yes. Today is the 111th day of the year. I quite like that.
Can you tell I have nothing to say? Do I get points for trying? Or would it have been better if I'd just abstained? Yeah... See, trying too hard, that's my problem. All the time I just try too hard. But I just want people to love me... So I try, and I try, and I try, and I try... I can't get no... Sorry. Oh my god, I can't stop. Someone shoot me, please.

*Let it not be said that I do not rise** to the challenges thrown my way. Hope I used it right.
**Although I know I won't be able to meet just any challenge, so don't swamp my mailbox. Ta.

19 avril 2006

Where the author finds herself energetically proclaiming the way of the least effort to be the way to go

Y'all are aware of the fact... OK I can't really finish this sentence without asking if this "y'all" sounded about right? Can't blame a girl for trying, eh?
Right. So you know I'm half Corsican, yes? Which means I'm not a big fan of efforts. Just, you know, not a big fan. Some would say I'm lazy, well, that's not exactly it. I just think that there are ways around pointless expenditures of energy. Surely that's a defendable position?
So when I found myself going to see some friends who inconveniently live on the sixth floor, and no lift was in sight, I sighed loudly, and racked my brains for a potential accelerator. Needless to say I am not now and wasn't then in possession of any super-powered tights and cape. This wasn't going to be easy.
Six floors. Six flights of stairs. Five landings laughing at me. Heavens.
That's when my survival instinct kicked in. Have I told you how much I love my survival instinct? I love my survival instinct.
Something happened. Call it a brain wave if you want, I'll still thank my survival instinct. A long scarf was loosely wrapped around my neck. I grabbed both ends, around shoulder level, arms at a rather imprecise 45° angle, and pulled myself up. It felt like somebody else was dragging me. Quite surprisingly effective, really.
Of course, every now and again (and 6th floor, remember - 'every now and again' could make a few times) there was the odd surge of power on my part, when I was dangerously close to chocking myself to death. Now that would have been a sight. Thank god I'm not a British politician. "Girl found dead in stairway. Erotic game suspected." Hmmm.

17 avril 2006

I smell a conspiracy

My insomnia problem has become really really bad lately. And I mean really really bad. But I'm not here to complain.
Really really bad though. Actually it doesn't even qualify as insomnia anymore. It qualifies as insomnia-plus-fitful-sleep-when-I-do-get-some-actual-shut-eye-time. Hardly resting. But I'm not here to complain.
For instance. Friday and Saturday, I must have had about seven hours sleep in
total. Now I'm not here to complain but let me grump a little. Sunday morning, right as I felt I was finally falling asleep for good, at around eight*, the phone rang. Who goes back to sleep after the phone has rung at eight in the morning on a Sunday? And -- more to the point here -- honestly, who phones at that time?! My dear dear brother, that's who.
Now, my brother hardly ever phones, so it's always a pleasure. When he does phone, though, he certainly picks his times.
Case in point. Fourteen years ago, we were sharing a flat. Fourteen years ago... wow.
One evening, he goes out on a date sort of thing, saying "We're only going for a drink, I won't be too long." OK, whatever, dude, your life after all. Midnight, I'm on the phone with my friend, my brother is not back yet. We're not really worried. His life, yes? Next morning, I wake up at 6:30 as my brother walks through the door. That your idea of "not long"? I could have been worried, I go. Hardly convincing, right? Exactly.
In the evening of the same day, he goes back out again, adding, "I don't think I'll be late tonight, but don't wait up, eh?". Sure. Enjoy.
I go to sleep. Suddenly, in the middle of my blissful state of not thinking, not seeing, not doing anything except with my subconscious, the phone rings. It's 3:15 in the morning. The only thing I can think is ohmygodohmygodohmygod, something happened to Brad**,
I still answer, because my courage knows no boundaries.
It's my brother. Again. Or already. My brother phones to say, get this, "hey, listen, I just wanted to let you know, I don't know when I'm coming home. I'm at Jennifer's**. But don't worry, OK?" Brad**! I was asleep! I had better things to do than worry, OK?
Apparently, he's never learned. Or he has, but he enjoys hurting me. Which is a possibility.

* I'm not here to complain, but you may feel sorry for me if you feel so enclined.
** Names changed to protect the innocent. And I am current with what's going on. My brother's not dating Jennifer anymore either.

13 avril 2006

Bugger. It's Easter.

A word of warning. Too much chocolate is...
Oh hell. There is no such thing as too much chocolate.
Have too much chocolate. Stuff yourselves overflowingly full of the chocolatey goodness that is too much chocolate.
Do retain a modicum of dignity after you've had too much chocolate, though. Please be considerate. Be sick behind closed doors and do not moan after hours.
And have a good one!

