Saturday, October 05, 2002

OK, awake now but also really quite drunk. Got gropes from Dr Jones as usual who is investing in a hat in order to go to Cairo with his girlfriend. Not really much else happened except we watched Blade 1 and 2 which did NOTHING for my blood craving, had fajitas for tea (I neither washed up or cooked, this is a novel experience for me) and went off to the PULSAR party.

May I just say how sickening a couple Tom and Kate really are? Every time I see them doing that snuggly coupely lovey dovey crap it makes me want to puke acid over them both and watch them burn. Don't get me wrong. Tom is my former best friend and Kate.. well Kate's Kate, there's not much else I can safely say given that my Blog now has readers. Seperately and sober, both are fine. Together they are the mooshiest pile of vomit-inducing slop I have ever ever seen. And for the benefit of those who knew them, this includes Lily and The Other One. Pfft.. why am I bothered, it'll never last. There is a REASON Tom hasn't had a girlfriend for a year and frankly people it isn't just me though I'll say now I played a role (*quickly hides spell under cushion* OK not THAT role..) It's because he's a serial monogamist. There's nothing wrong with serial monogamy, it just means I take every "Oh aren't they perfect for each other?!" with enough salt to give a rhino a coronary. Call me bitter, call me twisted, call me jealous if you like but that's a little pointless since my own relationship has lasted well over three hundred years, call me pessimistic. See if I give a damn.

Well, Sir Whinealot is crashed out on the sofa again with VHS on in the background. I expect either Mr. Nygma or Catboy will wake them up when they get in depending on which gets home first, since one was last seen heading for the Dark Place (grrr.. have no money) and the other was last seen under The Unboxed Helena. Just don't even bloody ask.... I have no idea which that will be. Frankly I also don't care. All I have to do for the next few months is work my backside off, there's no time in there for friends, enemies or otherwise people not necessary to the gaining of a degree or of money, so no troubles.

*sigh* have bugger all to write. I'd rant some about things I really shouldn't say on a public forum, but I can't be bothered. I'm too tired. And Incidentally M'amselle Mish, my "Corporate Pagan" suit was not an "act" it was me in a suit. That happens from time to time. Sorry I don't have the figure to flaunt in the kind of outfit you were almost wearing but some of us weren't blessed with that sort of thing, some of us have other talents. I can't think of any talents I have that you don't right now so I'm shutting up, but the fact remains that the only thing I have to wear that makes any kind of impression is my suit, hence me wearing it. There are many many things I could say right now, but I'm drunk and the last thing I want to do is wreck three months of intensive comfort therapy by posting my deepest innermost hate-spewing rantings, I know I'll regret it in the morning anyway no matter what I write.

And of course Penny doesn't approve of vegetarianism. This is the woman who said "One needs proper meat" when she was asked to give a good reason that I shouldn't go vegan. I won't disparage my Mother in Vow right now, because I remember what happened the last time I did that - the wife pissed off and left me to think about what a naughty girl I'd been and not in a good way. But honestly, the woman hates me, she keeps telling my wife she needs to "find herself a nice boyfriend" and also did I mention she thinks I have an eating disorder? Oh yes, what sound judgement. Appparently I can't be anorexic because I'm fat (her words, not mine, but I happen to agree. And let's for now ignore the fact that anorexia nervosa is a psychological not a physical condition and that sufferers can be any weight at all and still be anorexic) and because I 'sometimes' eat and also quite often throw up ( the two are not, incidentally, always connected) I must be bulimic. You know, Penny's conceptual leaps defy all the bounds of human thought ever defined by the most meaningful of thinkers. She also said I'd be "dead before [I'm] 30 if [I] didn't start eating properly" pfft, says the size six... I just KNOW I'm going to get blamed for the fact that her daughter has gone veggie.

