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It seems I’ve stopped saying what I want to say here. Bad Me! I think everyone who’s tried to have any kind of conversation with me recently has been dragged kicking and screaming into a conversation of my making about girls… not in general, particular ones. I was out drinking last night with Davron and I realised I only really seem to have 3 topics of conversation these days: girls, languages and TV. Luckily for him he has more, so he wasn’t bored out of his mind within the first half an hour.
So we got to talking again about my new favourite subject; the thing that has been on my mind for almost a month now and I eventually got to thinking about this place. I used to write up here about girls I’d meet and the idiot things I’d say, but I didn’t this time. The rational part of me doesn’t believe in jinxes or anything of that sort but I guess there’s a fairly strong irrational side in me too, that exerts its will disguised as apathy. So maybe I didn’t write about such things in case that ruined everything, not that there was really anything to ruin in the first place, but you get the idea.
On saying that though, I’d already told anyone who came within earshot (or typeshot) of me all about it, so how does that make sense? (Answer: It doesn’t.)
That’s all besides the point… but the point is really close to it, so if we just get off at the next intersection and take a left we’ll be there. The thing I got to thinking about, and I know this is all kinds of stupid but like I mentioned that seems to be what this place is for, was what if eventually things go well. I don’t necessarily mean now, but in general. What if I meet a girl and she likes me, and we get together and she decides to read this thing, and she gets to the parts where I rave about girls I’ve just met because I’m too stupid to let reality set in before I type my excitement up here for the world to keep a copy of forever? Then what if she’s not there?
On the other hand what if I type it all up and she sees it and she likes that I was so excited, but then gets to the archives and finds out that oh… he always gets that excited, maybe I’m not so special after all. What if she doesn’t want entire conversations recited to people because I get excited and can’t keep my trap shut? What if I meet someone I like and I write stuff up here and then we become friends and then she sees this and realised I’m hoping for more and that kills it all? What if, what if, what if?
I don’t need guidance on this point. It’s just a thought that I never really considered when making this thing because I pretty much thought I would be the only one interested enough in what I had to say to ever really read it. The answer actually is that I’ll talk about the ones I want to when the urge takes me. If there are reasons I want to keep stuff to myself I will. After all, this is not about what I want people to hear. It’s about what I want to say.
Unrelated – I made a blogger blog so I could comment on blogger blogs. I haven’t done anything with it other than link here, and one night I wrote a post so there was something on it. I read it again this morning, and I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. I don’t know if that says more about what quality of writing I’m capable of (good or bad) or the quality of my judgement of the things I read. But anyway, http://riversofrust.blogspot.com/
Feeling: reflective Hearing: cars and vans and other moving things |
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I don’t have the instincts of an advertiser, and I certainly don’t have those of a propagandist. There’s a chance I have the instincts of a reporter though, or more likely a newspaper editor. “Oh, that’s tragic. Let’s open a spot for that on the front page.” It is with these thoughts in mind that I bring you today’s tale of how stupid I am, although it doesn’t start today. Please imagine a swirly special effect signifying a flashback. It was two weeks ago; a Friday. For some unknown reason some of my friends decided to go drink beer in the pub. I didn’t want to leave them alone where any old thing could happen so I had to go join them to make sure they were safe. I know how wonderful I am for that, you don’t have to tell me. We went to the Guildford Arms, ordered some beer, and drank. Things went well but my mind was drifting in and out of what was going on. When it drifted out it drifted to depressing thoughts of people (person) I shouldn’t think about and other happy thoughts. I was hoping something would happen to take my mind off those things but my mind doesn’t play fair. Eventually, as time wore on, the bar staff called time. Normally, on a Friday night, pubs stay open until 1am, but time was called just after midnight this night. It was annoying because it was too late to get into Binkie’s without paying and I didn’t fancy going to the places that were free. You have to be a special kind of drunk to do that. Everyone decided it was just an early night for a change, so we all headed home. At about 12:30 I was walking past an all night store on the way home when I heard a voice next to my right shoulder. “Are you walking down here?” I was confused but still managed a yes. Then there was talk, there was explanation, there was walking, and there was a beautiful girl. I was walking with her because it was best not to walk home alone at night. Apparently, I don’t look like a rapist, hurrah! I talked for a long time about languages (I had been drinking and therefore talking happened) but I did learn she was from York, and had lived in Spain until she was 10 and therefore was fluent in Spanish. Also, I learned she was lovely. I'm not going to go on about it because I do that a lot, but she is another really amazing looking girl and not just someone that's pretty. Then we got to where she was going and said goodbye. “What’s your name?” I told her. She said her name was Lara. Then she was gone. Naturally as I walked away I regretted all the things I’d wanted to say all along but never did. You see, us bodyguards shouldn’t get involved with our charges or it can put them in danger. I’m sure Kevin Costner said that at some point. A once in a lifetime opportunity