Sunday, May 17th, 2009

06:21pm

1. Reply to this post and I'll assign you a letter.
2. List (and upload) 5 songs that begin with that letter.
3. Post them to your journal with these instructions.

I like this music meme, which seems basically a 'what's in your ipod, let's swap around type of thing' so I asked mimine and got S for my troubles, which means I had to choose from something like 100 songs, so I just picked my top five most played songs starting with S to avoid too much searching around, and which are:

1.Southern Belles in London Sing - The Faint. A rather more melodic departure from their more direct dance-punk, and a highlight from their Wet from Birth album, blending electronica and violins, and there's something so immediate about the lyrics, like a guy who is a bit of a romantic, and a bit of a dumb loser too. A hundred feet above the landing, There's a girl gliding down, She's floating toward me now, Her sleeves are all stretching out, And the jet is following behind. Wake up.

2. Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon. So apparently, Kings of Leon are not that huge in the US and the rest of Europe. What? We seem unable to get rid of them in the UK. Initially I found them pretty fascinating, as they were all hot, and related, and had a childhood that sounded like Supernatural minus the demons, but I wasn't so keen on their southern rock style, though I did admire how they marched to the beat of their own drum. I did warm up to the music eventually, and this is one fine song, accompanied by one bizarrely incestuously homoerotic video, where a sweaty Caleb Followill gets wrestled down on a bed by his brothers, moans, get soaked, eats greasy food with his fingers, and looks seconds away from an apoplexy or an orgasm.

3. Slow Hands - Interpol. Though I was not as thrilled with the Antics album compared to Interpol's debut,this is one good song, there is this solid density in Banks' voice, he sounds like an android to me, a crazy malfunctioning android singing nonsense and making it sound profound.

4. The Sitting Room - Anne Clark. Clark is a spoken word artist more or less, so this is a recital set to music, from her first album in 1982, at her creepiest and gloomiest. You are just a tenant here, you say, living in and out of this life as cheaply as you can.

5. Sad Lake City - 22 Pistepirkko. I got to know them from my Finnish flatmate at university, and their album Eleven was the musical background to my life in the year 1999. To me they sound something between dream pop and electronica, and are always atmospheric.

And why not, let's have another five while I'm here:

6. Stigmata - Ministry. When I need noise, it's usually a choice between songs from The Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers, or Ministry's The Land of Rape and Honey. Here's one of them.
7. She's in Parties - Bauhaus. Good old Bauhaus, 80's doom and gloom, proto-gothic stuff.
8. She's not there - The Zombies. Classic 60's stuff.
9. Si l'on marchait jusqu'a demain - Louise Attaque. I usually play this on repeat when I clean the house, so I can dance around with a mop.
10.Service And Repair - Calexico. Wonderful alt. country

And for the expected Star Trek entry. Yay! Whee! Whah! Yes, it was as marvelous as pretty much everyone has stated. Had this feelgood factor, roller-coaster plot and mythos-building feel that reminded me very much ofthe first Star Wars movie. Superbly cast, wonderfully paced, and the smartest reboot plotline ever, I loved every minute of it, and I'm feeling really annoyed that I can't see the second film, let's say, um, next month?

( more blah - di - blah )

Sunday, February 22nd, 2009

05:24pm

The frequency of updating this journal is really disproportionate to the amount of time I spend on it, seriously.

I turned 30 a couple of weeks ago and doing my best to grow old disgracefully, I have embraced dating, which must be one of the most bizarre activities known to man. You know what the problem is with romantic comedies? When the heroine in order to forget her true Object of Desire, attempts dating some other random guys, and a ‘hilarious’ sequence ensues, where she sits in a restaurant munching risotto with this rotating bunch of poor bastards, who are obviously unsuitable as they make asinine comments, wear weaves and have lettuce stuck in their teeth.

What the films fail to show, is how on earth she manages to get rid of all those losers afterwards. My own attempts have varied from being constantly ‘busy’ for three months (and he is still not getting it) to running out of the pub while he is ordering drinks at the bar (and he is still not getting it). I am now considering replacing the ‘no it’s not you, it’s me’ with ‘it’s not you, it’s my Chlamydia’, ‘I just got out of a serious break-up’ with ‘I just got out of jail’, and ‘let’s take things slow’ with ‘let’s have a threesome with your brother’. If none of these work, I am planning to try ‘I’m saving myself until marriage,’ ‘I’m doing my best to conserve energy by showering once a month’ and ‘I just got this weird rash, but I’m sure it will clear out soon!’. Other ideas are welcomed.