Well, you know what, life's a bitch and then you decide to go to Roumania. There's a reason there's the word 'mania' in the place name you know...
*Drivel Drive engaged*

Is Opera really all that important?? I mean really, why have I been arguing with someone for so long over whether La Traviata was better than Carmen? I don't give a damn, I honestly don't. OK Traviata is reasonably plotless, so is most Opera, the point of it isn't the plot, it's the music. Music should fill you up and soothe away the empty space where compassion should be, it should be all that matters for as loing as it lasts. Music is the gift that an absent creator left with us, it should be worshipped, paid homage to, enshrined in the heart and soul. It doesn't matter if you preffer a gypsy over a courtesan or if you don't understand the words, it's music and that's all that matters. Also, Opera houses are the most beautiful buildings on earth bar none, particularly the Palais Garnier which remains the biggest Opera in the world after more than a century. Though I'm still wondering why oh why it needed quite so many sub-basements. So does it really matter if I preffer La Traviata and you still think it's a load of fat women making a very bad noise? I think the conclusion I still come to is a resounding No.

How can she feel unloved? I give everything I have dear to me to her. Does she honestly think my presence and the improvement in her singing voice is a coincidence? Music as a force that flows between two sensitive people is stronger than anything else with the sole exception of love, and I love her with everything I am and ever will be. Her voice is a balm that can salve the tattered remains of a soul that once felt just as all others do, that can inspire me once again to love and to live in light and happiness as everyone deserves but that has been denied me too long. And something tells me I shouldn't be writing my Blog when not quite awake and listening to Pachelbel.

I want a musical box.

Friday, October 04, 2002

This is why I never even told you I kept a journal way back when, Bethany dearest.

from www.insideanelephant.blogspot.com....

<<4. The sleeves were pwitty.
5. They were so, they didn't have to be all red and Gary Oldman-y.
6. Ah ha, the one with the whip collection is calling ME sadistic. I like. That was sarcasm though ok the whip collection I do like.....*Drifts off mumbling Waste of gin, waste of gin.* ahem.
10. Confirmed Veggie as of the last week really can't lecture about eating habits anymore and is getting sick of cheese.>>

I love you, I really do, and I didn't mean to offend you, you know me. I open my mouth (or in this case, my blog) and a great torrent of sarcastic, offensive, misanthropic, tactless rubbish pours out. It's a habit I'm sure I will never lose as well you should by now know. And I wasn't comparing you to Mary Shelley, just because you are married to me doesn't automatically make you Mary, you could be Harriet Shelley. Of course she kind of topped herself so.. well OK bad example. And ignoring the fact that Mary couldn't write for toffee (mmm, toffee.. no, no bad, must resist!) and looked more like a man than Porky Percy ever did, there are similarities.

*ducks flying handbag*

I meant that you always think I'm too wrapped up in my own problems to listen to yours (and I've proved I'm not) and stuff... oh alright, you're nothing like Mary. And again, I love you, c'mere, give us a huggle...

1) Yes the sleeves were pwitty, but they were on Christine, a lying decietful two-faced ungrateful hateful venemous self-absorbed guttersnipe trollop, so I'm allowed to pick on them.

2) They were not Gary Oldman glasses! They were plain red glass lenses, that was all, and if you hadn't dragged me into so many brightly lit areas I wouldn't have needed them would I? But I didn't mind really, you can drag me wherever you want.

3) I am going insane with the need for a steak drippping with hot, delicious blood. The kind that's nicely seared on the outside with just a little salt and oozes blood all over your plate when you dig a knife into it. Lovely and tender and just warmed through from the searing. So bloody you have to mop up the blood with a piece of bread afterwards.... oh god I hate myself sometimes.

4) You show me one decent Opera lover who HASN'T cried over La Traviata and I'll show you a pretender.

5) Owning whips doesn't make a me a sadist. Liking to use them to draw blood which I could then just gently lap off flushed, heated silky skin.... OK breathe, breathe... THAT makes me a sadist. And that corset was hellish, you had as much of a mean streak as me.

6) You copied me, you copied me! Umm, I'm TELLING on youuuu... Is that immature enough for you, M'amselle Mish?

I hate Fresher's Fair. I hate Freshers. I hate the Gideons who pity me for my religion as if I've just told them my cat got run over that morning ("and it was done with such style and finesse, that onlookers awarded the driver both ears and the tail") I hate my ECU stalker who randomly stares at me. I hate making bacon sandwiches for people. I hate the fact that I can't say or do anything without someone getting offended. I hate my legs. I hate cold chamomile tea, I hate our bathroom and most of all, if you believe this, I HATE THOUSAND ISLAND DRESSING. More than anything, except possibly garlic.