was gone. On the way home I remembered the trailer for “Serendipity” (I’ve never seen the movie) and thought, sure, if I’m meant to see her again, that’ll happen. It’s a simple thought but one that stops me running into traffic when I’ve been particularly idiotic or cowardly. I didn’t expect to tell anyone that because I wanted to keep that one to myself, but, who am I kidding, I can be a blabbermouth at times. I was supposed to have an interview tomorrow, but I got a call this morning telling me it had been moved to Monday, which is nice. I went out tonight with Keith and Robert to buy things for my interview, because I didn’t own any. They work at the place the interview is for, so they know what’s required. I got everything I needed, and because the interview was moved we were able to go and have a couple of beers afterwards. Had it not been moved, we wouldn’t. We went to the Guildford Arms for a couple, then I decided to go to The Chanter because it was pub quiz night and also they do two for one meals. We got there and they’d discontinued the Spicy Bean Burger, but replaced it with a Cajun Vegetable Burger, which was nice. The quiz started with a music round so were out of the running from then on. Once it was done we decided to leave, since Keith and Robert both had work the next day. We each headed off our own ways, mine taking me past the old royal infirmary, at which point I decided I was somehow still hungry. I stopped into Central to get a chip roll, but they were out of rolls so I just got a bag of chips. However, the chips were still cooking, so I had to wait five minutes for them. I walked past Tevoit eating my chips, then round next to George Square. I decided since it was only about 11:30 the buses would still be running so I may as well head over to South Clerk Street in case I managed to get one. I turned the corner past Appleton Tower to head along past The Peartree and saw a couple of people heading in that direction, coming from the passage that leads to George Square around the back of Appleton Tower. I started choking on my heart, which had leapt inconveniently into my throat. It was her. The staggering coincidence was one thing, the boy she was walking with was another. Cowardice took over, and I decided not to say anything. Massive coincidence. Something that should statistically not happen again, or if it does, for a long time, happens. Cowardice and idiocy. How stupid am I? Anyway, interview on Monday, hope it goes well. Maybe I’ll get the job. Maybe I’ll end up with money. Maybe I’ll be able to go out boozing with Kenny again one night and actually start to make up for the gallons of beer he’s bought me in this lifetime. I’d like that.
Oh, booze and grammar don't play well with each other, so forget the nitpicking. Feeling: idiotic Hearing: Boston Legal |
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It reads like this,
Dear The Boy,
Just got home.
Also, I asked out Naomi. She said, and I quote, "At any other time I would say yes, but, I have a boyfriend."
Which means, in normal people speak, "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww! No fucking way you hideous MONSTER!" I guess you already know that.
If you want to call me a coward and a liar about this you can ask her next week. She's expecting it... And you're a coward if you don't ask, so there.
I have CC'd this to Robert so I have a witness.
There you go, I was happy in my life of delusion. You've ruined it you complete bastard. Still not drunk, hate it, have a bottle of Isle of Jura to cure that. Happy I no longer have to hear you call me a coward about this.
I am now at 50% of girls asked out to yes ratio which is highly unacceptable, and as a monster I shall not ask again. No extra cousins for you. So there..
Martin.
PS. Aga is 19.
PPS. What's the smiley where it sticks its tongue out? :-p is it that? Then that.
Feeling: on the verge of drunk, but not Hearing: the boy downstairs make noise. |
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I'm drunk again. Excuse any spelling errors I miss as I plod my way through this.
This is a short version of a longer entry I was going to do tagged on to another entry I was going to do, pickled in vinegar and left to dry in the sun for a couple of weeks.
The other week there was a show on called "Too big to walk." It was about morbidly obese people walking from the south of England to Edinburgh, I'll summarise, 8 weeks, 500 miles, some drop out, some make it. Shorter lengths per day at the start, more by the end. The largest was 31 stone Vincent who had to stop when he was 28 stone Vincent. The ones that made it, bitching and moaning the whole way because it's a tough thing to do finally get to Edinburgh and they're looking at it from the top of the Pentland hills and this guy goes,
"You don't get a feeling like that from eating a chocolate bar." and the guy he's talking to goes, "No, you don't, because shit, look at it." as they're looking down on this city. Then there's this girl that's never appreciated a view the whole way and she's all, "This is why we walk up hills. So we can get to the top and enjoy views like this. I mean look at it, it's amazing." Now I realise some of that is relief talking because they can see the end, but some of it is because my city looks fabulous, and that makes me feel good.
The point of that is that if they can walk across a country in a couple of months, then so can I, and I want to. The trouble is I have bad legs. I used to walk everywhere, all day, every day. Now if I walk too fast my legs ache. I've looked it up and from what I can gather it's a thing called "anterior compartment syndrome." I remember one time after I walked home from uni I touched my leg and the pain was equivalent to dipping your foot into the sun to see how hot it is. I've broken bones and never realised until I found out they re-set in a funny way. I had in-growing toenails for years before I decided I should maybe get something done about them. This was actual pain, from a one finger touch. So walking through countries will be tough unless I go really slowly and don't strain anything. When I'm drunk I don't seem to get bad, but then I think that's because I walk especially slowly when drunk.