For my birthday I decided to visit sarahtales, and then got trapped in Dublin because of the snow, spent six hours sitting on a plane without food, drink, use of bathroom or mobile phone, as the plane attempted to take off and stopped due to ice and snow and possible death, returned to sarahtales’ place, where I did a snoopy dance of rage and exhaustion and stayed another two days endlessly whining, as flight was re-scheduled. Dublin is lovely, but I fear that if I visit again, I will probably never return.

Vat else? I finally watched Life on Mars UK, couple of years late but who’s counting, decided that me and John Simm must never part, then sat and watched third season of Doctor Who just because he is in it. I enjoyed it immensely, which made me realise that I actually really disliked Billie Piper, and that she has a face like Miss Piggy, but somehow, I managed to condition myself that I liked her, with all the worry of the usual slasher who thinks that disliking the strong female lead is uncool, and must be avoided at all costs. Now, after watching Season 3, I can finally say that - unlike Martha Jones, who I thought was great and wish she could get in on with the Doctor - Rose, I hate youuuuu, you and your bovine stare and smug face and cloying romance with Ten.

I also now love the Master, in all his incarnations, inclusive of Eric Roberts even. A rather obsessive love for classic Who has therefore emerged.
Me: *entering the office looking like something the cat dragged in*
Colleague: Hot date yesterday?
Me: Yes, with Peter Davison! For seven hours!
Colleague: Ooooh, the boy has a name! And... stamina! Where did you go?
Me: Caves of the Androzani!
Colleague: ... Is this the name of Gordon Ramsay’s new fusion restaurant? What does this Peter guy do?
Me: He—travels in time and space? As the Fifth Doctor?
Colleague: *facepalms*

Vat else, vat else? Oh, I wrote something called Sacrificial Virgins are Go! for the Dean/Castiel fic exchange, and the title is really enough to sum up the damn thing. Writing SPN was like trying on clothes that don't exactly fit, so I doubt if I’ll make another attempt again.

Thursday, July 10th, 2008

08:25pm

So I did not manage to see Panic at the Disco, but due to some odd twist of fate I was running past the Astoria as people were queuing at the entrance. I was in fancy dress for a party, and let me tell you, dressing as a chav was a stroke of genius, though I was constantly worried I was going to get beaten up or arrested.

So, in my all-chav attire, complete with gold hoop earrings, polyester tracksuit,fake Ugg boots, Burberry hat and frosted pink lipstick, with a six-pack of Strongbow under my arm, and all the bling I could find, I stopped outside the Astoria to catch my breath and happily exclaimed "Oh, Panic at the Disco". At which point 15 emo kids at the line turned and stared at me with open mouths and raised eyebrows. It was a beautiful moment and being all in character I felt inclined to give them the finger before skipping away.

Meanwhile, some of you might remember than once upon a time in 2001 to be exact, I wrote some godawful Aragorn/Legolas fic, which did not feature 'sapphire orbs' but came pretty damn close. It's still up on the ff.net, and Suddenly, Susan, today I got this private message from the ff.net on it:

Name: Ilada'Jefiv
--------------------

Dear Author,

I just want to tell you that I am not condemning your writing style in any
way. I and several others on this site simply wish to tell you that we
discourage the writing of slash and homosexual conduct. We wish for to be a
clean site where people of all ages can enjoy stories and look up to
characters such as Aragorn and Legolas as role s of strong character. Thank
you for your time and consideration. Sincerely,The Narnian Authors for Christ
Community

--------------------

I've deleted her profile link, but I have no qualms on posting the message here, because, augh!

Say, what? My first thought was: Man, Christians against slash flamewars are so 2004! My second thought was: But why are you NOT condemning my writing style? Seriously, that's the one thing that richly deserves your condemnation! My third thought was: What? What are these Narnian Authors for Christ expect me to do? Apologise? Remove my fic? Pray? What? It was barely a PG-13 if I remember correctly, though no power on earth will make me re-read it. It's a rather polite message too, which baffles me on how I should respond.

Also, this weekend I went to Paris with olympia_m. Never been there before, and it's in my list of things to do before I'm thirty (couple of months left). Other items in the list are 'throw an egg at an electrical fan' and 'visit the Machu Picchu' but I felt Paris was the cheaper and less messy of the options, and I could start with that. The egg throwing will probably take place when my flatmate is away and can't scream.

