oh hosting or, the bain of my virtual literary existance

although full blown panic is unnecessary, i am slightly worried about d-x.

a massive server failure has introduced the possiblity all of ranting, raving, amusing asides, and tragic confessions i've done in various places, but always off the same system, may be unrecoverable.

we are talking almost 5 years of my life, and if you hadn't yet assumed as such, they have been, shall we say, prolific. (and full of egregious grammatical faux pas like the above)

i would most certainly survive. but i would be sad.

if for no other reason the tentative book deal would be a moot point without the files. i really should be better about these things.

things about this morning:

1. i think i am sick. i was interrupted from a johnny-depp-seducing-me-through-dance dream to blow my nose. utter humiliation and disappointment. the last thing i want on the sexgod while 6-ing (oh the Georgia snog-o-meter is brilliant) is snot. this fear must have been pretty hard core, as upon returning to sleep he was a terrible kisser. my subconcious has vile retribution.

2. last night i stayed in to finish a post-bath book, curled up in front of the fire with candles lit. it was of course an oscar-winner of young adult fiction. i was curled on the floor weeping most of the night and went through a whole box of kleenex. my eyes are still puffy.

3. in an effort to feel better both physically and mentally, i am wearing a slip with an embroidered hem and ribbon belt with ballet slippers about the house. it's helping more than you would think

it's 2am on a friday night. i crawl in from a long week of work, completely stoned.

as a considerate and not completely devoid of sense flatmate, is now the time to ask me about our council tax bill, bewail your non-boyfriend "i just want to be mates" bullshit, and whinge about your twentysomething ennui?

do i care that we need toilet paper or if you talked to your mother on the phone?

fuck no.

i just ate a whole lavender cake and am trying to get to grips with my bobypins and the stench of grass in my hair before rising before dawn for work tomorrow.

leave me the fuck alone.

i hate women.

never say i didn't warn you

the fail safe romantic comedy i watch every few months in order to rectify the wrongs of the day, remember life is good, and restore my faith in humanity is secretary.

hypocrite

so perhaps no one ever pointed this out, or perhaps no one had the gaul to tell me. it is indeed even likely no one really cared enough to bother. - but i am an utter hypocrite.

here i am, months into a blog (god i hate that word. maddox was right.), started solely to comment on rutledge's because she had obnoxious alienating settings, and i've gone and done the same.

someone should really handle these kinds of things.

it is times like these i wish i had an assistant. or at least an attentive wife.

five furies of hatred and rage

top five things i hate right now:

1 - the groady hair in my bathtub so i cant take a bath. if leslie says she'll handle cleaning the fucking bathroom, i shouldnt have to worry about leg hair on my ass. stupid cunt.

2 - my method of dating. i have recently discovered i completely suck at this. my pinoeered method seemed so perfect, so brilliant, so novel.

i insisted from now on i would get to know them before shedding our clothes, thus negating my tendancy to run when intimate, since i will have built up trust caches in advance. i would be an adult about these things. i would not fuck strangers (anymore) or blow off those who are deserving (once i figure out who they are).

but no, this only lets me get to know amazing men who then so easily slide from safe lunch date to fabulous fallback plan while i am busy blinking. while my jury is still out, holding back put me in the "friends" camp too early. my rolex is fucking fantastic, but my bed is still empty. fucking hell, who knew trying to have a normal social life would be so ridiculously hard?

3 - how my joints always crack in the cold. and not that cathardic, tension relieving way, but that horrible old lady "oh god i need a wheelchair" way.

4 - i still dont have a visa.

5 - sometimes my job is utter bullshit and sometimes it is the most amazing thing i think i have ever done. i thought i was manic-depressive before, but it's giving me a complex.

