Thursday, January 30, 2003

Up Up Up The Ziggurat, Lickety-Split

Alright, so keep my pajamas on coat hangers, I iron my socks and pants (and bras sometimes) I keep two diaries, a calendar and a To Do list to make sure I'm organised, I claim my room is untidy if one bottle of nail polish is facing the wrong way, I make designated piles of things, I often turn down social events in favour of working, I'm crap in exams, I flare my nostrils at people, I like procedure and nice safe organised things and I can on occasion be a bit cowardly. But get this straight guys...

I AM NOTHING LIKE RIMMER

People have been saying I am for years now, I just don't understand it. Am I really that anally retentive? Really??? OK I know I like things ship shape (and use words like "ship shape") but that doesn't make me anything like Rimmer. Maybe I have one or two things in common, but would Rimmer (provided he smoked, which he doesn't) ever go through an ashtray to salvage unused tobacco? or would he ever let his toenals get so long they push holes in his socks? Yeah I know you didn't need to know that, I was overworked, it slipped my mind.

Nothing like him. Nope, nothing at all. Nothing nothing nothing....

Tuesday, January 28, 2003

Wake Up! Time To Die

I figure if I can get through another seven weeks the way I'm going, I will finish this year set up for a good degree, a good dissertation, and possibly an extremely intimate knowledge of the inside of our toilet. all but the last of these are good, but the trouble is I keep forgetting things. I should make a list of all the stuff I've forgotten to do, but you see if I did that, I wouldn't have forgotten it. Catch 22.

Never read that book. Suppose I ought to.

But anyway, on the subject of forgetting, yesterday I forgot to do something I've been doing every year on January 27th ever since I can remember, which is finding a little while to devote to listening to some brilliant music, reflecting on the fact that I may be old but I'm going to be just as great as he was, and drinking a toast to one of the greatest men who ever lived. Admittedly I did listen to the whole of Don Giovanni yesterday, but that was because I was working and can't work without music and also I can pass it off as actual work, because I'm studying "Don Juan" now. It doesn't count. I also had a drink whilst listening to said Don Giovanni, but I usually drink when I work, so that doesn't count either. I forgot Mozart's birthday - I think I must be losing my grip.

Speaking of Don Juan, who is indeed most triumphant and possibly also a totally rad and gnarly dude, I'm going to spring out of my seat and throttle Sally if she doesn't learn to pronounce it. Listen very carefully, Singnora, "Juan", form of "John" of which the Italian form is "Giovanni" - now not being able to pronounce "Quixote" I can forgive, but this is a Romanticism tutor, and she pronounces "Juan" as "Jew-an" and it gets on my nerves. I just call it Donny Jonny myself.

Incidentally, I'm still spending far too much time in my Romanticism class trying to figure out if Sally's missing finger joint is a birth deformity or if she lost it in an accident. She's missing the top joint of the second finger on her right hand, it's fascinating - it doesn't look like an accident, there's no scarring - but it could have just happened a long time ago and healed well. One of these days I just know I'm going to provoke the Almighty Wrath Of Sally by asking her, I think the only solution is to attend the class in full sobriety. I wonder how many other people have noticed it?..... The really sick and bizzare thing is that (having already had a bit of a crush on her) I now sit and wonder how it would feel to have sex with someone with a missing top finger joint.

Byron's right. I'm a twisted little weirdo.

Monday, January 27, 2003

Hmmm I wonder if this will actually work. It will if this thing can display images but I'm not sure. Just in case it DOES end up as meaningless dribbling gibberish code, an explanation ; I took a "Which Grin and Evil Character are you?" test. I'm Grim - go figure...




Which Grim & Evil character are YOU most like? Find out here!
By: ThingWraith
(Not The) Girl With The Rose Tatoo

So why don't I have any tattoos yet? I'm 21, I wear clothes that would show them reasonably often, not to mention the fact that it's easier to get The Sands to keep his clothes on than me, I wear thick black eyeliner and listen to Guns N' Roses. So why no tattoos? You know I think almost everyone (except people who have every evidence to the contrary) thinks I have a tattoo anyway. I'm the tattoo sort of person, but I have no idea what I should get. Also, I'm not sure I could go through with it.

My lovely Lady Wife has three, and says at least one of them hurt like hell - and since I know what her pain threshold is like through careful scientific experiments, anything that she said hurt would probably send me into shock. However, M'amselle also has tattoos, in fact she just got a new one, and I know she's not the pain sort really. I routinely dig my nails into my palms, scratch bits out of my arms, punch hard things, so I should be able to take any pain M'amselle can take.

But somehow the idea of little needles going in and out of my skin doesn't thrill me.

I watched "The Thing" last night - it was on Sky One as the movie at 10, and everyone has been saying to me for ages that I shouldn't watch it because it would freak me out, so I watched it. Now it may just be that people spent so long talking it up that it couldn't possibly be as frightening as I expected it to be, but I thought it was just general shlock. Good shlock I admit, but shlock nonethless, not something that will scar me for life like "Bad Taste" did when I was 13. This wasn't a random digression by the way - my point was I watched people getting ripped into small bits, burned to death, big slimy things, a head with spiderlegs and eyestalks crawling about, all that without the slightest twinge of a flinch. I turned away when the dogs got hurt though. But then they started giving people morphine and I had to turn away and curl my toes up. I HATE needles.

Maybe it's a Lord Wuss leftover - Victorian hypodermics were bloody nasty and I was on very personal terms with a huge number of them, or maybe it's just the one "normal" phobia of mine that I haven't coped with yet, but in any case I really hate them. It's not a case of show me a needle and I faint, it's a case of show me a needle and I go Fight or Flight. Adrenaline starts flowing like Niagra Falls, the heartbeat goes through the roof, I shake and twitch and tense up. Sometimes, and yea gods little fishies this is so embarassing when it happens, I start crying. People who cried when they had to have jabs at secondary school should not be allowed near a tattoo parlour.

Yet I still really want one. I can't afford it, I'd probably regret it, I'd embarrass myself worse than that time when I started talking to someone I didn't know in a comic store thinking the guy I went in with was right next to me, you know I couldn't look at someone with the name "Veronica" on a tag for months afterwards... *ahem* anyway I still want a tattoo. The Wife thinks it would be cute if I also got a bleeding white rose, I'm certainly not going for a Chinese symbol because that's so passe these days, I'm quite fond of the idea of getting a Celtic knot again, but I'd also quite like to design my own sigil. Hmmm.

I think the fact I'd burst into fits of big girly tears and forever ruin my self image which is already more surely doomed than Pompeii would probably mean no tattoos for me. but at least I've removed one reason - I used to think my skin was too pretty, I have been firmly dispelled of this misconception, so at least all I have to work on is my low pain threshold and fear of needles.

By the way, Herculaneum is far prettier than Pompeii.