MAND!

You know you want fan-pics.

So here they are. And hairy palms are not a myth, so have some control.

Regular me and And!



...and rubbery me and And! Morphed together! Like a Meandandcreature! I call us "Mand!" I vote our slogan to be: "Me and And, hand in hand!"



I need to work on a better slogan. But I fear our pure awesomeness has moved beyond the realm of mortal words. Ia! Ia! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Mando R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

Ooo! Ooooooo!

In April!

The Scissor Sisters are coming to town! The small band with the big flambouyant sexualities!

AND Joanna Newsom, the big girl with the little girl voice and the massive harp! You think she's going to topple over but she NEVER DOES!

Nine Inch Nails, the band with Trent Reznor and the ever-changing back-up doo-ah doo-ah band!

And later on, In JUNE!

PlAY!, the touring symphony orchestra with a line-up including music from "The Darkness" is coming!

And I think I'll just round it off there and change my underwear. Mostly because it's not, as the text on them infer, Monday anymore. Also - colour me a Pointer Sister with the EXTRA big hair, I'm so excited!

Here's an excited pink goo stand-in to illutrate my happy-mood right now! I think he's dancing, but I really don't know!


Haven't been this excited since I learnt that Eddie Izzard was coming to town and the tickets went in the first five minutes. Probably while I was changing my underwear. But nothing can get me down now. Or to quote the Scissor Sister themselves:

Oooh Don't you give me them blues
I got magic in my dancing shoes
Let me hear you say ooooh

!

Blinding (non) revelation.

This morning, on the way to the busstop, I passed by some contruction workers welding some metal together. So did two tiny boys, say twelve, thirteen apiece. One of them stares at the welding, like their mother's probably told them not to do ("You'll go blind you'll go blind your eyes will stick that way do you WANT to look Chinese for the rest of your life bla bla bla").

He then proceeds to pry open his eyes as wide as possible using his thumbs and index fingers, walks up to me, yelling "I'm BLIND! I'M BLIND!!"

I ignore him for a little while, but realize he's not going to go away unless I acknowledge him. "Mhm," I thought. "Masturbated again this morning? Only a matter of time your palms get hairy!"

I relented.

"Is life hard on you?" I ask him.
"YES! It hurts! It hurts so bad!" he replies.

Just wait, I thought. It's gonna get a heck of alot tricker than that. In a few years, not being able to stay up to watch Matlock will be the least of your worries. Or well, whatever kid today are watching. Power Puff Girls. What have you. Whatever.

Jut wait until you get your first pimple in a non-strategic area and realize that your life is over. Get your second pusspopsicle and realize that your life is over again. Not to mention your first heartbreak, or first bills. Wait for that one moment of clarity when you realize that you're buying your first adult and non-fashion statement fatpants and wow look at that, your life is over again.



<- The extra chicken wing last friday. It hath spawned.

Well, I guess you'll just have to see. Provided that you quit staring at welding sessions and strangers with short tempers and sharp apartment keys in their pockets.

Winter Sunrise + Rainbow = <3

9 am, January 2007



The balcony view aka the "Skuru Strait" by morning. The picture doesn't do them justice, these two columns of light seemingly shooting up from the ground.

Read my lips, they're famished. No I meant famous! FAMOUS!

Apparantly you have to look like this, some say:



...to make a difference in the world. The boyfriend and I have discussed the options if surnames for any potential children, and it has been settled that it would be better for them to have a standard Swedish surname as opposed to a non-Swedish surname seeing a how them having a foreign sounding surname might barr them from the job-oppertunities that would be rightfully theirs should they be "seen" as traditionally Swedish. No-one wants their son or daughter to be holding a doctor's degree in supremely massive doctorship in the one hand and a limp mop in the other, just because you have a funny name - as is the situation today(?)


LingLing! Oh LingLing what have you become. ;-(

So the obvious choice is to rename your kid, or better yet, yourself, Sven this or Inga that. Save the dissappointed stare of dissaproval for the actual meeting, when they realize that you look like a Mustafasven or an Inga-San.

"Sorry, you were good on paper, but the position was filled. When?Hmm. Soon.........................Ish"

Someone has to make a stand. BUT I just don't think that you need a name and the lips the size of a substantially large third world country to do so.

I'm not bitter. I'm just a Chinese-sounding Thai-looking girl from a small Caribbean island - with plans of grandeur. With that one fabulous underlip. And I DON'T do windows.

Better than a shot of whiskey

At the end of the day, there are a few things that make you smile.

Like this one.

I am TIRED of being boring.

But even more tired of being unproductive. So sit back, buckle up, get your puke-bags unfolded and ready, here comes the new and improved boring me.

The new and improved boring me who still lives in a great two-person relationship with a guy who doesn't recognize you when he wakes up and initictively covers his balls. The same boring me whining about weight and old age (OMG TWENTY EIGHT OMG OMG TWENTY EIGHT) and the same old me who works at a hardware store. Isn't as glamorous as it sounds, in fact it's full of pins and needles and jack-hammers.

So a for today's daily update? I realized something important. Important to me, if nobody else. Probably important to everybody else if you come to my cash register or ask me a question about compresors anyway. I'll seem like I know you. Because I smile at every fucker who graces my presence. This is not because you're a regular, or because I like you. It' because I have a hard time remembering faces. So basically, I'm just smiling at you because I'm afraid you might know me, and if so, I don't want to give you the cold shoulder. So instead you get the warm smile.

And that's just how it is. I like you, precisely because I don't know you. If I did know you, however, I probably wouldn't like you. So I guess it all works out - from one dousche to another.

Course there are the people that after having been given the benefit of the doubt I downright unlike. Like the guy who tries to give me a bill that's coloured and that gives off an interesting yet illegal glow under the UV lamp.

"Really? You won't accept it?"
"No Sir, it's coloured."
"Could be coffee."
"Coffee doesn't light up like that under the UV lamp, I'm sorry. Can you pay by card instead?"
"NO! I DON'T HAVE A CARD! IT'S COFFEEIT'SCOFFEE! "
"...Or this bill could just as well have been involved in a robbery. I'm sorry, but I can't accept it. It's policy. I know, it sucks, but it's the bank that dictate this, not us."
"I'M NEVER SHOPPING HERE AGAIN. EVER!! Can I pay by card?"
"...Uuuhh.."



Or the guy who tries to pay with bills that have been out of circulation for the past two years.

"REALLY?! WHEN did this happen?"
"....Aaaaa..."