No One Nose.

And they all pretend to.


I've missed this blog. Ever since my computer was admitted into hospital - for a chronic case of blackouts - I have restrained myself from visiting this place. It's weird. How something so virtual as the internet can provide me with a little bit of hope to look forward to at the end of the day. How all I want to think about is posting in this blog.


How I'm so far from here, and yet so near.


When people want to shout instead of speak, or ignore my calls, or flood me with their own trivial problems whilst completely disregarding mine - it is this little twenty by ten box I return to. To speak of what bothers my core, or what I fear the most, or what I dare to dream - when no one else wants to care.


And tears. Tears are nothing more than mere expressions of an inner sorrow that no one wants to be seen with. No one wants to have to deal with the heavy burden of harmless drops of water. Oh, the irony.


How can I explain this to you without you jumping the gun on me as the 'girl who thinks she has a whole bunch of problems, including the lack of attention.' How can I convince you that I am suffering from something akin to a mental disorder (god forbid it really is) and for which people take medication for by the funnel. How I can tell people that this tension is testing the extremes of my emotional strength.


And we only have so much.


And the worst part is - people THINK they know. And when people assume - it leads to the creation of an even bigger problem within itself, apart from making an Ass out of U and Me. People believe that they are the only ones with the biggest looming dark cloud ever; this excludes me because it is you who bothers to read this horrible site about horrible things happening to horrible people.


People like to think that the world revolves around them. People like to not listen when something has been said to you like a mantra. People like to make stupid remarks even while quite basically a ceiling has collapsed onto your head. For instance :


'Hey. Um, did a ceiling collapse on your head? Oh dear, thank god I'm OK. Oh ... what's that you say ... your brain has spilled out because your skull has split open right between your eyes? Nah ... it can't be that bad ... Oh, well I guess it is. Um, sorry. Hope you feel better. Isn't great to talk to someone like me?'


Exactly.


I am just counting the days until I arrive at a day with a relatively good ending, or in fact a good run throughout. But till then, I'm stuck wishing for things I shouldn't be wishing for and blogging about things people have already read, just in a different syntax.


Seriously - good luck to you guys.


Because I'm already gone.


Cheers.


* PS. There just might be an escape from this blog. Only time will tell ...

Stage.

I have never won anything in my life. Ever.

Lucky draws, lotteries, special slogan-writing contests and I seem to have this twisted relationship - bad history, bad present and seemingly bad future.

I said seemingly.

About a month ago, I entered myself into this corny newspaper-issued Why-I-deserve-This-Gift contest in which I was allowed to choose which prize I wanted. I could have just picked anything really - the porcelain bowl, the salt and pepper shaker, anti-ageing cream, the pack of mud, a cosmetics hamper from Stage, Evian water ...

WAIT. Hold up.

Stage Cosmetics hamper? Stage Cosmetics Hamper. Hamper. Cosmetics.

Stage. That pretty black store with wooden flooring and wide open shelves of cosmetics. The one where rows and rows of tubes and brushes and tips and liners and colours fill the spaces. Where there are flourescent stage bulbs all around the mirrors like the ones you see in classic showbiz.

The place where they sell things to make you pretty.

And I won.

I won the Stage Cosmetics Hamper, worth 6 weeks of allowance. I won the whole goddamn hamper. Because of a stupid slogan, that I came up with in two seconds.

I've got to tell you - it's the best feeling in the world to know that you've won something. I would have had pretty pictures of the contents if it weren't for the fucked Photobucket which buggered up my darling computer, so here are stolen pictures of the internet. Original, eh?

Here's my prize.

Stage Wondergloss.

Stage Eye Shadow Mono in Bordeaux.


Stage Nail Color in Luscious.

Stage Cheek Color in ... well, that color.

Stage Drama Lash Amplifying Mascara.

And Stage Eyeliner - which just looks like a stick of eyeliner.

Honestly, this is all very pretty stuff. Especially the eyeshadow. So, people - strive to write good 2-second slogans!

Maybe luck does seem to find me after all.

Cheers.

I Have A Plan.

And it's diabolical too!

OK OK OK. So this is making me super excited and I am going to try to explain this to you guys without spazzing out and leaving you to die from suspense. Although for LXJ I think she needs it, because revenge is sweet.

Anyway. So, are you all ready for my plan?

Of course you are. I bet all of you are dying to slap me for doing this. But I do like to play with fire.

Now, I want you all to think of how couples get their wedding presents. For all those who are completely alien to chick-flicks and beautiful stories of love and romance, they use a wedding registry. If not for which, I fear what would happen to weddings all across the globe.

