The Offer of The Day

"Pay and book a flight to oulu, and you'll have a nice week in northern finland for free. we'll offer you a place to stay, food, company (native finns!), few tequilas and some white wine, perhaps some pink, too. is this as junk mail as it seemed after you'd read the title? no! you won't get this from tv-butiken! you'll get it only from k girl. and juha, the financial and companial partner of 'jenny travels to oulu' assosiation"

Letter from K-Girl, my love, my love.

(Yay!)

Tried coloring my hair today. This time without adult supervision. Naturally, I forgot to dab vaseline on the parts of the skin that might also get exposed to the colour. Even more naturally, I now have two dark patches in my forehead, quite strategically, and unfortunately, placed. Congratulations Me. I am now officially Satan.

(Of course, I've had my doubts.)

The Babooshska Enigma

[For Christ's sake, please, please, buy Goldfrapp's "Black Cherry." just take my word for it and go, go, go!!]


Jenny & Andreas, live.

J "You have this...masterful gaze."

A "Masterful?"

J "Like, you know, you should be standing atop a mountain with a flag or something. And just....loom around."

A "Ah!"

J "Should have been you, instead of Neil Armstrong."

A "In te studio, you mean? With the rest of the Illuminati?"

J "Yupp. Cause you know it was just a set-up, right?"

A "Hell yeah!"

J "Frikkin commies."

A "Frikkin potato-eaters."

J "Yupp. And what about those dolls of theirs? It's like, first one, then another one, then another one, and the last & smallest one isn't even edible"

A "YEAH! it's like "Thank You for Buying our Doll. Here's another." Forrest Gump was wrong. Life is like a russian babooshka doll. Except there ain't no chocolate in the middle."

Fragile

Dan was hit first. He panicked so badly that he started laughing and doing his "This is typical. This is so typical" speech. I sat there and tried to tell him not to worry until he knew how things would work out, they might just work out, right?

I ran over to my computer to download something that might help him. The sad thing was that - hey, we have a router, and my screen wasn't lit up for more than two minutes before the error message popped up. "Bla Bla Bla shutting down in 30 seconds." Well, I panicked, and Dan standing behind me going "This is so typical too. Now I'll never get my computer fixed" wasn't the optimal situation, so I asked him to go away for a while. it was like a combination of having the grim reaper behind me and now, apparantly, also in my computer. He tried slamming the door on his way out, but luckily, my clutter prevented that, twice, making the door just bounce back and making Dan even more miffed. He gave up and settled for slamming his door instead. I guess my asking him to get out was both a combination of panic and pride. I didn't want him to see that I was scared.

T. Kai rule number one - never show fear. I guess that comes from the Chinese part of the family. The country-bumpkin part of the family would have probably just been enchanted by the new little pets in their computer and made the whole thing explode, taking the person in front of the computer, and an inocent bystander of a cow, with them in the blast.

After spending half the night on the phone with Andreas, we managed to sort things out.
Like this -

1. Separate computers- i.e. disconnect router.

2. You go to menu, and 'run', and type in services.msc /s . Scroll down to remote procedure call, click. Click on "recovery" and change the three bars that pop up to "Take no Action". Apply.

3. For God's sake, get yourself, if you hadn't one before - a firewall. This will prevent the virus (the one in question being the blaster/welchia or what you will) from updating itself from the net and bringing a couple of freinds with it.

4. The firewall rounds up the viruses, and now you just run a virus program, a freshly updated one! Sometimes Norton (for example) finds the viruses but can't delete them, so you need a couple more tools. This you can get off www.symantec.com, under "security response" & removal tools. Norton should have told you by now what your virus calls itself.

5. Kill em all.

6. Download system updates.

Yeeeow. And now I feel squeaky clean. Quite the cathargic experience it was. While I was fixing Dan's, I happened to see the package that his new perfume had come in, in the waste paper basket. A perfume that he had been ranting and raving about for the past few days, something about making all the girls go horny, like "Fäbodsjäntan", but without the whole sausage business, which was just plain nasty. (Is what I've heard.)
And he was right, the scent was both sweet and seductive. Unfortunately, it was also upon my examination of the package in the paperbasket "By Jean Paul Gautier, now only forHer...." For Chrissakes, the package had a picture of a chick in the front. And te perfume itself was called "Fragile".

I have a bit of a hard tiem picturing Lasse, 46, construction worker, buying a perfume called "Fragile" and sitting on a mat in the park somewhere talking about how he cries when he watches Bingo-Lotto, because he's the sensitive type of guy. ".....And what perfume am I wearing? oh, Fragile, naturally."
And then probably shedding a couple more tears because Jean-Paul Gautier is the only one who's ever realised that he, Lasse 46, has a sensitive side as well.

poetry 101

Poetry Class today. Paul, the poetry class teacher, is a really cool guy, but sometimes no-one understands his jokes, so I try to laugh twice as hard most times. Except I don't really laugh out loud, I kind of just jiggle. Allright, I jiggle twice as hard then. As much as I can before someone calls 112 thinking that my mouth will start frothing any minute and that I'll be continuing my jerky little dance on the floor.