6 - i know, i know. but if the girls upstairs insist of blasting "push it" on a sunday evening they fucking deserve to be on this list.


i feel much better. not.

and now i feel dirty for having used an outdated sarcasm catch phrase.

sometimes i am so weird, i get scared.

i just realized i am watching a Kieslowski art house french film and eating mediterranean croutons like it's the done thing on a sunday evening.

jesus.

belated best wishes

i must apologize for missing the birthday salutations. or as we once thought was a good idea, shout-outs.

i spent all of yesterday in the torturous hang-over-at-work mode counting pens. yes, it was stationary inventory day and sara was on a suicidal rampage.

my personal woes aside, i hope bridget had an amazing birthday. full of west coast fun (which in my mind only consists of the snowmountains of cocaine and orgies glorified by johnny depp films).ps - the hollywood gossip is going over like mad. you are a goldmine my darling.

24 is only just around the bend here as well, and i am petrified to be in my mid-20s but sincerely looking forward to another year of mayhem. may yours be spectacular.

dear lauren (and any other naysayers of my bachelordom),

it is a fact universally acknowledged that a young woman in possession of anything resembling sanity must be in want of a sex-partner. i do not attempt to deny this will someday, and for some unforseeable duration, probably take the form of marriage or at the very least, shacking-up.

that said, it will take a lot more than a regualr dosage of austen to woo me into commitment. such romances may have blinded me into believing artsy theatre dweebs were attractive for a time (and no, i didn't have the SAME crush from 8th grade on - i just cant deny anders, caleb, bryce, pat and nathan were pretty much exactly the same boy), but if they haven't converted me yet, it's never going to happen.

if anything, film adaptations of the classics have only given me a fetish for riding boots.

things i want

- to be missed (day two and i still think i want a hypothetical relationship. this might be a record.)
- ben and jerry's brownie-fudge-whatsit
- a candle lit bubble bath
- a massage
- a favourite novel
- a silk robe
- stillettos


if i become any more bridget jones i am going to puke.

confessions of an intimate and ridiculous nature

i have two confessions.

1 - i believe i may yet be able to count myself normal. i (you may say finally) desire intimacy.

an everyday assurance (for as fleetingly as i can probably maintain it) of making someone pancakes and waking up in the quietude of security. of ups and downs, but the same ride til the end.

i crave togetherness.



2 - perhaps the following is a factor in that confession, though i find it less significant than that implies.

today i slept with one of my friends.

shocker i know. he was drunk, i was tired, and after we went to the movies and had pizza.

he was, of course, the one everybody thought i already had shagged and secretly thinks i will probably end up with - like if this was a rob reiner film. but life just isnt like that, and after sex we don't suddenly realize we are entirely different people.

we are both a-emotional and libidinous, what more did we need than pizza? i said i took advantage of him, and he apologized for getting out of hand. we laughed. a lot. we hi-fived when we parted ways in the end, to mark the occasion.

and quite honestly i am entirely apathethic about the act itself. but it also got me thinking, in that dozing post-coital way, that i really do love the afterglow cuddle part. the part i am always so hasty to be out the door before. the part that i fear will swallow me.

and perhaps serendipitously, having that calm intimacy with someone who already knew me, kind of bridged the gap for me. answered the unasked. my point i guess is that simple act of closeness between people who know each other was really nice. better than i thought (and to be honest, better than the sex).

of course not nice enough i'm going to ever believe in platonic napping with said partner again, but nice enough i'd be willing to really truly give it a go with someone i fancy. that just maybe i am not the fridgid bitch i play on tv.

and sadly, that is a major step for me.



so there you go. you have to fuck someone to find out you don't want them. in fact, you may find out you kind of want to stop fucking altogether and consider using phrases like "making love" and "laughing together" (an ancient african euphemism i rather enjoy) from one accidental tryst with a platonic partner.

lesson of the day: to know thyself, fuck thy friends.

only in my world can this be a legitimate train of thought. le sigh.

an excerpt from my last email to jennie:

"i have to go to bed now. i am an old woman. i am a spinster. this is the rest of my life, stretched out before me. an endless series of movie nights in and no man to pet my head during the hot desert cave sex in weird foreign films. this blows. at this point i'd even consider the emotionally unavailable and yet smitten chow yun fat to die in my arms. at least then i'd get to second base."

bite me

it's official. i've had this thing too long. when i can't remember my entries the novelty has officially worn off.

but as i am rather enjoying sputtering on about nothing, i suppose i can continue a while longer. well definately until i get so bored i want to slit my eyeballs, or die of herpes (as my brother constantly reminds me is imminent in a dirty country like this).

anyway, my point was (i do sometimes indulge the urge to make one), i wish i was blessed with enough brevity, or at least a decent enough search engine i could see if i had already written something. because i think i told someone this once, maybe here, i don't remember.

right.

so it's my day off, and after hours of gruelling paperwork, a phd application, and trying to exchange a victorias secret bra online since they don't exist on this godforsaken island, i have fallen into the deep hole of internet maintence* from which i will emerge bleary eyed, confused, stiff and petulant in a few hours.

