26 août 2007

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.

15 août 2007

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.

12 août 2007

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?
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.