Journey on the Eurostar was exciting, as me and Oly, like complete idiots missed the part when we actually got in and out of the tunnel, and spend the rest of the trip wondering when the hell we would ever get under, when they announced we had arrived already. Oops. Paris very pretty, though this was less of a holiday and more a ticking off of sights visited. 15 minutes at the Sacre Coeur? Plenty! Off to the Eiffer Tower! The Louvre is frigging exhausting, and too showy for my tastes, there is actually a queue with guards for the Mona Lisa, so you get like 3.2 seconds close to the painting, and then you give your place to some other sweaty tourist on a sugar-high clutching the Da Vinci code.

Best part of the Louvre: Am on my way up the escalator, watching the people on the other escalator going down. Two supremely cute guys, all skinny jeans and fluffy hair and exciting hats and arty glasses are chatting to each other.

Me: Aw, aren't they cute. I wish they were together.
Cute boys: Turn around on the escalator and smile rather intimately at each other as they chat.
Me: o_O Come on boys! Kiss!
Cute boys: *kissy kiss*
Me:o_O Yay!
Somehow, I feel that I compelled them to do it with the power of my mind. I'm now testing my new superpower with random people in the street. Come on you wretched bus driver! Kiss the ticket inspector!

Another Paris highlight was the D'Orsay museum, which was awesome and me and Oly managed to get in 45 minutes before closing. We practically ran through the entire thing. Never in my life did I imagine I would sprint through a room full of Van Goghs, as if I was running the London Marathon.

And finally, got myself a stalker. He is 37, balding, chubby, calls, e-mails, sends me 15 texts a day and all signs point to the fact he probably wants to make me his queen. He is supernice, so it's very hard to blow him off in my usual incredibly rude manner, so I'm hiding under the bed for the past as I try to devise a plan. Immigration is an option.

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

04:43pm

What a dumbass question, but is anyone going to see Panic at the Disco on the 8th July at the London Astoria?

I've kinda landed myself a cheap ticket, but I really don't want to go alone...

Am going to tennis tonight! Living in Wimbledon is so weird at the moment, but I get to rub shoulders with Nadal at the Eclipse, so it's all good.

Thursday, May 1st, 2008

02:13pm

Oh my sweet Lord, it's been six months since I moved to London, and now Boris Johnson might be Mayor? I don't want to move again, it's a pain to pack!

Also, commiserations to Rome for their new Mayor, the straight-arm salutes and Duce! Duce! cries look scaaaary!

Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008

12:30am

Behold my latest discovery at amazon.co.uk: British Born, American Bred: A Prince William Fanfiction

Wait, WHAT?

First question: You can actually buy this at amazon? Of course followed by the second question: Why would you ever want to buy this at amazon or anywhere else for that matter? Third question: What? Fourth question: Is the sky falling? Why is this ever a book? Fifth question: WHAT? etc etc etc

Love the jacket design I must say.

Saturday, April 5th, 2008

10:47pm

Argh! Bloody Bologna bookfair! Behold the joys of working in the book trade:

Liverpool street station closed down at ass o'clock in the morning as I'm waiting for the train to the airport, hauling a huge case of book dummies and proofs with me.
Some idiot official: Just waiting for the coach to replace the train.
Me: When will the bloody thing come?
Idiot: Eventually.

Two hours of Eventually pass. I'm left with the option of killing everyone on sight, missing my flight, or taking a two-hundred pound worth of a taxi ride.
Me: Anyone for taxi sharing?
Business type guy: Me!

And then, we reach the airport at the nick of time, and as the taxi stops, the respectable businessman legs it, tie flying et all.
Me: eh? Did he just take off without paying?
Poor overweight taxi driver: Am I supposed to run after him? My heart, not what it used to be.
Me: Ah, screw it, I'll put it on the company credit card.

Then I run and run and just make it as the last person on the flight. And just as I have finally reached the state where I can board a plane without taking valium, we hit the worse turbulence in existence.
People: *vomit*
Air-hostesses: *fall over*
Me: *valium*
Colleague #1: We cannot possibly sit with belts on for the entire flight! I need to pee! *clutches colleague #2 arm*
C #2: MY ARM!
C #1: PEE!
Me: VALIUM!
And so on, for two hours. Then we land.
People: *recover from vomiting to start clapping*
Me: Why are these morons clapping? Is this the Oscars? Are we at a cocktail party, or what?
C #2: MY ARM!
C #1: PEE!

