So i've made my craziest decision yet. After getting roundhouse-kicked in the stomach and spat in the face one too many times by the very people to whom i owe my presence in the New World, i have decided, if the bureaucratic process works out, to accept the mostly uncertain future (and i quote: "i can't guarantee that you'll be able to pay the bills, much less the rent") that a pretty prestigious world-saving organisation is offering me*.
To be fair to the aforementioned organisation, it really wasn't that hard a choice once the very people to whom i owe my presence in the New World (who will henceforth be referred to as "those fuckers") led me to understand that they would rather i left within the month than keep me on for another two years. And it was made even easier after i gave my reply to the aforementioned organisation, who then proceeded to say: "Thank you for making this decision. I hope it won't be detrimental to you".
An entirely different class of individuals, then.
Is this cryptic? Cryptic enough? Too cryptic?
I need help. Mostly of the psychiatric variety, but i'll take any i can get.
Having said that, if the bureaucratic process doesn't work out... well. I will need more help, and so will the Old Continent.
* Also, i need to stop mixing my social-networking websites (if such this might be called) because i almost finished this in the third person.
08 mars 2010
03 mars 2010
Commuter's rage
Right. I know i'm broaching a topic i've broached before, and I know i'm an impatient cow, and i KNOW i have a serious anger management problem.
Actually that's not true. My anger management is top notch. My inner Patrick Bateman is thriving, that's how good my anger management is: my Patrick Bateman is still INNER.
However repetitive and redundant i might be, the great truth is: i repeat because it is!
Today, i give you: the armpit of America.
New Jersey commuters who go through the World Trade Center Path station should be gathered on a island*, and... starved until they eat each other.
Holy cow, this is such an awesome plan. The last one standing could be left there until more obnoxious people, which i'm sure it wouldn't take too long to find, are corralled up and sent over... and on we go!
And there you have it, peeps. My inner Patrick Bateman, ridding the world of its morons, one cannibal reality show at a time.
*Nice try. A remote island. Manhattan is not an option just yet.
Actually that's not true. My anger management is top notch. My inner Patrick Bateman is thriving, that's how good my anger management is: my Patrick Bateman is still INNER.
However repetitive and redundant i might be, the great truth is: i repeat because it is!
Today, i give you: the armpit of America.
New Jersey commuters who go through the World Trade Center Path station should be gathered on a island*, and... starved until they eat each other.
Holy cow, this is such an awesome plan. The last one standing could be left there until more obnoxious people, which i'm sure it wouldn't take too long to find, are corralled up and sent over... and on we go!
And there you have it, peeps. My inner Patrick Bateman, ridding the world of its morons, one cannibal reality show at a time.
*Nice try. A remote island. Manhattan is not an option just yet.
01 mars 2010
Blinky blinky
I'm having a sort of staring contest with the page screen. It's been going on for almost 24 hours. As far as staring contests go, it's probably a record (it is! in fact).
Considering that, in those 24 hours, i have, in no particular order other than alphabetical, gone on cigarette-break walks, got dressed, left the state to go to work, "made" "food", reentered the state to go to physical therapy, showered, slept, and watched Glengarry Glen Ross, it is safe to assume that the number of times i have blinked has probably broken a record as well.
In short: The page screen is kicking my ass.
Which, let's face it, isn't that big of a news story: i have pages of posts that scream that exact conclusion to anyone who's read them -- clearly not to the one person who wrote them though, but i'll blame that on the way the Internet keeps telling everyone that that book that everyone has in them? the Internet is so. ready. for it.
Anyway. Where was i? Ah yes. Well. The really really good thing -- and "good" doesn't really do it justice -- is, i'm willing to train my writing muscle(s). The Internet is going to be sorry it was born. And that, my friend(s), is how i will kick the page screen's ass right back.
Considering that, in those 24 hours, i have, in no particular order other than alphabetical, gone on cigarette-break walks, got dressed, left the state to go to work, "made" "food", reentered the state to go to physical therapy, showered, slept, and watched Glengarry Glen Ross, it is safe to assume that the number of times i have blinked has probably broken a record as well.
In short: The page screen is kicking my ass.