It's sad, but it's just not safe to jerk anymore these days.

Something else that's sad is that the only time of the month when women crave crave crave sex corresponds with the time of the month when they are bloated and probably just a little bit more stinky than usual. I'm seriously starting to doubt that God actually wanted us to procreate. Or more importantly, Me.

These are the things I want right now.

1. That Dan buys groceries, because he should. He's bought two sixpacks of toilet paper since he moved in, and only the soft kind, that makes the whole pack disappear after one good chili dinner. When we have our paper shortages, he always comes with the same bit of advice- "Do like I do, just shake it around a little after peeing."

Yes, well, it's not recommended. But the point is that I don't care how little his ass is, he has to have taken a dump more than two times in the 180 days.

2. The new Jane's Addiction album, the new Devin Townsend album.

3. Hear more of Malin Olofssons poems. I am of the heterosexual persuasion, but her voice combined with her words make her the type of person you could fall asleep next to, just listening to her talk in her sleep.

4. For people to understand that not being able to write poetry doesn't necessarily mean that I hate all poetry, Harry Martinsson's Aniara is breathtaking. And while on the topic of great poetists, perhaps you've never heard my delightful, yet tasteful limerick about "The Woman from Bunt"?

5.That people stop seeing me as a sex symbol and start appreciating me for my other gifts. Like milking and yodelling.

6. And last but not least, I couldn't honestly say that I would mind a monkey to call my own.

Sonnet 69

(Or "The Culmination of My Summer of Everlasting Sorrow")

Poems are divine,
I do like them a lot
Sometimes poems rhyme,
Sometimes they do not.

If I only had one friend,
Which is one more than now,
I would choose a poem,
Instead of, say, a cow.

Some poems are straightforward,
Some have double meaning
Some poems are good
When expressing your true feeling.

I wish I were a poem, all rhymey and all pretty
Instead of just a proser, which is just plain shitty.

(I had this burning urge to add " 'Nevermore!' quothe the Raven" somewhere, just to pay my respects to Edgar Allan Poe, but I found no room for him amidst the words that truly mirror my greatness and yet surprising vulnerability. )

Sonnet 0

Oh for Christ's sake, Shakespeare wrote a kazillion of these, how hard can it be? My poem, or sonnet, if you will, is due in two days, and I am blissfully sonnet-free.

I remember sitting in my booth at work once and one of the gaurds bringing round the new gaurd to say hello. Which is exactly what I did, and nothing more. This probably struck them as strange, since the two gaurds both stood there for a full three minutes expecting me to come with some other divine revelation, or, basically, anything at all. Except nothing really ever did. Later on, the first gaurd came by and stared me in the eyes and asked:

"Do you know what your main malfunction is?"
"I'm not too social?"
"Yes."

I waved my fist at him from behind three centimeters of glass and yelled "I am Not a monkey. I do Not perform on demand!" And it's the same feeling here. I do NOT write sonnets. And I'm not a monkey. And I'm thinking that even if I were one, I wouldn't be too keen on, or capable, of writing a poem.

Oysters and Babies and Ice Cream, oh my!

Just had to write down two famous Andreas quotes.
"It's like eating an oyster, over and over" - I'm just not going to explain that one. But the second one was as a result of discussing why Heather, in Silent Hill III, buries her face in her father's lap even though his body has been turned to mincemeat by this monster. Now There's love, and there's just plain icky. ( No relation to everyone's favorite Stockholm sushibar "Ikki") Andreas two cents on the rubbing face in blood thing (and yet staying surprisingly clean) were:

"But aren't you women used to that? It's called mensturbating."
And no, it was not intentional.

Dan called me just before I set off to work this morning. He'd seen his ex by chance.In the normal case, I would have made a cup of tea, curled up in the couch and stroked the person in question's forehead. Shit. meeting one's ex can be TRULY traumatic. You're not only seeing your former girlfreind/boyfreind, you're also seeing a former you walking past. Except still with that eightees poodlerock thing that didn't help you back then and sure as hell ain't sparing you the crotch kicks now.

Anyways, in a normal case, I would be, you know, sensitive-like. Flowers and shit. When it comes to Dan, however, nothing helps. No matter what you do.

You'll be like "Ice Cream..?" and he'll be like

"No! NO! You're all out to get me. ALL of you!"

"Even the itty bitty babies?"

"ALL!!"

To quote a great man - it's like eating an over again and over.

2 a.m

2 a.m!
Whyfore art thou?!