*generally taken to mean checking up on favourite websites, sorting old bookmarks, and various other weird timewasting routines that crop up every few months when left to my own devices at the keyboard before i even realize i am doing them.

and anyway, i came across this
the best first chapter of a novel ever. a shit book actually, but an amazing opening. and funny only because it's true.

barbie's S&M torture island consisted of hanging scantily dressed "handheld sexpots" (especially the hawaiian one) by their hair out my dresser drawers and on my ceiling fan and biting off or maulling those rubbery little toes completely designed to fit the small child tongue like a pacifier, until she assented to something terrible with the ugly Ken.

i don't know why i am confessing this.

mostly because i hate reality bites. mutliation and sex games are my only refuge from bullshit 90s ennui. go figure.

useless information about my day thus far

so i totally probably have the best minimum wage job ever.

i had to call carmen sandiego (the company, not the sexy (in a 90s cartoon way) monument-criminal in red trench sadly. thank god the rockapella tune has been far far from my thoughts ...til now. oh shit.) to see about shipping abroad for a desperate middle school teacher landed with american geography last minute this term.

lord help her. we all hated it even if we were from there. that would have been like Iwasko trying to sell the provinces of India as interesting. mutiny is inevitable.

but mostly i had a clean out day where i gave kids (and by kids i mean anyone under 80, especially anyone cute, who i deemed worthy of narnia swag) stickers, posters, bags and other various publicity shit i really don't need clogging up my life. the birthday 5 year old who almost cried at the spot balloon wins.

so yeah.

now i am de"smart"ed (as phil so eloquently called my new sexy-librarian look. he is retarded.) and debating kareoke tonight. shall i slip back down that path to grungy college tease? does it matter than hot sebastian is going?

ps, is it relevant i haven't had a real meal for 3 days since i refuse to shop for groceries?
pps, which is more important - the malnutrition or the fact i may now be able to pull off the skin-tight marilyn monroe pencil skirt at work?

choices choices.

reasons to love the new year:

1. even numbered years are always better
2. best buy has short lines
3. banana republic clearance sale
4. quote of the day:

Girl #1: We only fucked for like 2 minutes.
Girl #2: Why?
Girl #1: He has ADD.
Girl #2: Is that, like, when the person has more than one personality?
Girl #1: No, I wish. Role playing would be a lot easier.

--Hunter College North-West bridge

overheardinnewyork is amazing.

5. oh, and asofterworld is the best it's been in weeks.

we are off to a good start when mythbusters and dune are in my near future.

new year, same v

it's an hour until new year.

all day i have been considering what this means and for the first time asking myself if i care.

and i have come to the conclusion, no i really really don't.

the last week i spent with the family and rejuvinating my soul (as only slurpees, fallow farmland, and tivo can) and last night was a college reunion of mass proportions (tequila, pool, and over priced bottles of miller light - and there's nothing like cheetos at the travelodge to round out an evening).

i don't need anymore nostalgia or reminding me what is good and what matters. if you're doing it right, that's everyday, not an end of year celebration.

so i've been watching a marathon dvd session on shelly duvall's faerie tale theatre, a formative piece of my childhood, and glad to not be out in the quiet desperation and forced revelry this day usually entails.

probably other people really enjoy it. i hope so. i can't imagine bothering every year unless it actually was a grand night out. but when 2 of the last three years ended in massive tears and a hangover, i'd rather just take my dog for a walk, thanks just the same.

and no, this isn't sour grapes. i figure i'm lucky things are so good i can appreciate it all without a holiday excuse. i don't need new year to celebrate.

so tonight being ice cream and xbox golf with my dad is okay by me. better than okay. i can't think of a better way to ring in the new year.