Well actually that's about it. I'm off to see if there's any such thing as a vegan blood substitute so I can save those around me from my insanity when my resolve finally breaks. Didn't that scientist woman on Forever Knight spend her life trying to make a blood substitute? Maybe I could try out some of her recipes. Then again I seem to remember them being a little disgusting. Oh and for those who care I'm not joining any societies this year, I don't have the time, Jack LIKES being a dull boy thank you, it's better than being a total freak. I wonder if Tyger has passed his threshold and is now singing "Copacabana" in the PULSAR bar sit yet? so many things, so many Victorias (seriously, there were everywhere today) so little money, so little patience.

No, I'm going to ramble on for a bit longer. But first I need to find my thread again because the Mormons just called and I lost it... ahh yes that was it. You know what really pisses me off about my writing? The way I can't show my original stuff to anyone without embarassment because it's hideous wet wank-in-the-woods neo-Romantic bullshit. Really, it's a pile of crap, except that poem I wrote for the wife which turned out nicely. Most of the time I seem to get inspiration from the silliest of places and write plain old rubbish about it, but it's even worse when inspiration strikes me full in the face with such force that it knocks my addled brain clean across the room to slide down the wall in a messy streak of cerebral gunk and skull shards. Eww that was a nasty image, I didn't like that at all... *ahem* my original poetry is right up there with that of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings and William Wordsworth. Pathetic isn't even the word

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "Aww, she wants sympathy. Poor wittle fishing-for-compliments wussbag wants us to compliment her and stroke her monstrously sized ego" well ha, you're wrong. You don't believe me do you? I once wrote a poem about a photocopier for heaven's sakes, NOW tell me my poetry isn't shit.

Is that it? *scrapes Barrel O' Bile* yes, I think so, I have no more spleen to vent for now, so I'm going to crawl into bed and dream about being a thin person with a decent life instead of someone with precisely one bright point in an otherwise endless sky of pitch black crapness, that being the fact that I only go through with every day because I know that somewhere in this detestable screwed-up mess of a world, there is one woman who loves me just as much as I love her. You know, with hindsight I did honestly preffer being Lord Wuss. What on earth was wrong with me? I had a perfect figure (most of the time, Naples excluded) good colouring, money, talent beyond belief, a good education, and of course Beth which admittedly I still have. EVERYTHING. He looked better in a dress than me - I would love someone to explain how a six foot three inch man can look nothing like a transvestite when wearing a dress, when I, a five foot seven inch woman, look like the archetypal bloke in a dress. Ok so he had a big nose and a genetic disease that severely limited his tanning prospects, apart from that, Lord Wuss was pretty much the perfect guy to be, why the fuck was I so damned unhappy?

"Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"

Thursday, October 03, 2002

"How wonderful is Death - Death and his brother Sleep!"

Well yes, sleep is pretty wonderful, but I'm writing this when I've just been woken up by Sir Whinealot (blame my sister for that one) asking me where I put his LURPS shirt. Hmm... well I put it in your room, formerly OUR room, so go look and sod off. Needless to say it was found which is good as he needs it for the joy of Fresher's Fair tomorrow. I however will just be looking damned scary in a suit wearing enough pentagrams to start a random thaumatogenic effect in the Great Hall, which now I actually consider it could be quite fun. Though they did say "no impromptu demonstrations" so I'm not sure if that includes "No ripping the fabric of the universe and letting random things which may or may not eat your eyeballs out of the sockets from the inside loose on hundreds of unsuspecting people" or not. I suppose if anything were to happen I could borrow a sword for the LURPS stand and get slice and dice on them (the Thing, not LURPS, though I have been tempted before)

But this is a silly line of Blogging. I'm nowhere near powerful enough for that though it has been suggested that I am. That's what you get for dedicating yourself to the service of a Goddess of war death and destruction. Oh, and motherhood and rebirth of course. Be fun though wouldn't it? Now where did I put the Lemegaton Clavicula Salomonis....