Which, let's face it, isn't that big of a news story: i have pages of posts that scream that exact conclusion to anyone who's read them -- clearly not to the one person who wrote them though, but i'll blame that on the way the Internet keeps telling everyone that that book that everyone has in them? the Internet is so. ready. for it.
Anyway. Where was i? Ah yes. Well. The really really good thing -- and "good" doesn't really do it justice -- is, i'm willing to train my writing muscle(s). The Internet is going to be sorry it was born. And that, my friend(s), is how i will kick the page screen's ass right back.
28 février 2010
The times, they are not a-changing all that much
Ha HA freaking HA. It's like i have Tourette's of the blog, kinda. No manifestation in forever -- in such a long time that you forget you even have the damn thing, in fact. And then, out of the mothercrying blue, without any discernible triggering factor, an "episode".
Yep.
So let's not even pretend i'm back, cause i've played that particular card before and the only thing it's done is left me without moral kneecaps. But i have just paid the commenting ransom to the service formerly known as Haloscan, so i'd better make it worth those $12, is all i'm saying.
Cheaper than a shrink, innit.
Yep.
So let's not even pretend i'm back, cause i've played that particular card before and the only thing it's done is left me without moral kneecaps. But i have just paid the commenting ransom to the service formerly known as Haloscan, so i'd better make it worth those $12, is all i'm saying.
Cheaper than a shrink, innit.
12 mars 2009
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.
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.
07 mars 2009
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!
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!
12 décembre 2007
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.
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.
14 octobre 2007
"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.
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.
18 septembre 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
01 juin 2007
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?
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?
05 avril 2007
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.
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.
01 avril 2007
28 mars 2007
"If certain British doctors hadn't asked "What is this fungus?", we wouldn't have penicillin today"
In the Muslim world, they have what's called the Hand of Fatima, supposed to keep the evil eye away - and you're never supposed to say that things are good, because that's bound to attract that bastard evil eye, envious bugger that it is.
I've had a Hamsa pendant for many years, but I haven't worn it very often. Lately, with everything going so well, I thought I should wear it again, considering I've been shouting my fantastic news from the rooftops, cyber and otherwise, for a while now. It just seemed like a sensible precaution to prevent that bastard evil eye from taking a renewed interest in me. Except I kind of forgot about it.
A few years back, a friend and colleague got me a little present: a heart-shaped keyring, very pretty and shiny - a lovely little present, really, so I used it. After a while, things started to go downhill for me at an alarming rate. Of course I put two and two together and the keyring at the bottom of a box where I keep all my rarely-used keys and where I quickly forgot about it.
And things started looking slowly up.
Last weekend, when I started packing, I emptied the box and decided I'd give the keyring to someone. It's been a sitting on a shelf for the past three days.
Out in the open.
Apparently, I've released the antichrist.
Everything is falling apart! I'm never finding a tenant here, I'm never finding a flat over there, and I'm never getting rid of all the stuff I want rid off! And my visa is never going to be ready on time!
Call it overreaction, but I reckoned an exorcism was in order. So the keyring is now buried deep inside the trash, and the pendant tucked safely inside my tee.
"I cast you out!"
I've had a Hamsa pendant for many years, but I haven't worn it very often. Lately, with everything going so well, I thought I should wear it again, considering I've been shouting my fantastic news from the rooftops, cyber and otherwise, for a while now. It just seemed like a sensible precaution to prevent that bastard evil eye from taking a renewed interest in me. Except I kind of forgot about it.
A few years back, a friend and colleague got me a little present: a heart-shaped keyring, very pretty and shiny - a lovely little present, really, so I used it. After a while, things started to go downhill for me at an alarming rate. Of course I put two and two together and the keyring at the bottom of a box where I keep all my rarely-used keys and where I quickly forgot about it.
And things started looking slowly up.
Last weekend, when I started packing, I emptied the box and decided I'd give the keyring to someone. It's been a sitting on a shelf for the past three days.
Out in the open.
Apparently, I've released the antichrist.
Everything is falling apart! I'm never finding a tenant here, I'm never finding a flat over there, and I'm never getting rid of all the stuff I want rid off! And my visa is never going to be ready on time!
Call it overreaction, but I reckoned an exorcism was in order. So the keyring is now buried deep inside the trash, and the pendant tucked safely inside my tee.