These guys on the walk started off for the first week or so doing what they normally do except the walking. They never lost any weight that first week. It was a shock to me because walking several miles a day you'd think you'd get slimmer no matter what you ate, but no. They eventually stuck to the sport guy's diet and the weight started coming off. It made me rethink my food habits....
I'll continue that later. I'm tired and I have more to say. I'll say it quickly while I'm still in the mood.
Went to pub quiz. Didn't win. Gutted. Got outside, everyone went home... except John. John decided we needed more beer and we went to Whistle Binkies. She was there. I'm sure this was what John went for too. The thing is, if you've read all of these, there was a time in the very distant past I liked a girl and John ended up in Whistle Binkies with me. John's good like that. To be fair he was probably there for the beer, but he does have work in the morning. It's funny that it seems to always be John. Maybe he likes beer more than anyone else (extremely possible) or maybe he just sees that I really want to go. I mean it was obvious I like this girl and would happily go to Whistle Binkies just in case... but my most friendly friends would never go with me because of that. Yet John, the father of The Boy, will. I liked that. It makes me think of something else. I love that there are people in the world that will indulge my ridiculous (yes I know they are) desires to just go and look at something beautiful for a while, no matter how much of a fool that makes me. I guess that means I miss you Jenn.
We got there and she was there. We stood at the bar for two drinks. I'm terrible with accents but she sounded somewhat antipodean to me... but who knows, she might be English. She's not a native anyway. It's weird because I was recently thinking that I've never seen an Aussie I've really fell for. They can be pretty, but only a few generations into the place, there can be a distinct Aussie look about them (except the New Zealanders obviously) so I think this might have been a big slap in the face "ha ha, you're wrong" thing. Anyway, she has a ring on exactly the wrong finger. Rob had said last Saturday that barstaff do that sometimes to reduce the number of people that hit on them, but this one looks like a real wedding ring, not just a ring moved there for effect. It makes sense, despite how young she is, for her to be married, though not necessarily for her to be working in a pub in Scotland. So we drank.
There are a lot of beautiful girls in this world, but very few of them have that extra special something. I've seen, what, four in my lifetime so far. That's four in 28 years. (Admittedly a lot of that time I was too young to notice. So let's say since 1997. That's almost 10 years, 4 of them.) Still, that's what I'm shooting for, and I figure that's a large part of why I'll always be alone. I don't think anyone reading this has the experience of walking home, alone, for an hour, at 3 in the morning, but it's nice. Not what you were expecting me to say, but it is. I was walking home and I asked if this was the way it was always going to be. I got no answer. I haven't had answers in a while. Listening to Tarcy Su isn't so great for the old hopeful outlook either. I like walking through a city when it's dark and silent. I imagine I'd like it with someone else there too. Tomorrow I think we might be going out again because it's The Boy's last day in the army. I imagine a conversation between me and her going something like this:
BARMAID: You back again?
ME: Yeah. It's a long story. Well, actually it's quite short, but not interesting. Well it's actually kinda interesting. You don't have to worry though, I'm not back because I'm after you or anything. Well, I am, but only because you're Outrageously Beautiful, but you do have the old (touch the finger) so you're safe.
BARMAID: I'll keep that in mind. (gives me a "you're a nutjob" look)
ME: I'm sure you will. Actually we're out tonight because it was The Boy's last day in the army, after six years, and trips to Iraq and all that.
BARMAID: The Boy?
ME: My nephew.
BARMAID: And you call him The Boy?
ME: Everyone does, even you if you want to.
BARMAID: So if today's special what was yesterday?
ME: Pub Quiz.
BARMAID: Not here.
ME: No, you're not the only pub in our lives, more's the pity. So, erm, three pints of Caley 80, ...
However, I expect any actual conversation to go like this,
ME: Hi, three pints of Caley 80, ...
Ah, the thin line between fantasy and reality. I think tomorrow, if it definitely is still going ahead, will be my last night out in a while. I'm also sure we won't go there, and if we did she wouldn't be there. That's the way life works. But the good thing about life is that there are simple pleasures.
I'd like to say I'm not one for celebrity gossip, but it seems I am, though only because they make it so very funny. Well, now I have to go drink lots of water and try to wake up in time for tomorrow.
Feeling: a little drunk for wear Hearing: drunky mcdrunk drunk singing the drunk |
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I just read yesterday's entry and I have to say I sound a little unhappy in it whereas that isn't at all how I was feeling. I was actually quite happy as I wrote it. I think I was trying to inject it with some grandiose drama so that if everything I said sounded bigger than life you'd understand that the whole event seemed that way. I don't think I did a very good job, and no I'm not going to try to do a better one now.