...well, unless of course i was getting hot dirty sex, but i've got the rest of the year for that. today can be for the simpler pleasures.

so happy new year. enjoy it anyway you see fit.

i am running on empty.

i have done 0 hours of family reconn, small talk and general "oh yes i care about you and your boring life" for about two years (one lunch with my grandma on the last visit home barely counts since i did all the talking) for years and i didnt miss it.

and i am out.

i just want to sleep for days and be left alone.

actually, i want to lay on the couch and not have the phone ring or people come over or anyone expect me to do or be or say or go anything or anywhere.

i wish i was my brother.

i should be better than this. i hope it is just pms and i can blame my body and stop thinking i am a horrible person.

social resurrection

tis the season to be outrageous.

so in case jennie, my social publicist, has not told everyone i know, yes i am back in the game.


as i was endearingly dressed as lucy from narnia saturday morning (full on pleated skirt, plaited hair, mary janes, mink coat, dagger and vial of holy water - good lord i can make a costume) for the holiday shoppers, a certain scot appeared in my shop wondering if i was free for lunch, as we had tentatively arranged.

de-lucy-ed and sans mink, i am whisked away to a cafe (well within sight of my colleagues, some of whom i know to have a crush on him). and it was surprisingly good. my faith in the dating system (i guess it counts since he paid and i glowed after) is renewed.

of course the fact we can talk about the merits of the mtv mentality, the meaning of fandom and the death of book alongside the glory of peter parker, gay catholicism and theoretical sex with a goat in the span of an hour doesn't so much validate the idea a date can be sane than it reaffirms my utter dorkdom (but geek chicks are hot, or so i heard).

but fuck it.

i had a nice time, he emailed first, and i have caved and bought the magazine he is in (may it never be said i don't fall into petty girl-dom despite my best efforts).

hello from before

i know.

i haven't written in a while. chill the fuck out.

but with my mom living on the sofa in my bedroom there was little room to embelish in the vixen's exploits (even with a mad ceilidh with a swede on graduation day) in the past month.

to be fair though, she bought me a flatscreen tv and a dvd player in recompense, besides, i needed the time away to prove my pious devotion to a trying a normal life.

today though, i am back in the game.

remember that hot young author? this one.

yeah well, he wrote me. he is on the list of scotland's top 100, along with the new Dr. Who and the guy who wrote Alan Partridge (probably brit references well and decently out of the scope of anyone not tied to this island).

and after some slight flirtation (don't blame me, he asked why his description included the alien term "jailbait" - and no, this one isn't a minor, i checked - so sue me for explaining piquishly?) we have tentative plans tomorrow.

i expect nothing, but think i might shave my legs just in case.

the various unbelievable things: the unrated edition

for the pg version see my link on the right.

for the additions see below:

1- that fucker stole my wallet. i hate london. punk ass cunts stealing my shit from right underneath me! no amount of elgin marbles and king tut can fix that fact it is a dirty city of fuck-face conmen and wenches.
2 - of course it could have been worse. my one of a kind lulu guiness bag was recovered. and give me a break for name dropping - mom showed up to my office in a full length mink and pearls for fucks sake. my parents live on another planet. still, i really miss my phone. and my movie card. and my drivers licence. and my free drinks card for the pub. and the 200 pounds mom owed me. so in total: london sucks major ass no matter how fucking brilliant an empire it used to control.
3 - i know i am swearing a lot. i may have survived my mother finding my condoms, being open about dad's new hormone stuff (trust me, really you dont want to know), but somehow i still find it difficult to swear in front of the bitch.
4 - mom is lovely but more than a fornight in the same bedroom is driving me up the wall. its not the mess or the noise, but the libido (if you are surpirsed you do not deserve to read further). i wondered what the deal was until under the pretense of a "nap" yesterday i went back to the hotel and relieved myself of various forms of stress in the tried and true method. nothing is better than a couple of orgasms, a pint, and a long walk in the countryside.