I don’t handle humidity well. Actually, scratch that - I don’t handle humidity at all. So when I’ve had a 4th night in a row of about three hours sleep and it’s almost 40 degrees C the next day, let’s just say that this little chipmunk is not a happy rodent. Since I was utterly useless (I didn’t feel like putting on the a/c since it’s so noisy), I spent most of the day laying on the floorboards with a book in hand and a bottle of water in the other, alternating between that and watching various forms of Dylan Moran (Run, fat boy, run, shaun of the dead, monster, black books).
At some stage, the heat and lack of sleep must have wiped me out as I awoke from a nightmare (something quite rare as I rarely ever remember dreams), fingers clenched, nails digging into my palms, and wanting to scrub out my brain with a scouring pad and some bleach.
Why?
Because I dreamt that I saw Dylan Moran fellating a smurf, whilst cooking him an omlette (and we know he could do this as he really is that talented).
This tells me that:
- I need more sleep - and fast.
- I now want to hunt down a smurf and kick it in the head
- I need to stop inflicting such materials on my very impressionable mind - well, only when I’m that tired and my mental state that fragile.
Eurgh.
Hallo there…do you want a pineapple? Sorry, I don’t actually have one, but I thought I’d be polite and offer one anyway, I was just hoping you’d say no.
Just had my second shower for the day as alas the first one seemed to have worn off, so here I sit, dripping all over the floorboards and chair and anything else roughly within the proximity of my muppet-esque mop. Had a grand night with K yesterday, we convened upon her abode for season two of ‘The House of Eliott‘. As the last time we had the marathon, we didn’t finish watching till 6:30am the following morning, we had planned to begin watching this season far earlier, beginning our viewing at the far more respectable hour of 3pm.
Two pizzas, a bottle of wine, a bottle of coke and COPIOUS litres of water later, we finished around 3am. Bleary eyed, we looked at each other. Surely, we could go one more…it seemed such an early night, we should try and challenge ourselves, test our willpower and endurance. K asked me to pick what we’d watch next as I was the guest, and once my eyes alighted upon her DVD shelf, they automatically honed in on one case.
“We couldn’t…we shouldn’t…but could we?”
“What what?” K asked, sounded just a little scared and a little excited (though the latter was probably due to her devouring almost half a packet of Reeses peanut butter cups).
“Pride and Prejudice”
*insert the sound of some lonely crickets chirping in the background*
“Let’s do it”
So we did.
Two epic BBC dramas in one sitting? Could we in fact accomplish the extraordinary feat we had set for ourselves? Surely, there were only so many dashing men and period costumes one could absorb in a certain amount of time, but with grim determination we hitched up our (nonexistant) socks and set about this monumental task.
I almost made it. Almost. Though, I have to say in my defence that over the course of the 48 hours prior to going to K’s home, I’d had a total of 7hrs sleep and had been cooking and cleaning nonstop, from the moment I awoke to the moment I went to sleep. Not having fully recovered from that (as well as the disappointed from a certain event that I have resolved never to think or speak of again), I was already at a disadvantage to K who was chirrupy from the get-go and had lots of restful sleep the night prior. I got as far as Mr Darcy’s discovery of Lydia and Wickham after their ‘elopement’. And K, to my sheer amazement, made it through the whole thing, completing the marathon at 7:30am this morning.
Needless to say, we were both in very odd head spaces when we awoke after falling unconscious. So much so that I am quite sure those dvd cases should carry prominent labels - “WARNING! Watching more than six hours of British period dramas in one sitting is likely to make you puke rainbows and fart elegant witticisms“. Or something like that, I can’t be sure, I’m tired and hungover, damnit!
Right, so it’s now about 12 hrs since I wrote the above and damnit, I can’t actually fall asleep! I blame the nap - I was trying my best to stay awake so I had a hope of fixing the unhealthy sleep pattern but alas, I sat down on the bed for a cuddle with Mr Woofy and woke up 3 hours later when he stepped on me jump off the bed and ask to go for a pee.
*sigh*
Almost 5am. Good grief, I need help.
Now excuse me while I go off to fart rainbows and puke witticisms. Aaaghghodfhgfjf…
JUST when I’d gotten to a point where I had given up hope, had come to terms with it and put him out of my fuckin’ mind, he then calls. Which, admittedly, sent my heart racing just a little, false hope! He called just to confirm his disinterest, putting himself in my fuckin’ head again.
It’s actually funny, if you think about it. The whole thing - how does someone go from being so keen to so disinterested so quickly? Of course, the die-hard optimist in me is still inside, hoping madly for a call in the middle of the night, to say he was wrong, that he does want to keep seeing me to see if something could grow between us… *sigh* and just when I thought I’d stomped that motherfucker out like a light, looks like I’ll have to do it all over again.
Meanwhile - the FUNNIEST part to this whole story is that I’m late. YES, I’m on the fuckin’ pill but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m late. How fuckin’ hilarious would that be? “Hey, I know you said you don’t want to see me again, but since it’s partly your fault, how about going halves to pay for the fuckin’ abortion?” Of course, that’s a worst-case scenario, more than anything it’s probably just my seriously fucked up ovaries going “Hey there, just in case you don’t have enough on your plate, how’s this to keep your mind occupied?”
Thank god I’m so tired, otherwise I know the disappointment would keep me up, and he doesn’t deserve any more of my energy, thoughts or time.