I just got a book in my cereal. I remember the days you'd get a reflector for your bike, or a thing that would wibble on top of your school pencil. Today I got an Alexander McCall Smith book called "The Perfect Hamburger." Being a vegetarian it doesn't sound like my ideal subject matter but I'm going to give it a read anyway, because the cover is fun looking.
Feeling: surprisingly not hungover Hearing: ideas bubble in brain |
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Am drunk, excuse spelling.
I was out on Thursday. The first time since March. My brother didn't have money really, to drink, but I did. We played the pub quiz, and won a packet of peanut m&m's. It was good.
So we decided we'd go out on the weekend, which sounded great. He had no money to booze and I have an abundance... the £200 I've been saving up at £10 a week for I have no idea how long. (Damn I wish I could speak this instead of type but none of you would understand a word and I wouldn't be able to work the machine,) So I was happy to give back sine he'd given me hundreds and hundreds of pounds of Canada money. And it was good fun. Then we got to Whistle Binkies, and there was this Barmaid, and holy fuck was I gone. Stunning.
We had this conversation, it was the last round of the night and I insisted on going for all of them after I saw her.
ME: A Morgan's and coke and a Vodka and coke, please.
She walks off, and returns in short order with the drinks... as she approaches she sniffs them.
HER: The Morgan's...
she puts it down
HER (cont'd): and the vodka.
ME: (quizzical look) Are you sure?
HER: No.
I giver her money, she heads off and brings me back change.
Now how the fuck can something like that feel like the highlight of your fucking life? The whole time we're in Binkies there's this black girl with her trousers giving her a wedgie the whole time... I mean seriously up there, like you wouldn't believe... and no one can take there eyes off of it, even my gay brother who's as stunned as the rest of us, but my eyes can be torn away as this barmaid walks past. But she's s a barmaid, and liking barmaids is too fucking typical and when she's gone I'm sitting there thinking about how she looks lovely but nothing tremendously special except my brain is telling me NO, she is EXCEPTIONALLY special, and there are these freaking bulbs going off in my head like, ping, ping, ping and it's embarrassing to be so fucking out of control of my own emotions, and everyone can see as soon as she walks past that I'm gone. But she's a barmaid, and therefore gets hit on every hourr, and who the fuck am I? I don't have a job, I live with my mum.
I have this skill when I go to a bar, I either get served right away or by the hottest girl. The entire night it was right away... except that last one, and I'd never wanted to wait at a bar more. But, barmaid, hit on every hour, impossible. Then you get to the bit where you leave and you're walking home and you've got your Walkman, and there's sad music and you're realising, Barmaid, impossible. What's the point, what's the fucking point of anything? Really, if she's there and she's so damn beautiful, so fucking extremely freaking beautiful and that's so rare and I'm no-one then what's the point of anything? And this is why I'm certain I die alone. Because feeling those flashes inside my skull means I can't settle for less, but I'm never getting near that either. So what is the point? Seriously, the girl I like that you Canadians know about but no one else, and the best waitress in the world... I'm talking that league based on memory, and a fricking million miles more based on right now and the awesome depressive effects of alcohol. Seriously though... if Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships; this girl could have sunk them by just turning away.
I need to get out more. That snippit of conversation up there, word for word. Absolutely word for word. I know it's short, but seriously, even the short conversations you've had. How many of them do you know definitively, absolutely word for word after over an hour of walking? I may as well just give up on life now because shit... that was it... and I let it go.
I hate being a coward. I wish I could be someone else for a change.
Nov. 12th, 2006 @ 04:44 am
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| » Some more of what I've been up to. |
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Little did I know, that wasn't going to be the case.
I woke up the next day as puffy as the last. I put it down to the fact that I didn't breathe in water through my nose in the shower the night before, thereby not cleaning everything out properly after the activities of the day. I opened the windows and watched a couple of shows until it all died down. Then I took a peek at the mountain of clutter and had myself a little shudder.
I started with the easy things like that big old monitor box with the comics in it. It hadn't been opened since the day I filled it, so I hauled it through after a quick go over of the top of it. I don't know how I got it past the bed in the hall, but I did. It was the biggest box there was, so I set it up at the back of the room, in front of the bookcase. That's when I noticed the space under the bookcase could be filled again since I'd thrown out some completely useless box that had been living under there previously. I had a look around at the stuff I had, and an old shoebox stuck out. That'd fit. I opened it up to have a look at what was inside it, and see if that stuff needed dusting or tossing out so I could refill the box with something better. Boxes are an essential part of the dust free plan because you only really need to dust the outside of the box, and not all the little bits and pieces inside. Inside were a bunch of old memories that soon came flooding back.
