Hello, please let me introduce myself.
Since I turned 25, I've matured. I therefore thought it fitting that we get properly acquainted. This is a one-time deal only, so for you who think that my writing is painful and blaaargh and owee and all that, Yea! Though you walk through the shadow of the valley of Me, thou shalt not fear. One time offer only. And a re-cap from time to time. Maybe tomorrow.
Hi.
My name, as you may have guessed by now, is not Creep, but let's stick with that till we know each other better.
I am 25.
And puff goes the magic - I'm a single Stockholmer and I'm bitter. I'm hopelessly in love with the wrong man on any given day except Sundays which is God's day. I am not religious, though I find myself pursued by pamphlet waving religious people more often than I'm comfortable with. One of these Catholic schmos conned me out of my phone number today. Except I have caller ID. HAHAHA.
I'm your average working class schmuck, forced to work in a ticket-booth to pay off various debts I have amassed. I have no real intentions of paying them off, but telling people that you're working to pay off debts generally generates sympathy, and sometimes, people will buy you coffee. These people I call "friends" - except on casual Friday when I refer to my Spanish freinds and other people with funny lisps as "Amigo."
I live in a 3 roomer apartment with my roommate Dan. Dan is an ass. But enough about him, more about me.
I'm 25. I just turned 25. Yesterday actually. I'm having a get-together at a rock-pub in the Old Town later tonight, something which looks more like the birthday scene out of Nick Hornsby's "High Fidelity" than, well. I don't have anything to compare with. One could say I am über High Fidelity. Except that I don't have the main character's extensive record collection. I do, however, laugh at people without extensive record collections. I don't really know why. I think it's some sort of reflex. Like yawning when other people yawn, or trying to shove your fingers down the throat of someone who is yawning. It's God's Will.
I'm messy. Very messy. Sometimes, I relate this to having an artistic mind which is a bit of a euphemism right there. I have been told that my stick figures are very advanced, Kama Sutra-esque is what I've heard, and that seems to justify the whole big mess. Sometimes I clean. I clean just about as often as I get laid. You might say that I clean my room when there is a chance of me getting laid. Which means that cleaning in my spare time, just for the heck of it, a bit anti-climaxic, in many, many ways - like eating a whole box of cereal only to find out that "Hey, man, where's my plastic toy, man??". Oh, and because I haven't been candid enough here, I'll add that cleaning is pointless because I never get laid anyways. It's not that I don't try the traditional five-minutes-before-closing-time-punch-and-drag "Must punch! Must drag!" - tactics that are so popular at pubs, it's that when people ask why I chose them out of a crowd of fifty other rejects, I tell em like it is.
"Why me?" (ah, these men and their silly little existential questions)
"Because you were the tallest here...?"
"HAHAHA! No, really."
"Because my eyesight is majorly sucky and you are the easiest to spot in a crowd."
"HAHAHA! No, REALLY really."
"Okay, whatever."
I don't say these things because I'm evil, I say these things because I think that honesty is important. And- yet to be proven- an attractive quality in a woman -> Yet to be proven as well, since it so happens that I've been told I'm not particularly feminine, which is sad. Course, no- one has phrased it in terms as discrete as these 'not-particularly -femenine' - people prefer to refer to me as a lumberjack, which is not - well it's just not very nice is it? I would like to change this. So on Monday I'm getting a chic haircut and a chic-er dress. Maybe pink. Maybe purple. Maybe transparant. Because I would honestly like to look nice for a change. Because Honest Lumberjacks just don't get far in this world. Just because.
But while I'm not being a lumberjack extraordinaire, I try to write music. Or lyrics. Or I don't so much write lyrics as try to avoid the people for whom I write lyrics. I'm just not very good at writing on demand. Something about artistic freedoms and stick figures, I don't know.
I suppose this last bit should be filled with likes and dislikes, "Hey, that book was really groovy", or "That Jackie Chan, well...hey. That Jackie Chan", but no. Some things should be left up to the imagination- and for later blogs. Like tommorrow's "The Birthday party for One" and "Catholics Call me at Night and breathe Funny into the Phone" and the ever-popular "Don't hate me because you're so goddam ugly." Together with the regular ticket-booth rantings, of course.