Currently listening to beach Boy's "California Girls" (crappy, yet so happy)
NOW before you diss me, take a walk in my shoes and try dealing with people who've wandered out of manga movies and forgot to learn any other language than manga speak, and angry Germans who make everything sound like Death. Like they're not reeeeally going to Arlanda Airport, but to EBOLA!!! Even Buddha couldn't have done this without bumping his shiny little head to a Beach Boy song or two.

Jean Paul Gautier, give me strength! Give me strength!

School Days are Happy (?) Days

Well, judge for yourself. Here be my old school, anyways, attended St Gabriel's from age five to twelve. Oh, and if you have trouble making out which one is me, never fear. I'm the pseudo-chinese one.

I'm always the pseudo-chinese one.

Why?

The challenge with writing is that it feels almost impossible to describe the tiny tiny everyday miracles. The whooshing of a bicycle past you as you’re walking through a crowd with headphones covering your ears. The laughter that bubbles up inside you because of the wonderful synchronicity of it all. And the fact that no-one else seems to be aware of that they are part of this beautiful, beautiful machinery. All moving in cohesion, to the music that flows out from your headphones and into you. It seems as if it should be obvious, but everyone seems to be caught up in hurrying to the train, eyeing through their papers, chatting with the individual next to them – It strikes you as incredible that you are alone, all alone in the world, for that one split second, when everything is so perfectly connected. And you can’t help but laugh quietly, because you have no choice, because it is all so wonderful and so terrible all at once. Because you are all alone, while the world rushes past around you.

There's a woman crossing the street just outside my window.
I wonder if she knows she's being watched? It's almost like stealing.

The Terrible Twenties

My parents celebrated their Twentieth Wedding anniversary yesterday. My mother was suprised in bed with a card and a gift of the generic but ever-popular toiletry bag. ("Some ten crown thing from Hennes & Mauritz", she tells me) My father, I'm sure, was equally suprised when he got his bouquet of blue spray painted flowers.

"...Blue?"

"Yes, because he's a man."

"...Mum?"

It kinda makes you wonder how they managed to keep together for twenty years, and if they'll make it through the next week. And it makes you appreciate the miracle of true love, give or take a toiletry bag of romance.

Dead Or Alive at High Noon

Right. Dan's ex-roommate 'little Dan' is over for a visit, meaning one more person in the house to beat at X-box game "Dead or Alive." Had a one on one match with Big Dan (irony intended) this morning, after giving up on finding material for my cultural studies assigment due well, today.

On the upside, I kicked his ass through five rounds. Yes, you heard me, five- zilch. On the downside, hey, just realised. there is no downside! I kicked his ass through five rounds. And the balance of power is once more restored and all is right in the world. I surprised myself by being a good winner this time though. No maniacal laughter, no war dances. I even offered him a bit of the sausage I was symbolically (oh, life is good) eating whilst playing - but no, he was pissed off.

Some people are born great (me) , some people acheive greatness (me again) and some people have sausages thrust upon them. It's just one of those facts of life when gaming. If you can't take the heat, go buy yourself a tea set.

THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.

The glory was short lived though. After playing, we (Big Dan & Me) went to the store, and played this swedish game "Herren på Täppan"= "King of The Hill" It's a game where you have to try to hold your fort (at the top of a Hill) by pushing down everyone who tries to conquer this lucrative position.

Well, I lost. On the upside, I learnt how to roll gracefully.
Think it helped [Big] Dan releive some aggression though. Apparantly, the one question you should never ask while someone else is playing Amped (snowboard game) is : "When you fall down like that, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

Note to self: if you have nothing good to say, write it down instead.

Ergo, we Go

Aight, so I have no idea exactly what to do with this. Blogger is quite cool though - no need for fiddling with codes in note pad. Or, well, swiping codes, then remodeling in note pad. Same same.

So who am I then?

I'm a bitter 14 year old trapped in a 24 year old body, still struggling with acne and lipstick. And currently a bit sick. And looking it! You'd think the acne was enough, but no. Hate being sick. When I was a kid, I used to write wills everytime I got sick.

"And for my mother, let her have my jar of coins.
For my brother, I leave charlotte, my stuffed bear.
For my cousins....let them eat cake."

(So I realise the reference to an old french queen might be a little bit out there considering I was about ten, but hey, if you're a prodigy, you're a prodigy.)

Guess I got a bit of a hypochondriac in me after all. Runs in the family. My grandmother's aunt is sick pretty much as often as she can. And when she's not, she spends her time thinking of reasons why everyone else in the world is not sick either. My father, for example, bless his heart, who lives in the Caribbean, does NOT, apprantly, have gas problems, he smuggles cocaine in his rectum, allowing for the less than gentle rise of his belly.

Well I'll be darned.
All I can say is "SHOW ME THE MONAAAAAAAAY!!"

The world is full of Wankers.