The first thing that came out was an old piece of A4 paper. It was the kind I tried my best to take notes on when I was at uni, and was therefore filled with the following. Three lines of notes from the blackboard. Six drawings of noses . One poorly drawn girls face, I think it may be a rudimentary attempted Turner style from an earlier era of me. An uncountable number of eyes; all of them being the left eye. Five sets of lips, heavily rendered. (This was the first thing I learned to render properly after seeing some tutorials online) One line reading, "I want to ask out the girl at Teviot." (Note: I eventually did this, and then ended up being a freaking idiot for almost a couple of years, if not more.) Several Echobelly lyrics, single lines, mixed up. Some scored out drawings of random lines that never quite turned into the fascinating new geometric shapes I was going for. "Blah blah blah" and various incarnations thereof. Several attempts at improving my handwriting by writing my name over and over again and trying to find a nice looking style that I would like, and then forget how to do by the time it came to write again. As you can see, all awesome stuff.
Next came out one of my University year end marks sheets containing probably a set of the lowest marks anyone has ever passed a course with. It was all pulled up to scraping a pass by my awesome group project mark, which I feel no guilt in using to make me pass since I wrote up the entire report one night, and helped build and program the robot. (One of two people on that task, so when I say helped, I mean it was me and a friend working together, not I showed up pointed at stuff and said, "what about there?" until someone put a piece where I pointed, so I could rub my hands, congratulate myself and leave.) That was fun that project. I still can't believe I have a degree considering the ridiculously poor amount of work I did at uni, and my awesome computer crash that took out my final year project and that I'm sure totally sounded like an excuse to all the faculty members that heard it. But, and they'll never read this, so I can tell the truth, it really happened! I took out all my partitions in one fell swoop which means the back-ups that I did make were gone too. They'll never believe that, but oh well, didn't matter in the end anyway.
The next things out of the magic box were a couple of days worth of old diary pages. The excerpt you are about to read is from my life on January 29th, 1999. (I was given diaries for Christmas a few times, but never got much past the first month with filling them out, so I only ever have had diary records of various januarys before now and this blog thingy.) I will add commentary so you don't feel that you've missed out on anything. Commentary will be in italics between the various passages.
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Went to Uni.
Yes, this appears to be a noteworthy happening.
When I was in the uni finishing my CS stuff, the gorgeous girl I now think of as Whistle, sat next to me. For reference, she's the one I saw with John in "The Living Room" and later in "Whistle Binkies."
I have no idea who the "for reference" was for, because I sure as heck was not about to forget that girl. I still remember the first time I saw her. I was at the labs I don't usually go to on the lower floor of Appleton Tower's two computer lab floors. Normally I'd go to the top one because less people like that extra hike, so there was more chance of getting a computer. I was at the right hand end of a lane on the left of the floor, so I was sitting next to the space in the middle. She walked from the back of the room past me and on to the printer. I froze in place when I saw her; she stunned me. She was wearing a black t-shirt with a white design on it, and these trousers that looked kind of like jeans, except they were pin-striped to a certain degree, but darkish blue, and very little contrast between the colours. Her trainers were black and had a nice comfy looking sole. I remember her face. Normally I can't remember faces all that well. I'd say ethnically she was from South East Asia, but I still worry I might be wrong in that assumption and she could be ethnically South American. Either way, I'm fairly sure she was English.
As for that incident I was talking about in the entry, the one at the bars, it went like this. For some reason I found myself out boozing one night with John. We ended up in "The Living Room" and eventually managed to find a seat with a table. I looked over to the left and who did I see at a table across the very far side of the place? You got it. John and I drunk for a while and I did brilliantly at trying not to stare, which I am no good at. I always stare, whether I mean to, or it's rude or not. I'm working on it, okay. Anyhow, eventually we decide to leave because we're fed up of drinking Beamish Red and decide to go get Orkney Dark Island in "Whistle Binkies." I kind of angled her way before I left and while talking to John said, "Whistle Binkies then," and I tried my best to say it slowly and deliberately so she could lip read... because that's how ridiculously my mind worked back then when it came into close proximity to a girl I really liked. They're like Kryptonite to me, I swear. Like magnetic Kryptonite. They pull me in, and rob me of all my powers at the same time. Anyhow, we got to Whistle Binkies and started drinking, near the bar because finding a seat was really going to happen sometime soon, oh sure it was. Then one time I turn around and who's pushing through the throng to get to the bar? You guessed it... unless you said something stupid, in which case, you didn't guess it. She was with some guy who, in hindsight, may well have been just a friend. Anyway they eventually disappeared when John somehow found seats in one of the catacombs. We headed down there, never to be spotted again... I was already bummed because of the depressant effects of the beer and that boy, whoever he was. So who cared? Eventually we were done and we headed outside. I said goodbye to John and we set off our separate ways, him North, me South. I kept looking back, just in case... and to my surprise who should I see emerging before I was out of range of sight? Look, if you're not going to guess sensibly, get out. So her and the boy came out of the place and for some reason they started chatting to the bouncers. One bouncer pointed North, then South in quick succession. Then the two split up, her going North, him going South. He was motoring, I'll tell you that. After I saw she was heading the other way I started up at my normal pace and I was quick then. I was walking for hours everyday and as fast as I can to waste as little time as possible at it. (This was before mp3 players.) He eventually overtook me, and when he got to me, right at that point he took a side-street off to my right, so he crossed right in font of me, and the side-street was kind of doubling back on himself.