Day 1 at fair, as I try to appear all business-y and 'yessir, our books are the best thing since sliced bread' during a meeting:

Plop!
Me: Something warm and wet has fallen on my head and shoulders. Did someone splash me with coffee or what? *looks up*
Bird: *chirps*
Me: I have bird crap on me, don't I?
Customer: Here, have a moist towelette.
Me: Somehow, as I'm sitting here, having a meeting in a huge fair hall with a bloody ceiling, the bird of doom managed to sneak in, and with devastating accuracy, out of the hundreds of people in here, it aimed for me and my brand-new top, to make my day so much more special. I smell.
Customer: Don't worry, I wasn't going to buy this book anyway.

Colleagues / Customers / boss: Go change that top!
Me: Yes, cause I carry extra ensembles with me, just in case feathery menaces decide to show me their love.
I went to the bathroom, washed up, and in desperation, took my top off, buttoned my jacket up to the neck, and resumed work, smelly, and clad in jacket and wonderbra.

Me: Ah, Japanese customer next! Yay!
Colleague: Why do you always flirt with them?
Me: Eeek!
C: No, seriously, you get all giggly and blushy. And sometimes, you flip your hair. It's scary.
Me: Noes! Take that bad! Fetishisation of Asians is wrong, as fandom teachs us!
C: What?
Me: Um, can we ignore what I just said?
C: Gladly!
Japanese customer: Um, why are you sitting in the sweltering heat with the jacket buttoned up?
Me: Dunno, are you really ready for my three year old bra with the lace all frayed?
JC: What? No! Not ready for bra! Also, what's this horrible smell?
Me: *headdesks*

Then, I was supposed to meet a customer for dinner, not knowing how they looked like. Arrived late, looked around in panic, found lonely lady reading book, apologised.
Customer: I'm from Turkey!
Me: From Greece! Neighbors in love-hate relationship! Let's have ouzo!
Customer: No, raki!
Me and Turkish lady: *get shitfaced*
Me: So if you're Turkish, how come do you work for a Spanish company?
Customer: If you're Greek, how come you work as the publicist of an Australian author?
Me and Turkish lady: I don't!
Horror dawns over both of us
Turkish lady: We are so fucked.
Me: Where the bloody hell is my customer?
Spanish lady: Here, all by my lonesome, on my second course already, and with your boss on speed-dial. You're so fired.
Me *still shitfaced*: Oh, come on, let's have some sangria!

And then, at airport on the way back:

Lady at check-in desk: A million kilos over the limit! A million pounds to pay!
Me: I'll just shove some things in my handbag to pay less.
Handbag: *rips open*
Me: Et tu, Brutus? *starts picking things up*
Greek Guy behind me on the line: Hey, just saw your passport, you're Greek right? Do you--
Me: Whatever, hold these fifty book dummies for a minute. Can you help me pick the valium off the floor too? Are these socks mine? Do I keep socks in my handbag?
guy: -- want to get a cup of --
Me: Now, where did my tampons roll away to?
Guy: ---coffee before the flight. You know what? Never mind!
Me: Wait, come back, I found the tampons! Let's have coffee and talk about motherland!

The only highlights were probably seeing cassandraclare for 3 seconds and finding a super-cheap Estee Lauder eye-shadow kit at the duty free. And a lot of booze. I simply cannot wait for the Frankfurt book fair.

Tuesday, March 18th, 2008

07:53pm

On the current Naruto manga: What the fucking friggin' fuck? Why is everything so, so, so drawn out and yet immensely anticlimactic? It feels like this whole complex situation has been built for years, and just as all the pieces are into place and fans chew their nails in anticipation, it all unravels and falls apart completely through endless tedious battles.

I have reached the self-pitying state of day five of a really bad cold and decided to stay home. Avoiding work not only because I look like I've been slapped around with a trout and feel even worse than the aforementioned trout, but because at work I sit between two people, one of which has been diagnosed with diabetes last month, and the other with cancer last week, and they are the ones feeling sorry for my state of health and offer to make me tea and give me hankies, and all this niceness sends me into dark spirals of self-loathing and guilt and constant sneezing.