Yesterday was just one of those days. You know the ones, you've all had them - everything - and I mean EVERYTHING, and that includes your breakfast - goes totally wrong at some point. The upshot is that the balance is generally restored by them being followed by a nice peaceful day where things just gently go right and you drift along on a nice little Ok I'm Tired But What The Hell cloud of stuff. But the day itself left me hunched over the dinner table screaming for my laudanum which I have to admit hasn't happened all that often in the past century. Damn I feel sick. Louis the Wonder Spod left his cup of caffinated crappy cow milk tea right next to my lovely decaffinated early gray and soya milk, and because I was tired and have almost no sense of taste and therefore didn't notice until it was way too late, I picked up the first cup that I came upon (quiet you disgusting minded persons) and took a big gulp. Yeuch.. cow juice!

But that was just the penultimate crapness. I spent the day trying to organise Fresher's Fair AND my courses for the year AND register. I lost my registration code and had to go to Uni House, I killed my bank card by forgetting the PIn and now have to get a new one, thank heavens my loan goes into the other account. I twisted my ankle on the stairs trying to escape from the Philosophy department which may or may not have been on fire at the time (the alarm had already kept me hangng around outsde for what seemed like ice ages) AND nice lovely Richard said he'd print my flyers if I provided paper. This I said I'd do, so quick flyer design, get ready to head off to Chancellor's Wharf (which needs boats) discover I can't find my paper. Break down in a whiney heap on the floor, Paul lends me paper, get flyers done, realise when I get home soaked to the bone even through big hat and leather gloves that my printer paper had been buried on the table all along. Damn then, curse them, I hate you alll!!!!!!! Well alright, hate is perhaps too strong a word. And it's not you, it's me.

Thankfully I've never had to use that one. I've had to deal with "Let's just be friends" but never that. We should thank whoever we happen to worship for the small mercies they sometimes see fit to throw into our otherwise Dante-esque lives. I suppose I did get a few pints bought for me by Lil' Byron (as she has been dubbed by the wife for reasons I'll explain another time) which was good. She'd become convinced I'd dropped off the face of the Earth. Heh heh.. not yet..... We'll soon be throwing our work at each other again and arguing random points in a drunken stupor, though not if I give up drinking which I may do as soon as housewarming and bar crawl season is over.

And what IS that stuff under rmy little fingernail... Moin Dieu, I've had a shower, that's disgusting! Ahh I know, it's the sludgy skank from the oil burner which I accidentally scraped. You can tell by the way it smells of lavender.

Woke up at six in the morning today and decided (as you do) to do some work on the Dissertation that's been torturing not only me but everyone around me due to the Erik related rambles it produces. So a few points;

1) That is truly the worst dressing gown I've ever seen, and my Mother bought clothes in the Sixties.

2) There will be gin all over the stereo again if I don't stop listening to the reprise of All I Ask Of You

3) If I didn't feel such sympathy for Erik for numerous reasons, I'd have no reason to detest Raoul. Which is disturbing because the stupid boy really does get on my nerves.

4) Why were Christine's sleeves 1750's style when they were in the 19th century? Yes French fashion was different, there was this gorgeous dark purple taffata thing in a window in Paris that I kind of wanted when I was there in the late 19th but that's not the damned point. And I should shut up now.

5) Those glasses were not pretentious, the light hurt my eyes I tell you!

6) Don't go for lunch wearing a corset that a sadistic Welsh person has laced you into far far too tightly. Wasn't my fault I liked my food in Naples...

7) Mmm.. sherry.

8) This has really gone off-topic hasn't it?

9) No Mish, Lod Wuss didn't have "a problem" the blue bed sheets were a suggestion on behalf of somone who liked to imply he did. I'll have you know his bladder control was superb, ask the woman who spent nights where we got through entire cases of champagne with him. No on the other hand really don't, it's a bad bad plan, she'll lie I tell you, she'll say he weed all over her every single day. And not in a sexual way because frankly I've only ever done watersports once, it was a long time ago and in another country and the wench is most definatly dead, and I didn't really enjoy it. Just thought I'd never know if I didn't try.