You know what, I think I can still remember every time I ever saw that girl. The time she sat next to me at the lab was obviously after that night, and I don't mean a couple of chairs over, I mean the next chair. It happened one other time too at the complete opposite end of the lab (though it was really busy that second time and the one next to me was the only chair.) I never could speak to her, and I tried, or wanted to try, or any of that. After that year when I went back to uni I feared that she'd have already graduated and I'd never see her again... but then when I went to matriculate that very next term, she was about 8 spaces ahead of my in the queue. I don't think I'll ever regret anything more than not talking to that girl.
Missed Kenny and Paul so I didn't play basketball.
I guess this must have been our usual basketball day, but like I said, I was drinking.
Mum brought a tape of "Friends" and "E.R." from Elizabeth's. There was no sound again.
A remarkably frequent occurrence.
Walked to Waterstones and bought "The Odyssey" by Homer, and "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley.
This explains why I was in town late enough to be drinking.
They were penguin classics, on sale, two for the price of one. So I only spent £2.50.
This explains how I could buy books and then drink.
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Eventful days my Januarys.
The next thing I pulled out of the box was a huge stack of rejection letters from when I tried to get a job after high school. I had enough qualifications to get into uni, but wasn't good enough to work in some bookstores, or as an office junior. Yay me. I was two years unemployed, but that stack showed me I'd been trying to get jobs. I realised then what the box was for. I picked up a pile of other junk I didn't want to see again but maybe didn't want to lose either and squished it all into the box. Then I took it and shoved it under the bookcase. The next stuff was piles of old notes, folders, text books, and my other box of comics. I set about it with the hoover and duster trying not to think too much about anything. At some point I was done. I put it all in my room piled in that back corner as best I could.
Things to note about the picture. How low the new bed is compared to the bookcase. That stuff at the back sticks out from that back wall further than you can see. See the red thing in front of the cardboard box? That's a stack of magazines, just sitting there with nowhere to go (the magazines about the lives of the great composers that go with the CD collection) and that pile of books to the left of it, in front of the plastic boxes isn't just that one column, or width. You might also notice the curtains are up and the matching throw is on the bed.
Some point soon, after I'd given up on the whole thing and left it like that, seemingly indefinitely, my mum came in with about £30 worth of new plastic boxes with lids. The old ones didn't have lids and so they were hard to stack and let in the dust, and web-making spiders. She also brought in the curtains and that throw I mentioned earlier.... and new screwdrivers. New screwdrivers are fantastic when you normally have to hunt for the right one, or change the head on one that doesn't have a normal shaped handle. I'm keeping them together in the box forever so I never lose any. Taking down the old curtain rail and putting up the new one was fairly straight forward, except that the only thing to stand on was my wheeled computer chair, on my newly slidable laminate floor. Eventually I got the brackets up and the bar up. I won't bother mentioning how I did that twice, because the first time I'd set it so the first and last bits of cloth were facing outwards instead of inwards (it's a rod with curtains with big hoops in, that kind) and I set the brackets so that they'd be in the right place to hook onto the bar behind the curtain in this position. Then I realised that they had to be facing inwards at the end to close in on the window and block out the light trying to escape around the sides. That meant moving the brackets as well as threading the bar through the hoops the other way. (Yes, I is dunce sometimes.) The throw went on the bed because for that price, the throw was going on the bed. The curtains and throw are faux suede. 100% polyester though.
I took the new plastic boxes and started filling them with all the stuff lying about. One for miscellaneous papers. One for papers and books. One for clothes only to be opened in an emergency, or some horribly formal social occasion. One for the comics I was still reading. As I was about to move this last group I realised that there was dust on them... all of them. It seems every comic, before it got the one placed on top of it placed on top of it, had been sitting out for the month it took the next one to come out, collecting dust. A couple of hours of dusting later and everything was stacked away. Finally the extra overflow on that side was high-rise, instead of a shanty town blocking the path of anyone trying to walk around the other side of the bed. For instance, me, trying to get to my bookcase. Triumph... except I still have some wood filler to put in some gaps, and the rest of the beading for around the edges of the skirting to put on. Other than that, triumph!
Please note... in that last picture, on the table on the left (that's the slidey lidded table) you can see the unlosable pencil next to the normal pencil.
For those of you who have read this entire thing, here's a little thank you. It's some pictures of a Chewbot frolicking in some snow. Note: he'd probably prefer if you thought of it as, like, hunt practice or something more manly than frolicking. Thanks. Oh, if you haven't read it all, shame on you, close your eyes now. No treats for you!
And we're done.