So I stayed home, and took a shower and then managed to faint and hit my head in the tub. As my life is not a soap opera, nobody broke down the door to find me nekkid and unconscious in a pool of blood and rushed me off to hospital where I fell into a coma and woke up six months later, pregnant and with amnesia. I have a nice bump on my head though, which is annoying.

As I have been staying at home, I was unable to avoid the Dancing on Ice finals, that my flatmate is obsessed with, where minor celebrities make an ass of themselves trying to figure skate. It's an absolute trainwreck of a show, because most of them suck immensely, so either they don't do anything which is boring, or they are greatly daring and so I watch in horror as they try some stunt and then need immediate hip replacement surgery. It has, on the other hand, increased my interest in watching figure skating which does not suck, though I have never had any interest in that sport before, and last time I watched any the Iron Curtain was still up.

But with the help of youtube and Blades of glory, I am now able to plague my flatmate, whom I entirely blame for all this crap, with questions of "Yagudin or Plushenko?" or "Weren't the Duchesnays' completely robbed of the gold metal in the 1990 worlds?" etc. Then I found ice skating slash. My world, complete.

And as the world championship is starting now, I felt the need to support someone, so I went through the available options, and watched clips of the following exciting men:

Johnny Weir. *stares* *stares* *tries not to laugh*
Evan Lysacek. Pass.
Daisuke Takahashi. rowr. But as all my current forms of entertainment are populated by hot Japanese men, I would like a change for once.
Stephane Lambiel. The costumes! My eyes!

And so on. Halfway down the line, I found my twu skate wuv. Andrei Lutai. Here is Andrei: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UjARPvyCC4
He is Russian and blond and cute, and looks approximately five years old. And is very graceful, but like a male ballet dancer not like a prima ballerina, and more excitingly, he kinda sucks. Has a fabulous coach and trained his whole life, but he is like 30th in the world and is not getting any hotter. He falls on his jumps, which is exciting. I can never cheer for winners, it all seems so pointless. The winners tend to get fat and pompous and into scientology and then it all gets too embarrassing. Therefore, go Andrei! I think I'll make an icon.

Friday, December 28th, 2007

10:37am

Did anyone else have a crappy time over the holidays? I mean, please, do share! Mine was an exciting combo of endless family fights, immense boredom, mince pies, sherry and indigestion.

I'm bloated, bored and irritated, like a chain-smoking Scrooge, but without any money even, as I spent it all on buying Christmas presents that nobody liked. And now I'm off, to take the Christmas presents I received to a charity shop. I need a holiday from this holiday.

Saturday, November 3rd, 2007

01:00am

Moving house for the fourth time in four years is a pain. sarahtales, best flatmate ever, has returned to Ireland, and I've been packing during the last week for the grand move to Wimbledon. Meanwhile, the new landlord is kinda obsessive about his hideously decorated house:

New flatmate Helen, reading through the inventory: Bathroom-One window, walls, ceiling
Me: Are there definitely walls? Must go check, cause we'll never get the deposit back if a couple of walls are missing from the bathroom! How many walls are there exactly, can we add that to the inventory?
Landlord: *scowl*
Helen, reading on: Bathroom - one wooden toilet seat, brand new
Me: So don't go shoving it in your handbag Helen, when we move out!
Landlord: *scowl*

I don't think he likes me very much. Also, my room is green. I feel I'm living in the intestines of Kermit.

Monday, August 27th, 2007

06:14pm

It's hard to describe how Greece has been like the past few days. A country in a state of emergency feels as if we are at war. All television sets are on blasting loudly everywhere, nobody talks about anything else but the fires. You go to sleep with the radio on. You wake up and the body count has risen. Old forgotten friends call, to ask for phone numbers of other old friends living in the Peloponnese, to make sure they are allright. The forest of Kaiafa, sweet Jesus, one of the most beautiful areas of Greece. Ancient Olympia.

You start becoming paranoid. I look at the beautiful forest around our house and wonder 'how come is it still green? Strange...' I shake my fists at trees 'Hah, you sit there innocently, but beware, your time will soon come!' Everytime I want to stub out my cigarette, I pour an entire jug of water over it. My dad almost got into a fistfight with the neighbours cause they lit a fire at the beach. Everyone is sniffing the air. 'Do you smell burning? Run! Run! No wait, I only burned dinner.'