Imagine a couple being gifted with a god-awful picture of vomit, because it's 'artistic'. Or a set of cutlery consisting of knorks (a combined knife and fork - I saw it on Jay Leno!)

Or a cow - for that will feed the kids tons of milk.

God bless wedding registries. Anyway, I'm not getting married anytime soon (although if Gabe Saporta were to propose tomorrow this might all change.) This leads me to my diabolical plan.

Following in the footsteps of Rachel Green, I propose :

THE BIRTHDAY REGISTRY.

-Awaits the clap/standing ovation-

So yes, I am setting up a birthday registry right here on this blog. Because I was just thinking the other day that I don't want a cow or knorks this year.

Not that I have received any before but hey, you never know.

I haven't gotten a list yet, but I promise that by May I will have a complete one of lovely gifts for you to pick from. Also, me being skeptical all the time anticipates the event in which I might not receive any gifts, because the economy is in the toilet and people may just basically not be very fond of me then.

But oh well.

So the plan is I put up little registry entries into random blog posts as and when an idea comes about, but at the end I would have compiled the whole thing for you guys. When each of you have chosen what you want to get me, please help me cross it off by using a different name and telling me which gift you have selected. This is so that I don't get the same gift twenty times.

Like so : [FAKE NAME] A cow.

Hey. That cow idea is growing onto me.

My first two entries to the list :

1. The FRIENDS DVD Box Set (Seasons 1-10, or any one)

2. A cow. To be named Duck.


Told you it was diabolical.

Cheers.

Fangs Up!

So. Let's talk Cobra Starship.

Assuming my readers have all suffered a slight case of amnesia, I am going to explain the meaning of Cobra Starship, and somewhere within it, declare my undying love for their lead singer.

Cobra Starship [kobraa stahrshypp] : Explosive. Electric. Neon. Colorful. Hypnotic. Incredible. Toxic. Sex-mad. Insane. In love. Decadent. Psychological. Stoned. Blessed. Crazed. Magnetic. Futuristic. Purple. Beautiful. Hot.

That's Cobra Starship in as few words as I could have possibly described them (believe me, that was hard.) All biases aside, I have to say Gabe Saporta has one of the most unique voices ever. It sounds desperate. Really desperate. Like as if he is begging the audience to hear what he has to say. Not that he has to, though. And between verses, he uses this screeching tone that ties the whole sound together.

I don't even have to mention how incredible the rest of the band is. Ryland Blackinton at the guitars, Alex Suarez at the bass, Nate Navarro at the drums and lovely Vicky-T at the keytar create a whirlwind behing Gabe, infusing the pop punk element into the rest of the pieces, making Cobra Starship what it is.

I can't hep it. I'm in a relationship with Cobra Starship.

OK. I have restrained myself enough. Now, I shall release my wrath upon you all. Mua-haha-haha.

Here's my Gabe Saporta, readers.

And Alex and Ryland.

And the beautiful Victoria Asher.

And Nate.

In the words of Gabe : Fangs up bitches.

Cheers.

What Is With The Dandy Warhols?

The Dandy Warhols are profound.

People send me links on MSN, and I have to admit - I do sometimes ignore them, because they either lead me to people who sing happy things, people who sing in another language, or people who are just plain boring.

Never have I had a link lead me to a drugged-out, psychadelic band as such.

The song starts out with an interesting bass drum beat, but not enough to stop me from reaching for the X button. And just then :

You got a great car

Yeah, what's wrong with it today.

I used to have one too

Maybe you'll come and have a look

I really love your hairdo yeah

I'm glad you like mine too

See we're looking pretty cool getcha

Cause I like you

Yeah I like you

And I'm feeling so bohemian like you

Yeah I like you

Yeah I like you

And I feel so wahoo woo.

And I was converted.

I would never in a million years have thought that something so hippy-like could convert me.

Me. The LadyGaga-Basshunter-Skream-Cobra Starhsip-Paramore-Judas Priest-Escape The Fate-Porcelain and The Tramps-M.I.A.-Mayday Parade-I Am Ghost ... (deep breath) ...

... die -hard fan would be so completely in love and (now bordering) obsessed with a hippie, drug-driven band. It just makes me want to throw on a really long flowery cotton skirt, a white puffed-sleeve blouse, and bedeck myself in Mardi Gras beads and Indian bangles and just float across the floor in a sort of spectre-like state, mumbling the words of the song with my head thrown back to the sky.

And a joint hanging out of my mouth, of course.