12 avril 2006

"hello... 'lo... 'o...", went the echo

During my numerous - albeit rarer now - moments of complete deludedness (not a word, I'll grant you that, but 'delusion' doesn't actually cover what I mean. Think nuance. Think subtlety. Yeah, I know.), I used to think I could probably work on TV. This is completely stupid not only for obvious reasons like the lack of a famous uncle and things like that, by the way. Mostly, I can't stand seeing my face on pictures or on a screen. Which, I'm sure you'll agree, is one great big high hurdle for a 5ft3-tall girl on her way to fame and riches.
Am I making sense? No, don't answer that.
So this particular fad of mine was in a very faded state already, and its remains got violently smashed today when I suddenly realized that there were moments of great, great loneliness in a TV studio. I was watching a silly lottery gameshow where people spin a wheel to win between €20,000 and €1,000,000. Scratch me happy indeed. The host, a woman, looked kinda happy that the day's winner was a good-looking man, who had come with his brother, another good-looking chap. So she tried to engage in conversation with them both, as she does, so that the show can look less like a retake on "grab the money and run" and more like a friendly "we're giving you the money, there's no need for the weapon" kind of thing.
Except she got mostly blank stares and silly giggles. Which are annoying sounds when a girl is making them, but when it's a man... it's kind of embarrassing. Now, I don't want comments like "he was on TV, it was probably just shyness". Yes, it probably was. It doesn't change the fact that you could almost see the woman's eyes screaming "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here...!". Cured me for good.

10 avril 2006

Yeah yeah yeah

I know.
There's a piece on Voice of a City that might interest girls of the jewelry persuasion.
Apart from that... I got nothin', darls. The ideas, they come and they don't stay, what can I say.

05 avril 2006

Oh the frustration.

Here, have another snapshot into my thrilling life: I run errands every now and again. I know, I know... Too much excitement and I might lose touch with reality, but I'm willing to take that chance.
Still. Yesterday, I did just that. Run errands, I mean... You thought you were going to get me there, didn't you. Nice try.
Now, I don't know if you're aware of this (although... who isn't?) but Paris has this major problem, namely - and not to put too fine a point to it - dog turds.
Sometimes it gets to the point where I don't feel guilty that I'm not practising any sports, because honestly, avoiding our canine best friends' offerings on the pavements can quickly resemble one hell of a slalom course.
And it almost goes without saying that it has been known to trigger many a killing impulse in me. Seriously, what else did you expect? There are some memories that I don't really want to have to stir, but take my word for it, some of those impulses were amply justified.
So yesterday, as I was sauntering none too happily from one smelly present to the other, I saw a little old lady walking her four-legged companion. And I got really excited, in joyful anticipation of the bollocking I was going to give her when she simply left the clear and present danger to hip bones everywhere just lying around, threatening every living, intelligent presence in a 500-meter radius.
Already imagining how I was going to rub her face in it - figuratively, come on -, I gleefully slowed down to a very dignified
pace (yes, it's possible when you live in my world, shut up.), hoping she would slink away from the crime scene so that I could POUNCE!
We both waited for her leggy sausage to finish its business. When it had, she got a plastic bag from her purse, and picked it up.
Honestly. The cheek.
Nothing is working out as planned these days.

03 avril 2006

A picture is worth...

It depends on the picture, I guess.
I'm using my voice, today. As are others, then, and more literally so, apparently.

02 avril 2006

Ever felt like the sky was the limit?

Nah, me neither.
Still. Right now, I have this deluded feeling that I can achieve anything I set my sights on. Provided I'm the only one involved of course. Which means I'm not sorting the job situation, the boyfriend situation, or the money situation just now. But... It does leave the DIY situation, and I could deal with this one right now if I felt so inclined.
And right now, I do feel so inclined.
Oh how the DIY situation is scared of its suddenly considerably reduced life expectancy.
See, this can prove a dangerous feeling. Not the fear, the "I can do it" feeling. Consider this. I am the unfortunate owner of two left hands made up of ten thumbs, each or not each, depending on how much I've had to drink. Yet right now, I'd love nothing more than a power tool of some sort. Surely it's a bad idea. I want to put shelves in, hang frames, repaint the bathroom ceiling... and maybe install a staircase, just for the hell of it.
If I trusted my instincts, I'd start drilling holes
right now, juggling drill and hammer with the occasional nail and MDF board, and would probably end up causing a major, Paris-wide black-out.
I guess my neighbors, Paris, and the DIY situation can thank their lucky stars that it's usually around 1 a.m. that this sort of feeling sets in.