Of course, paranoia leads to conspiracy theories (perhaps right, perhaps not, not for me to judge). Conspiracy theories lead to idiocy. 'Who could it be? Who wants to burn our land? The arsonists can't be Greeks! They must be Turkish! Or Albanians! Jealous of our beautiful land! Let's kick them out of the country, or better, set them on fire!' I bet than in the upcoming general elections in two weeks time, the hotpot of sizzling insanity that Greece has become, will give considerable power to the extreme right.

It's so utterly depressing I keep having nightmares, and when I wake up in the morning, in the first bizarre moments of disorientation, I feel this heavy weight of misery suffocating me, like a chicken bone lodged in my throat, and wonder what happened. And then I remember, oh, yes, the country is burning.

Apparently one of the reasons fire spreads quickly in some of the forests, is because the poor wild animals catch fire, and as they ran in panic burning, they spread the fire even further. Digest this information with your chargrilled burgers today.

Current Mood: shocked

Thursday, August 2nd, 2007

12:39pm

It took me three days to finish the book, as I was constantly interrupted by things such as fires, and fire planes, and droughts, and no water in the house, and power cuts and whatnot. The universe conspired so I would never finish Deathly Hallows, and it was obviously trying to protect me, as I seriously hated the last 100 pages.

Some vague blah, that everyone has probably mentioned already, but as I haven't read any book reviews on lj, I remain blissfully ignorant.

( My new nickname for Draco Malfoy is 'reasonably springy' and nine other things about DH )

Saturday, July 28th, 2007

01:04am

Deathly Hallows finally arrived! *bellydance of glee* I'm the last person in the universe to get it! I hate you amazon and greek postal system! And now, for a sleepless night of reading. And possibly early morning crying into my cornflakes.

And before that, more Naruto sillyfic, this one took less that an hour to write, which implies a certain something about its quality. Sasunaru yet again, what the hell.

( Five and one times Naruto fulfilled his promise to Sakura )

Tuesday, July 24th, 2007

06:02pm

My copy of Deathly Hallows is going to arrive next week, because amazon.co.uk is being a pain. The Order of the Phoenix film is not coming to Greece until the end of August. The hell, I feel I'm in bloody exile!

Meanwhile, exciting beach scenes in Greece:

Me and best friend arrive at gorgeous deserted beach. No one around, only at the distance, a herd of cows.
Me: Well, isn't this nice and bucolic.
BF: You know what this means! Topless sunbathing, hurrah!
Five minutes later, we are surrounded by cows.
Shepherd: O_O I came to be friends, because yay for boobies!
Cows: Moo...
Me: I knew my D-cup would one day get me into trouble, but I didn't expect it would lead to my being trampled over by a mob of raging bulls.
Cows: Moo...

And also, I was not around for this, but friend of mine was. Friend and two more ladies, are sitting on the bay, sunbathing, when this intriguing species, that makes Greece its habitat during the months of July and August, the Drunken British Tourist, appears and starts performing its elaborate mating dance, namely harassing them.

DBT: Brghgrbgl! Babeh!
Ladies: Eek!
Random Greek Guy: Is this guy bothering you?
Ladies: Yes!
RGG: Hey, what do you think you are doing? This isn't Britain. *puffs chest* THIS. IS. SPARTA! *kicks DBT into the sea*
DBT: *bubbles*
RGG: Well, this is actually Corfu, but you get my point.

Later, it was revealed that RGG's name was Leonidas. Man, oh man. Find a better film to watch.

Tuesday, July 10th, 2007

11:00am

Making out with a guy seven years younger than me was not something I ever expected it would happen to me, and yet it did. What would life be, without all these little surprises popping up, especially when one is drunk. My face kinda fell in horror as the alcohol haze lifted and I swiftly realised my beau du jour could just about drink legally in the US, while his face gained the pleased cat-with-the-canary smirk of 'I made out with an older woman'. Oh, just call me Mrs Robinson.

I was plagued by odd dreams that night, consisting mostly of Alan Rickman in a long red dress, singing 'Gimme Shelter' at a karaoke bar. Waking up the next morning, the first thought was 'Rickman was definitely singing the Patti Smith cover than the original Stones version' swiftly followed by 'You made out with a 21 year old, you craddle robber you.' My life, so hard.