Apr. 19th, 2006 @ 12:19 am
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| » Part III |
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It's much earlier than yesterday. I've halted the whole book moving back thing because it's too late to run the hoover. There's no point in bringing them back in while they might still have dust mites on them, or the entire exercise is a hideous waste of time. My bookcases are arranged a little differently than before. I took the opportunity to move some things about since they were empty. They're arranged in a quasi-alphabetic, meritocracy. I've got anti- you know what, this is stuff for another time. On to my list. I believe we've just passed "Not Bossy" so we're on...
Passionate
No, not all the time. It'd be quite dangerous if I was near her and she was passionately stirring a hot cup of coffee, like she always does. This is one of those things, like cute, that is an element of her personality that comes out when the time is right. Now I'm not just talking about when we make sweet, sweet, love, obviously. I'm talking about having a passion for things too. Can you imagine how dull it would be to share your life with someone that never got passionate about anything? Now, don't get me wrong if T'Pol was real and wanted me, I would so totally be okay with that, and her lack of passion would be only a minor inconvenience, because once every seven years, Yowza! But still, she's passionate about logic. She must be, or it wouldn't rule her life so totally. She's also pretty keen on science which is obvious by her being the science officer on board the Enterprise. So that's another thing passion is about: interests. Now I'm interested in 13th century Dutch Painters, but I have no passion for them, therefore I know none of them, or any of their works. You see what I did there? I'm interested in them on an intellectual level, because I'm interested in the history of art on an intellectual level. But, I don't have enough passion for them to start the research engine and get them known. I don't get animated when I talk about them. A girl with a passion for certain subjects would be heavenly. She'd entice me into her interest with her enthusiasm and great knowledge of the subject and I would do the same for her with my interest, enthusiasm for and great knowledge of "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer." Thus we would open up completely new worlds for each other. But rather than strong interest I'm talking about passion because things get more interesting when the person telling you about them is truly passionate about them. I can't think of examples off the bat, but you must have seen documentaries about subjects narrated by different people. Sometimes it's the guy that wrote the narration and worked on the show and you can hear him wonder at the sights he's showing you, and sometimes it's a guy with a cool voice reading a script, and although the words are pretty and the voice emotive, you can feel there's something missing. Passion breeds enthusiasm which catches attention which instils interest... or you know, something along those lines that is cooler, makes more sense, and Yoda would be more likely to say.
Also passionate is here because when you become passionate you let your guard down and become more open. You live more, feel more, experience more. You get higher highs and lower lows. What's the point of living life if you're not going to do that to its fullest?
All this is, of course, unless your passion is crack.
Moral
No, it doesn't mean I want my lover to be a cop... though maybe she could wear the uniform... but with a skirt inste... sorry, where was I? Moral, yes. Morality. I have no idea if that's the right word for this sentiment, but I can't be bothered looking it up. Yes, I know I could use dictionary.com, but I just don't want to okay. Moral, I think it has something to do with goodness, or justice loving, or making the "right" choices. It has something to do with something, I know that much. Moral to me is all kinds of things that may or may not actually come under one header, and moral may not be the best header I could have chosen. If you can remember back to yesterday you'll remember one thing on this list was "Not Bossy." Part of me not liking the bossy is because I equate bossy quite strongly, in my mind, with greed. I'm not big on the whole greed thing. Now I'm not trying to be all, "You shall be judged against the seven deadly sins" here because I'm not sure what they are and to find out I'd need to rerun "se7en" in my mind and that'd take longer than I'd like. But I think we can agree that greed isn't all that pretty. Yes it's okay to want stuff just for you, but there are levels and limits. This is tough to explain. Let's say you're shopping at Christmas and you see a fantastic new action man with a big plastic gun and you really want it for your collection, but there's only one in the store and you can see some eight year old kid eyeing it. Then you both sprint for it and ... stop! If you're sprinting for it against a kid, man, shame on you.
So it's kind of an ideals thing, and it's tough to put into words because it's so wide ranging. Their sense of morality doesn't have to mesh perfectly with mine on all points. So here are some things. If you drop litter, NO! I don't care if everyone else has done it and the place looks like a tip already, NO! No illegal drug use. You might not agree with the law against some lower rated ones and partake, and that's fine, I'll be friends with you, but we ain't gonna be more than that. Class A drugs, bye bye. No kissing other boys. No sleeping with other boys (just in case she thought she could get away with one without the other.) I mean, it just seems to happen so much these days, or then maybe you just hear about it more. But I want someone moral enough not to do that, even whilst drunk, because I don't believe alcohol is ever an excuse. I hope I've said that already on this thing at some point. A perfect lover would never leave me, but if one wanted to they'd have to let me know before kissing other boys... or then again kiss other boys first but let me know they did that before trying to kiss me again. That's about knowing your responsibilities to other people. She'd have to know her responsibilities not just to me, but everyone else. If you say you'll do something, do it. That leads to trustworthiness, which a moral person would have. (Just in case it seems like I've slipped over this point, let me make something clear. Yes, I am saying if she kissed other boys whilst with me and didn't say, never mind slept with them, it's be over, with no way back. Yes, even whilst drunk.)