Interestingly enough, whenever the folks have guests scheduled, *I’m* the one who ends up absolutely run off my feet. There was the mad houseclean last weekend, which was resumed today as well as completely reorganizing all the storage space in the kitchen and lounge, then there was the aesthetic reorganizing of various display areas which my darling but incompetent mother had turned into massively messy disaster areas.
And now? Well, I’ve been going non stop since 7am and am utterly exhausted, but since it’s finally cooled down enough to bake, I’ll be getting on with the sweets selection for tomorrow:
- strawberry & sweet red bean puree filled mochi
- green tea shortbread
- profiteroles with vanilla pastry cream
- lemon tart
- some sort of cake…not sure which yet, shall have to see whether I’m conscious enough to complete this
As well as that list, I’ve got my *own* list of things to make for the food blog…nnnggffthghg…
Methinks that I will be about as useless as a … can’t think of an example, so let’s just go with REALLY useless thing tomorrow night, which will most likely result in an early night - not bad considering the girls night on Saturday which is planned! Crap!
This, folks, is some seriously funny shit.
The Vatican announced today that the list of ‘7 deadly sins’ has been updated to make it more modern, and this is what we’re given -
| Original 7 deadly sins | Updated 7 deadly sins |
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Those are some seriously drastic fuckin’ changes, and as a former Roman Catholic (living with a VERY devoutly R.C. family), it’ll be interesting to see what they and their church will make of it. If I thought their church group were going to discuss it, it’d be temptation enough to stick around on Friday night to eavesdrop on the conversation, but since I know what their group meetings are like (once a month, there’s a gathering at a different home within each ‘district’ that the congregation is split into), I’ll be wary to make sure I’m not at home to listen to the rowdy, drunken, machine-less karaoke singing that the meetings end up as.
Oh, those crazy Korean Roman Catholics, what won’t they do in the name of fun? Hah!
The best take on the new and improved deadly sins that I’ve seen so far is by the awesomely talented Jessica Hagy of the Indexed blog. 7 sins gives too many points for a traditional venn diagram so she’s given the world this masterpiece:
Have been on the phone to Optus all day trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my service (ugh, don’t ask, but let’s just say that it’s useless trying to contact me on my mobile), in between dicking around with MANY calls and three different departments, I’ve been doing some admin stuff on both blogs…
and my conclusion is there are a lot of naughty procrastinators who read both! Tsk tsk, what are you doing, reading blogs during work hours, eh?
Oh. My. God.
HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?!
Canon have announced the next release in their entry level dSLR range - the EOS 450D (also known as Digital Rebel XSi).
Some of my favourite new features:
- Bigger CMOS sensor, for cleaner, crisper images
- Large viewfinder
- LIVE VIEW WITH LIVE HISTOGRAM *swoons*
- Highlight Tone Priority3
Read through the specs and I swear, I got so excited that I creamed my panties just a little.
So, like, who totally wants to buy me one? As Zoe says in “Death Proof” - “I’ll be your best friend!” *insert winning smile here*
ZOMG. Off to drool some more.
The problem is -
Despite what I try and tell myself, I still like him. I want to see him again, hear his voice, feel his fingers on me and his lips kissing me.
*sigh*
Stupid stupid stupid.
While talking to my best mate last night, she boiled it down for me in a fashion uniquely her, and which I love her dearly for because she doesn’t take shit from anybody and makes me realize when I am and don’t want to be -“How much are you willing to put up with?”
Good fuckin’ question, Holmes.
That is the basic summation of every possible kind of relationship, whether it be from coworkers to family to friends to lovers. How much are you willing to put up with?
None of us are perfect specimens, we all have our faults and have our moments of treating others like shit, whether it be intentional or unintentional, regardless of our level of affection for them. We are, after all, only human. However, our ability to hold onto the relationships that make up our circles of interaction directly relates to how much those around us are able to forgive those faults and care for us regardless of them, and how much we are willing to reciprocate to them. It is when this basic exchange fails to be satisfactory that any relationship between two people begins to crack.
I have always been someone described as passionate and hot-tempered, but another thing about me is that I am not fond of half-measures, it is all the way in or not at all and I don’t believe in it for others either. So when I was told that I was neither here nor there but placed in limbo, my stupidly optimistic sense said I should wait till I am relocated into either.
But frankly, why should I wait? Liking someone and being interested in them isn’t something that requires deep thought or analysis, you either know it or you don’t. Excuses are like the deferment of a death sentence, useless and just extending the uncertainty, insecurity and potential harm.
Of course, a reprieve is possible, though highly unlikely. I am not one for limbo, and known for my ability to cut and run - I believe that when a tie is cut, it should be surgically clean, severing every form of connection, every possible avenue of interaction, removed like a cancer with every cell removed and the cut sewn back up. A belief that I’ve lived by and which has served me well so far.
And, I believe, it will serve quite well in the future.
Though the night agrees with my mood, it always makes things appear dark, so I’m off to watch Mr Rochestor till sleep claims me for the night.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
GRRRRRRR.
FUCK!
This is my third day without a cigarette and I am DESPERATELY craving one, and I mean desperately. Itchy, twitchy fingers, my mouth doesn’t feel right, and I feel ten different varieties of agitated as all fuckery. Ice isn’t working, keeping hands busy isn’t work, I’m going freaking insane here!
*cries*
Goddamnit, what am I going to do?