"I cast you out!"
26 mars 2007
Numb3rs
Time I finally went to sleep last night: around 3:00 a.m.
Time I woke up for good this morning: 7:30 a.m.
Number of times I woke up in-between: 500 zillion.
Number of expense-related phone calls I've made so far today: around 11
Number of flatshare ads I've replied to so far: 5,017
Number of flat viewings secured: 0
Number of hefty cheques I've signed so far today: 3
Number of boxes packed over the weekend: 10
Number of new pairs of glasses: 1
Total number of glasses: 4
Potential case of glasses-fetishism: 1
Visa-related news: 0
Number of times I felt like I was dealing with people who thought they were dealing with a moron: 1
Number of stuff* I have to get rid of in the next three weeks: enough for a yard sale
Conclusion: the ulcer is growing and the TV show has got it all sussed out: when there's that many numbers involved, someone is bound to die.
* I know.
Time I woke up for good this morning: 7:30 a.m.
Number of times I woke up in-between: 500 zillion.
Number of expense-related phone calls I've made so far today: around 11
Number of flatshare ads I've replied to so far: 5,017
Number of flat viewings secured: 0
Number of hefty cheques I've signed so far today: 3
Number of boxes packed over the weekend: 10
Number of new pairs of glasses: 1
Total number of glasses: 4
Potential case of glasses-fetishism: 1
Visa-related news: 0
Number of times I felt like I was dealing with people who thought they were dealing with a moron: 1
Number of stuff* I have to get rid of in the next three weeks: enough for a yard sale
Conclusion: the ulcer is growing and the TV show has got it all sussed out: when there's that many numbers involved, someone is bound to die.
* I know.
19 mars 2007
What happens when you let go of your principles...?
You win completely undeserved money, is what.
So far, 2007 is proving to be one incredibly good year for me. This feels both long overdue and incredibly scary: I'm now waiting for the proverbial sword to fall right on my unsuspecting brow.
Although, considering I'm waiting for it, I guess my brow would have to be incredibly low to be unsuspecting, at this point. But I digress.
I'm still waiting for my visa to come through. If I haven't heard anything next week, I'll start worrying. But I'm sure you'll agree with me that it would be incredibly bad form of fate to have it all come together only for a little bit of paperwork to bring everything to a screeching halt. Especially as there is little in the world that I despise more than screeching, except when it's the result of my own vocal cords working their little stringy butts out, of course.
Anyway. A lovely couple viewed the flat today, and they seemed very interested. In fact, they were so interested that I felt guilty thinking that maybe the agency would veto them or that they would not find a guarantor. And they want the flat furnished, which is a huge thorn off of my side.
Too many miracles, I tell you.
Still. As of yet, I haven't found the perfect flat I was talking about before (after checking, it appears I'd already mentioned the en-suite bathroom. I wonder what that says about me...).
Which obviously raises the question: what on earth is fate doing right now, twiddling its thumbs like the job is all done?! Tsh. So hard to find good personnel these days.
So far, 2007 is proving to be one incredibly good year for me. This feels both long overdue and incredibly scary: I'm now waiting for the proverbial sword to fall right on my unsuspecting brow.
Although, considering I'm waiting for it, I guess my brow would have to be incredibly low to be unsuspecting, at this point. But I digress.
I'm still waiting for my visa to come through. If I haven't heard anything next week, I'll start worrying. But I'm sure you'll agree with me that it would be incredibly bad form of fate to have it all come together only for a little bit of paperwork to bring everything to a screeching halt. Especially as there is little in the world that I despise more than screeching, except when it's the result of my own vocal cords working their little stringy butts out, of course.
Anyway. A lovely couple viewed the flat today, and they seemed very interested. In fact, they were so interested that I felt guilty thinking that maybe the agency would veto them or that they would not find a guarantor. And they want the flat furnished, which is a huge thorn off of my side.
Too many miracles, I tell you.
Still. As of yet, I haven't found the perfect flat I was talking about before (after checking, it appears I'd already mentioned the en-suite bathroom. I wonder what that says about me...).
Which obviously raises the question: what on earth is fate doing right now, twiddling its thumbs like the job is all done?! Tsh. So hard to find good personnel these days.