Another thing. This band is not one of those stand-offish types that don't really want to care about their fans eventhough they profess they do or the kinds that run off into armoured vehicles while they finish their last song. Neither are they the other types that hate meeting fans when they're let through security consisting of twelve bodyguards, a baggage scanner, a metal - detector and a steel - inforced brick wall.

This band stays around to eat. And they don't care if you came in to join them.

http://www.richardkmorgan.com/2008/12/wall-of-sound-on-sauchie-hall.html

And you know what makes the band EVEN cooler? I have never heard of a name so cool as :

Courtney Taylor-Taylor.

That is the gorgeous Courtney Taylor-Taylor. And because you can't see it - he has shiny green eyes. Don't believe me?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mgjZK46_uw

Now go get busy being bohemian like me.

Cheers.

Things You Didn't Need To Know.

Really, you'll wish you hadn't read this.

1. I can get addicted to lying.

2. After 10 years, I still mix-up the light and fan switch in my study.

3. Although I profess to being loyal to underground and metal bands, I am very much a pop and electronica addict.

4. My hair has a mind of its own.

5. I can pick up dance steps just by watching them on a video, and it's just the same for singing.

6. I am damn proud to be left-handed.

7. I am extremely fussy about books; I usually make my mind up after the first chapter.

8. I started talking way before I was in kindergarten and haven't stopped since.

9. I have an issue with people walking behind me.

10. I am the Queen of Eavesdropping.

11. I love the smell of money and I am waiting for the perfume to be invented.

12. I love Eva Longoria because she's so bloody gorgeous and still my height.

13. I can persuade people by talking crap and I don't even have to believe in what I say.

14. I only wear 20% of my wardrobe.

15. I like to prepare for everything.

16. My addiction to yoghurt has no words.

17. I have more favourite vegetables than fruits.

18. I don't always mean it when I say I'm sorry.

19. Fate keeps my friends on heavy rotation, whether I like it or not.

20. I am obsessed with males. Me turning lesbian is hell freezing over.

Cheers.

Back To Fakers, Takers, and Problem Makers.

There's one of every kind.

In a few days, what I have to come to know as a little time off from my life will draw to a close, forcing me back into the rapid stream of torture. No longer will I be able to enjoy leisurely mornings of MTV, or doodle mindlessly on scraps of paper. No longer will I have the time to cover my face with layers of make-up and pretend I look anything but ugly. And no longer will I be able to let my mind drift to skies without any sense of time or space.

Yes, it was sheer bliss.

And it will be all over in a matter of time.

So what does the near future hold for me? Well, let me explain it in the most natural sense.

In summary, I would probably say : new people to fumble and mess with my heart and mind, people who bring me new experiences that I will regret for a really long time, people who pretend to give a fuck about you when they need you and leave you hanging when you need them the most, people who want to know you because they have run out of gossip, people who speak atrocious English and expect you to understand, people who have minds drifting while you talk to them, people whose minds don't drift because it was never with you to begin with, and people who will pile on the workload for you so won't be able to see sunlight for a few weeks.

Gosh, that's alot of people.

And I just realised the trouble all starts with ... people. People I can't understand and who don't understand me. People I want to figure out, but never allow me to. And people whom I don't want to know, who want to know me.

But then again, I don't like being alone. Playing the solitaire card never was a favourite of mine. I remember the times I couldn't stand being alone, and hated people for it.

But I also realise that I'd rather be by myself than be subjected to irrelevant ideas and stale conversations. I'd much rather be dreaming in my own little world without having to worry about what I say or how I look.

Never did I think I needed that solitaire card. And now, it's going to be the only card I want to play. Alone, reserved, weirdly quiet until spoken to and submerged in my own thoughts until something more interesting beckons me out of their cool waters, which I'm sure will be nothing.

I don't want to 'hang out' with people whom I cannot trust, I don't want to speak to people who make up their minds about me before I open my mouth, and I don't want to share my feelings about other people because it will either come back to bite me or I will forever be used as the Blessed Oracle of Emotions (also known as the only person who listens.)

So here we brace ourselves for the beginning of many more bitter posts to come.

This blog is dedicated to those who have just read a blog about food on plates, lack of food on plates, clothes we could throw our money away for, lives of people without one, fake dates of people which really look real and other miscellanous excretions of the mind.

Congratulations. You have just entered literature hell.



Cheers.

Acheron's Life Lessons.

For there are plenty.

Now what could I possibly learn from this Atlantean god apart from sex? Well, that would be one.