Random: Can anyone help me out with this? There was this animated film I watched when I was about 9-10 years old. It starts with the funeral of this old important guy, and goes back in time, when two neighbouring countries are almost at war. The guy is young and poor at this stage, living with his wife in an area between the two. War eventually breaks out. The prince of one nation and princess of the other are in love, and the girl ends up killing him and shooting herself.

The poor young guy betrays the one nation, slipping in as a spy and opening the river dam, and drowning half the city. He gets fame and riches at the other country, until they try to assassinate him, and he flees. Returns home to his wife, only to find his land is ruined, and his wife is actually a ghost, and she vanished into thin air. Vows to rebuild the nation he destroyed, and it ends somewhere there.

Does it ring any bells? I'm pretty sure it was Japanese, though it could have been Western animation, as it's been ages since I watched it.

Friday, June 29th, 2007

03:47pm

Am in Greece. It's so hot, in a fit of boredom I decided to try the 'fry an egg over the roof tiles' technique. It worked! Cleaning out the roof wasn't as much fun though.

And now, for something completely different, new silly Naruto fic. I find myself unable to write anything serious in this fandom.

During a diplomatic mission to Suna, Naruto and Sasuke discover their hormones, the Kazekage discovers he is rather annoyed by this development, Sai discovers dog curry and Shikamaru discovers he stands alone as the sole pillar of common sense, against the rest of the world. While wearing Temari’s skirt.

( Mission Troublesome )

Wednesday, May 9th, 2007

05:14pm

Ciao, finestra! My belief that almost falling out of a window would lead to a certain re-assessment of one's life and goals has been shattered, as I came close to defenestration today at work, and sadly my life does not suddenly seem bathed in the golden light of angels' wings, and I'm also not about to leave my office job to join doctors-without-borders in Somalia.

It was all rather mundane, I tripped over the cable of the printer, and went sailing off towards the open window, which is huge and starts from very low, basically knee height, so you can easily just stumble and fall out of it. I kinda held on from the window frame, collapsed half-hanging out of the window, flailed a little and then managed to fall back into the room. I'd give it a 15% possibility of actually falling out of the second floor, and then consequently cracking my head open on the stone stairs below.

As it was lunch break, there was no-one on my floor to witness my fifteen percent brush with death, I sat there panting for a second, then dusted myself and went back to the printer, as there were amazing amounts of work to be done. It would be rather awkward to start telling everyone, by the time they returned to find me trying to multi-task, with one phone in each hand, trying to type with my nose, while various post-its were stuck on my forehead, that 'hey, I almost fell out of the window' today. Hm. All in all, as far as near-death experiences go, it really left a certain something to be desired.

Also, after years of listening about it, I finally sat down to watch Prince of Tennis, to realise that it's one of these mysterious 'everyone likes apart from me' type things. Exciting as an aneurysm. I watched 25 episodes. I have discovered no plot. I know next to nothing about the characters. There is just tennis. Endless, endless games of tennis. After the first twenty episodes that left me and sarahtales almost catatonic on our respective sofas, I think that now the mere sight of a small yellow ball can reduce me to tears, like a little bitch with a skinned knee.

Also, someone please cancel Veronica Mars already.

Saturday, April 14th, 2007

08:55pm

Ah, there is nothing like a old lecherous drunk man on a train, to make my evening special:

Old man: I wish to breed. You look vaguely female.
Me: You have a way with words to rival Shakespeare's. My ovaries are yours.
Old man: Me geriatric jackass, you Jane. And for the piece de resistance, I vomit on your shoe!
Me: AAARGH!

Also, here is an attempt to write some crack Naruto fic with Shikamaru as the kyuubi vessel. It doesn't look like a fic, more like a ridiculous dialogue-only retelling of the Naruto plot, from a lazy voice of reason.

( And one day, Shikamaru woke up with whiskers )

Tuesday, April 10th, 2007

01:51am

Sorry for the failed cut-text everyone!

Man, the Naruto manga is letting me down currently. I was about to do a barrel roll when Sasuke re-appeared, and now I just want him off my face. What was interesting about the character was his emotionally volatile nature, aggressive and vulnerable at the same time. Now, since there is nobody around to bring these emotions into surface, I have to watch him gather this new bunch of yobbos that nobody is ever going to care about, and preen around in his open shirt, Zen like a Buddha cow. Naruto, don't save him! Go save the whales or something!