12 mars 2007
Bad mother, bad!
Decisions have been made. Sacrifices even.
There are around 400 books in this flat, about 320 of which are going to have be left behind to make space for other, more "important" stuff so I don't have to sell a kidney before I leave to pay for their transport.
I feel like I'm abandoning my children.
No, I don't really, but did that feel dramatic enough?
To be completely honest (and am I ever anything but?), some of them I'm actually glad to be rid of. My personal hall-of-shame books: bad chick lit and Patricia Cornwells mostly. Still. They were my hall of shame. Now I'm probably going to have to give them away to friends. Hey, I bought them. The shame will surely be a lot more tolerable if they don't even have to spend a farthing for them, won't it? They could even argue that they're doing it as a favour to me if that makes them feel better about it. You and I will always know better, though. Our little secret. Our leverage.
Or I could leave them at my parents', in boxes, with scores of other books that are already there, and where they will see no light for... ever, probably. And let me remind you that that sort of behaviour is usually frowned upon when applied to children. Just sayin'.
I guess there's always the bonfire solution, auto-da-fe style.
I'm torn.
There are around 400 books in this flat, about 320 of which are going to have be left behind to make space for other, more "important" stuff so I don't have to sell a kidney before I leave to pay for their transport.
I feel like I'm abandoning my children.
No, I don't really, but did that feel dramatic enough?
To be completely honest (and am I ever anything but?), some of them I'm actually glad to be rid of. My personal hall-of-shame books: bad chick lit and Patricia Cornwells mostly. Still. They were my hall of shame. Now I'm probably going to have to give them away to friends. Hey, I bought them. The shame will surely be a lot more tolerable if they don't even have to spend a farthing for them, won't it? They could even argue that they're doing it as a favour to me if that makes them feel better about it. You and I will always know better, though. Our little secret. Our leverage.
Or I could leave them at my parents', in boxes, with scores of other books that are already there, and where they will see no light for... ever, probably. And let me remind you that that sort of behaviour is usually frowned upon when applied to children. Just sayin'.
I guess there's always the bonfire solution, auto-da-fe style.
I'm torn.
04 mars 2007
Whoa... So many changes, so little time
Right. First things first. Honestly, I like old. And I don't like being bullied. And it does feel like I've just been bullied into updating to the new Blogger version. Which, by the by, looks ugly.
I didn't want to change to the new Blogger. I'm annoyed.
OK, now that's out of the way and, possibly, my system... I've just booked (not paid yet: baby steps...) a one-way ticket to the city that never sleeps. One bloody way. That's a bit scary. But strangely cheaper than getting a return sometime in 2008 (seriously, do people pay €2,000 for planes tickets??).
That visa had better come through now.
It would also be nice if I found a tenant for my flat. And a fantastic, furnished place, with en-suite bathroom, in a very trendy area within easy commute from work, for very cheap (utilities, cable and wireless internet included, of course).
Although - come to think of it - I'm not exactly looking forward to walking around the flat in my underwear in exchange for free rent. But I guess we'll cross that bridge if we come to it.
OK, let's not kid ourselves here. We'll burn that bridge right now, before we ever get to it.
How does one start a new life with only 46kg-luggage?
Hmmm. Underwear, uh...
I didn't want to change to the new Blogger. I'm annoyed.
OK, now that's out of the way and, possibly, my system... I've just booked (not paid yet: baby steps...) a one-way ticket to the city that never sleeps. One bloody way. That's a bit scary. But strangely cheaper than getting a return sometime in 2008 (seriously, do people pay €2,000 for planes tickets??).
That visa had better come through now.
It would also be nice if I found a tenant for my flat. And a fantastic, furnished place, with en-suite bathroom, in a very trendy area within easy commute from work, for very cheap (utilities, cable and wireless internet included, of course).
Although - come to think of it - I'm not exactly looking forward to walking around the flat in my underwear in exchange for free rent. But I guess we'll cross that bridge if we come to it.
OK, let's not kid ourselves here. We'll burn that bridge right now, before we ever get to it.
How does one start a new life with only 46kg-luggage?
Hmmm. Underwear, uh...
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