Quite frankly - now you're going to think I sound more bonkers than usual - I could learn about life from my dear Acheron. He's quite insightful and eventhough he has, well, god powers and the most ripped body, he's going through what I'm going through. And for all of you, sniggering out there and asking yourselves what a beautiful Atlantean god has to do with a teenage mad hatter, I present to you Acheron's life lessons.

First of all, Acheron doesn't understand why he keeps helping people when at the end of it, he always ends up in pain or humiliation.

I GET YOU, ACHERON SWEETIE!

Neither do I understand, my sexy entity of dilemmas. It's just the same for me: always doing favours and helping people out sometimes at the expense of my well-being, because I think to myself that it might come back to me as some good karma. But in a karmic twist of fate, I am always at the wrong end of the stick. It's always either accompanying people for little outings even at my busiest hour, or sourcing information for them, or even sorting out love lives as crazed and fucked as they are.

And I never get that back! In another karmic twist of fate that baffles me now, it's probably because my karma is telling me that I've got to stop being so nice to everyone. Just as Acheron has to stop making people feel better, I have to stop giving in so much. I've got to learn to say NO. Just plain flat-out, get-out-of-my-life NO.

So from now on, my dear Acheron, I say NO.

Now secondly. Acheron had always been treated without any modicum of love or respect. And now all he wants is for someone to love him for who he is.

I HEAR YOU, DARLING!

Same here. Not that I haven't been shown love or respect before. But the part about finding someone you love who loves you back just the same. An unconditional relationship. I can't count the number of times I have discussed this, but somehow I feel that I'm the only one who comprehends exactly what I want, and how I want it.

I will find you, guy who loves me blablabla you know what I mean.

Also, ladies should learn that it's HOES OVER BROS. Yes, you are right. Acheron did not choose hoes over bros, for he had no bros and the hoes he had were just plain disgusting. But anyway, no matter how head over heels you are for a bro, you gotta love your hoes man. No ditching them for that guy you're infatuated with. Got me?

Very important life lesson there.

And finally, thank you Acheron. My good man, I can see us discussing this over a warm vat of blood.

Say Thursday, perhaps?

Cheers.

I'll Have My Dark-Hunter and Eat Off Him Too.

Also Weres, Demis and Gods.

Before I begin my extremely self-indulgent post, I'd like the clear a few things. Those who know me well enough also know that I am extremely passionate about the Dark-Hunter series, the only other one being the late Sidney Sheldon. If you guys are still in the midst of solving the enigma I have developed here, I mean to say that I can't tolerate people who don't give a shit about it when they read it.

I mean firstly - how could you completely disregard pronounciation of their names? Their names are enough for an orgasm itself. And I cannot understand how people's emotions cannot get shaken by this book! Everytime I read a new one, I eat, sleep and dream Dark-Hunters.

It is not just another book, people. It is my life path. My life path to search, dig and hunt that Dark-Hunter and marry him.

(SPOILER ALERT!)

Moving on, I have just finished Acheron's book. And oh-dear-me. I never thought Acheron would be one to hook up with somebody - and even so, not someone as low-key as ... let's call her X. And his mum, the ever beautiful Apollymi was so sweet in the end!

(SPOILER OVER!)

And I was so overcome by the entire story I wanted to cry. The way the story was told, the moments when you thought all hope was gone and then suddenly you just want to scream out in joy. And oh goodness, the people whom you thought you hated at first, completely turn your impression around, making you love them as much as you despised them. It was all so ... amazing.

And now it makes me wonder. Do they really exist? Are there really Atlantean gods and Were-Animals that live among us? Do these dark, muscled men with hearts of gold really walk on the same ground we do? Is there really an irreversible curse that could end the world with just one slip of fate?

I mean, think about it. These guys are gorgeous. Complete walking machines of beauty. I quote : every molecule of muscle is RIPPED. And they have the most gorgeous lustrous hair and the most tawny skin and the best asses and man-chests ever created by a higher power (literally!) And finally, bodies you just want to savour - OK, I'll cut the crap - fuck like mad.

On top of that (which I'd like to be,) I have never seen purer hearts than the ones that exist inside them. They risk their lives, not to mention the entire world, for the comfort of their loved ones. They've never told a lie, never made a girl regret being with them, and never made her beg for them. And you know what? They love the girl for exactly who she is.

And you know what else? Come to think of it, I can't believe they exist. I really couldn't. There is no guy out there - I am convinced - who behaves like a Dark-Hunter. Much less, look like one. We're just going to have to look for the ones who come really close.

But in the end, if there is someone out there like that for me, Hallelujah I'll die happy.

And very very satisfied. If you know what I mean.

Cheers.