Love, Peace and Lumber,
Creep.
(oh: and Jack Black is so playing me in the movie)
Hi.
My name, as you may have guessed by now, is not Creep, but let's stick with that till we know each other better.
I am 25.
And puff goes the magic - I'm a single Stockholmer and I'm bitter. I'm hopelessly in love with the wrong man on any given day except Sundays which is God's day. I am not religious, though I find myself pursued by pamphlet waving religious people more often than I'm comfortable with. One of these Catholic schmos conned me out of my phone number today. Except I have caller ID. HAHAHA.
I'm your average working class schmuck, forced to work in a ticket-booth to pay off various debts I have amassed. I have no real intentions of paying them off, but telling people that you're working to pay off debts generally generates sympathy, and sometimes, people will buy you coffee. These people I call "friends" - except on casual Friday when I refer to my Spanish freinds and other people with funny lisps as "Amigo."
I live in a 3 roomer apartment with my roommate Dan. Dan is an ass. But enough about him, more about me.
I'm 25. I just turned 25. Yesterday actually. I'm having a get-together at a rock-pub in the Old Town later tonight, something which looks more like the birthday scene out of Nick Hornsby's "High Fidelity" than, well. I don't have anything to compare with. One could say I am über High Fidelity. Except that I don't have the main character's extensive record collection. I do, however, laugh at people without extensive record collections. I don't really know why. I think it's some sort of reflex. Like yawning when other people yawn, or trying to shove your fingers down the throat of someone who is yawning. It's God's Will.
I'm messy. Very messy. Sometimes, I relate this to having an artistic mind which is a bit of a euphemism right there. I have been told that my stick figures are very advanced, Kama Sutra-esque is what I've heard, and that seems to justify the whole big mess. Sometimes I clean. I clean just about as often as I get laid. You might say that I clean my room when there is a chance of me getting laid. Which means that cleaning in my spare time, just for the heck of it, a bit anti-climaxic, in many, many ways - like eating a whole box of cereal only to find out that "Hey, man, where's my plastic toy, man??". Oh, and because I haven't been candid enough here, I'll add that cleaning is pointless because I never get laid anyways. It's not that I don't try the traditional five-minutes-before-closing-time-punch-and-drag "Must punch! Must drag!" - tactics that are so popular at pubs, it's that when people ask why I chose them out of a crowd of fifty other rejects, I tell em like it is.
"Why me?" (ah, these men and their silly little existential questions)
"Because you were the tallest here...?"
"HAHAHA! No, really."
"Because my eyesight is majorly sucky and you are the easiest to spot in a crowd."
"HAHAHA! No, REALLY really."
"Okay, whatever."
I don't say these things because I'm evil, I say these things because I think that honesty is important. And- yet to be proven- an attractive quality in a woman -> Yet to be proven as well, since it so happens that I've been told I'm not particularly feminine, which is sad. Course, no- one has phrased it in terms as discrete as these 'not-particularly -femenine' - people prefer to refer to me as a lumberjack, which is not - well it's just not very nice is it? I would like to change this. So on Monday I'm getting a chic haircut and a chic-er dress. Maybe pink. Maybe purple. Maybe transparant. Because I would honestly like to look nice for a change. Because Honest Lumberjacks just don't get far in this world. Just because.
But while I'm not being a lumberjack extraordinaire, I try to write music. Or lyrics. Or I don't so much write lyrics as try to avoid the people for whom I write lyrics. I'm just not very good at writing on demand. Something about artistic freedoms and stick figures, I don't know.
I suppose this last bit should be filled with likes and dislikes, "Hey, that book was really groovy", or "That Jackie Chan, well...hey. That Jackie Chan", but no. Some things should be left up to the imagination- and for later blogs. Like tommorrow's "The Birthday party for One" and "Catholics Call me at Night and breathe Funny into the Phone" and the ever-popular "Don't hate me because you're so goddam ugly." Together with the regular ticket-booth rantings, of course.
Love, Peace and Lumber,
Creep.
(oh: and Jack Black is so playing me in the movie)