10) I love my Beth. I want her here right now so I can give her a big cuddle and let her do that pressy thing with my nose that she finds so cute, hell I even actively want her to lecture me about my eating habits, I miss it, I miss her. I love my wife, she's great, get her here right the hell now!!!!!! and it's not just because I haven't had sex since I last saw her, not at all, I can live without sex. Angel managed it for a century and I have a long black coat so I should able to do just as well.

Well now I have to cut the flyers (Summon secretary!) go get the LURPS things from Mr Jez, and set up Fresher's Fair for tommorow. *groans and cowers in a corner* I'm not the President, I'm a rat....

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

So, Mish -my Blog counts as "just to freak you out"? Just checking....
Well you all know what me having spoken to Mish means, don't you kiddies (I'll spare you what needs unsaying) it means I've been organising Pagan Society for this year. Lots of "oh shit I have no ideas" moments on the poster making front, then the fun of puttng the damanble things up. It's long been my deeply held opinion (I can all hear you wondering if I have any other kind of opinion. Keep your thoughts down, I'm trying to write) that the only truly great duty of a President is the running around pillars with sellotape when putting posters up. It's great fun, but tends to worry all onlookers - handily simultaneously drawing attention to your poster. Ah ha.. I'm not just randomly insane, there's a *plan*

No really, there is... But bugger my best boots if I know what it is.

*sigh* where was I? Oh yes, celebrated Sam West's birthday last night by going on a bar crawl (I miss them.....) around campus. Got horribly drunk though at least I didn't puke all over the ground outside County bar like a certain lad who shall remain shameless. Talked to far too many random Freshers and had an "I'm a wanker" morning. Look, it involved some poor girl whom I was plastered all over, poor wee bitch has barely been at Uni three days and she's got me and Him (Him also being me) being thoroughly irritating. It's not like I even fancied her, you know damned well I'm a married woman, but I was druuuunk. We all were, all three of us. My head is getting crowded....

What the hell else have I been doing with my life since I got here? Buggered if I know. And incidentally when I say buggered I mean it in the messed up sense not the engaging in homosexual practices sense. I just thought I'd make that entirely clear for anyone who may be reading this and would understand if I blamed it all on Johnathan. Speaking of Lord Wuss, I had a little spat over whether or not he had good points today. I naturally enough say yes of course he did, how could he not have? But the response was rather grim, twas in fact "Bollocks" - so here for the viewing pleasure of those so terminally bored that they read my Blog, the I'm A Freak, Ask Me How Then Run publishing company presents...

JOHNATHAN CAIN'S GOOD POINTS ... in small easy to digest but also easy to dispute bundles...

1) Talented. This has to count for something, since someone who was that passionate about his music (and we'll ignore for the moment that psychotic men with hideous defomities can also be like that) must also have been.....

2) Sensitive - Remember Paris, Beth? He was kind and caring even when he didn't understand the problem fully. Long chats, lots of free drink, and that leads me on nicely to...

3) Generous. Have you any idea how much a grand tour honeymoon COSTS??? Not to mention all the brandy he used to provide a certain Benjamin with, Those were fun days. And of course, Ben came round so often not because of the kindred misanthropic spirit he found, but because Lord Wuss had a...

4) Enormous penis. Sorry I meant...

4) Good sense of humour. He even laughed when it was suggested that the Cain nose was so big and pointy because the entire family spent their lives looking down it at people. Ok so perhaps you don't call being dumped in a fountain funny, darling, but it was Naples. Had a funny effect on him, I suppose it was because it was so beautiful. And of course the beauty affecting him meant he had a ...

5) Good sense of artistic appreciation. Pfft, SIstene Chapel my arse. But enough with my arse, or Johnathan's arse for that matter, I've had quite enough of discussing Johnathan's arse and any use to which it may have been put which disturbingly once included candle holder. But haven't we all been used as a candle holder at least once? Ok perhaps it IS just me...

I'm stuck now, but there must be lots more I'm sure. I'm lightheaded from anaemia and bloody tired at the moment so give me time. I would list his bad points but I think the charming epithet of Lord Wuss says a lot already. So I'm going to bugg... I mean, go away now. Caleb Williams needs finishing and the kitchen is world war three. I'm a Vegan, get me out of here!.

Wow, only one POTO refference.... I can't be doing enough work on my Dissertation if I can keep it that low. And by the way, Shelley rules.