I miss the previous arc, at least there was passion and emotional involvement there. Actions that held meaning, people that connected and clashed. Now we have a pretty boy, with veiled motives, veiled feelings, and whose words you cannot trust. I'm not exactly feeling the bonding here. Come back Orochimaru, all is forgiven!

And, oddly enough, a Naruto fic, of the pathetic crack humour, and written-in-an-hour variety. At some point I might write something of my usual angst with flowery metaphors and cryptic symbolism variety, but now my head hurts. Sasunaru and a bit of Kiba/Shino.

( And Every Dog Will Have Its Day )

Saturday, March 17th, 2007

09:59pm

You know, Television Without Pity is recently letting me down. When I needed some amusing distraction, it was a sure bet. Now, I'm getting rather confused with the 'I think I am funny and yet sadly so deluded' recapper of Supernatural and her Raoul-the-gay-Supernatural-dragon-of-lame-shuddup-about-it-already, not to mention her overall aggresive attitude which makes me think she is going to start biting at my fingers any minute now, and the Battlestar Galactica recapper, who while insightful and funny at most times, also has the tendency at important moments to suddenly stop recapping, which as far as I am concerned means summarizing, criticizing or reviewing. And instead starts delivering emo pain. In short. Fragmented sentences. Of poetic depth. And beauty. Like dat. Man, if I wanted a fanfic, I would read one!

So no distraction there. LJ then. I need some distraction, in order not to think about my hair. I guess there are probably worse ways to spend my Saturday evening than gulping down white wine and dreaming of dismembering my hairdresser, while studiously avoiding to look at myself in the mirror. Being eaten by piranhas for example. Or being tied to a chair in Clockwork Orange style, and forced to watch Eragon on repeat. It's just hair after all, it grows. Indeed. In about two years, it will reach the original length, surely!

Apart from the fact that I now look like Shirley Temple, life is calm. So calm it could be described comatose, though the good kind of comatose, with fluffy blankets and embroidered pillows. Possibly the most exciting event of the past week must be the fact that my bra is a sentient life form, and out to get me. I first realised a few days ago, when it did a twisty thing, grabbed my arm while I was watching Heroes, and held it in a stranglehold while attempting to choke me.

Me: Possessed lingerie! The Apocalypse must be near.
bemused sarahtales: I wouldn't normally say this, but do you need help with your bra?
Me: Flee! Save yourself!

I kinda manhandled the bra to submission, until I woke up the next morning, with the straps holding me down, while the underwiring viciously stabbed me in the ear.

Bra: Rar?
Me: The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!

I wrestled myself to freedom and threw the bra in the bin, or so I thought, until I found it again today behind the dresser. Either my aim is really bad, or La Senza has spawned the Antichrist. Staring at the beast today, I felt an odd surge of affection, and decided to keep the bra and call it Damien.

In fannish news, approximately three months ago, I decided to find a random rec of a random fandom I had no clue about, and try it out in an attempt to expand my horizons. A couple of hours later, I realised that the fic was about crossdressing, the fandom was about ninjas, that the rosy fingers of dawn had now began to caress the sky, that I had to go to work soon, and that the excuse 'Those crossdressing ninjas have kept
me up all night!' would not go down well with my boss.

Naruto. Oh, boy. I have now reached that rather desperate fandom stage, where one has stayed long enough to meticulously search for and read every single decent fic that is out, but not long enough for the obsessive interest to begin to dissipate in the slightest. The fandom that brought us such joy before, now only brings bitter pain, mostly in the form of High School AUs and mpregs. Resulting in me spending each week reading even worse fics that the week before, and drunkenly rambling while I scrape the bottom of the ff.net barrel "I'm sure if I have two more bottles of wine, this fic about Naruto fleeing Konoha while pregnant with Sasuke's love child and being forced to prostitute himself to crossover characters will surely start to look good!" Sometimes I drool and twitch spasmodically. It's not pretty. Long-suffering Maya is probably biding her time, waiting for the people in the white coats to come and take me away, while I fight in my straightjacket and howl 'Sasuke!' to the skies. Then she won't have to share the internet connection or the cheese.

I can't believe I updated my lj in order not to think about my hair. Next step, contact all my childhood friends in alphabetical order to catch up again (Sophie! I was nostalgic of all those times you stole my lunchbox and decided to strengthen our bond again! How are you doing, old sport? Dead yet? Married, at least?), and if that fails, attempt to memorize the Ikea catalogue.

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