Most questions of morality here come from interactions with society (other people) because if you were the only person on the planet you couldn't hurt anyone else so pretty much anything you wanted to get up to would be okay. But we do live in society and other people have rights. My rights end where your rights begin. She'd have to understand that. That's back to greed again isn't it?
Morality also encompasses things we normally take for granted, like... not being a nazi. Not killing people for fun or profit. Yes, I understand most people are moral by this shallow definition, but then a lot fall short of it. (Cheaters, crack addicts, greed fuelled action man collectors, to name a few.)
Wants Me
And here we're at number ten. The last point here is also far and away the most important, though the hardest thing for me to actually tell about a person without some hideously hurtful sign. My perfect lover has got to want me, as much as I would want her. Huh?
I don't ever want to be "Mr Right-Now." I don't want to be the best someone can do. I don't want to be "settled for" or "good enough." I don't want someone to tell themself they'll "grow to love" me. I want to be their "the one." That really is the most important thing. That "Kapow!" factor I'm looking for, well it'd have to be there for her as well. I want everyone to find that, and if a girl settled for me because I was nice, she'd never find that. If I have butterflies every time I see her, I want her to have them too. I want to be the first person she thinks to tell anything to when she gets excited. I don't know if that happens in marriages, or relationships "of convenience" but I can't imagine it would be instinctive. I don't want someone to waste my time and hers thinking that I'll be nice to her and treat her right, and she'll have a nice life, and it would be quite nice. I want that passion I was talking about earlier, and for me, because in some senses I am very greedy.
How would I know if a girl really wanted me? Well, that kissing other boys thing. If she can do that, then she definitely doesn't feel as strongly about me as she should, so I'm keeping her from finding her perfect partner, and I have to let her go. It's not fair to her and it's definitely not fair to me either, because part of what I'm looking for, as denoted by this entry is that level of wanting me. It's an absolute must. How does that simple act equal not wanting me? Well for a start it's ridiculously hurtful and obviously runs the risk of damaging any relationship. If you are willing to take that kind of risk for a quick thrill, there's obviously not the desire I'm looking for in there. I'm sure there are other signs, but I'm not good enough with people to know how to see them. I don't want to be a substitute for someone else because I look or act similarly to them. So it sounds simple. Everyone who would be my lover by definition would to some extent "want me," but that's not good enough. It'd have to be passionately. My perfect lover would be the real deal, not some fly by night cowgirl looking for a fun rest-stop.
Aftword
Well that wraps up my ten things I'd love about you, list. The floodgates may now open as I've created a ton of room in my inbox for your cries of how unreasonable I am and how my too high expectations will lead me to a life of loneliness. I'm ready for them. I'm also ready for people to ask me to explain things again. My headache means I'm not even going to try to proofread or edit this thing. Hopefully after a few days the air will settle and all this stuff I've done will impact my health greatly for the good. At that point I'll make the necessary edits. I'll also get around to telling you everything that went on, and maybe show some of those pictures I've not got around to putting up yet. Tell me what you think of my list, I'd like to hear it.
Apr. 10th, 2006 @ 10:51 pm
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| » Part II |
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It's later than yesterday, but I don't feel so bad about cutting it fine today. At 8am I started moving furniture out of my room... at 1:30am I finally have my bed and this here computer table in my room, new floor, new bed and all. I took a couple of pictures but I don't have the cable through here to connect my camera and show you what went on. My new bed is too long to allow me to sit at my table where I used to, so I'm sitting at the corner of it right now, a little too far from the screen for comfort, and I'm typing. I have one hell of an excuse, but I don't want any bad ones to use me next, so here I am. After I've done with this (which I'm doing first because otherwise I'll give up) I've got an almost full card of things to do. It's pretty much everything except exercise (can you guess why?) and the audio stuff I could listen to as I moved things about. So, without further ado I move on to part two of my series on the perfect girl. I have no idea how many parts this thing is. (Maybe it's two.) But I'm absolutely stopping when I hit my quota. Why do I punish myself so? Perhaps because no-one else will. Perhaps I'll tell you everything I did today. I have to admit, my room is so good now, it's right up there with the unlosable pencil.
Intelligence
I'm not talking IQ here. I'm not talking college education, I'm not talking crossword queen, or sudoku so... se... queen. I'm talking about the ability to think, just a little. I don't want to have to explain movies to her while we're watching them. I want her to want to read all kinds of books for all kinds of reasons, or not read books, but have a reason. (Reading books is surprisingly not a sign of intelligence. I've seen idiots that are actually quite literate.) I want her to ask interesting questions and be able to answer mine. I want her to know what's going on in the world. Ideally I'd like her to be able to speak a foreign language (yes, maybe only so I can learn it) and you know what, I'd love it if English wasn't her first language because it'd open up a whole new culture to explore, and with a guide. That's a bit of a sidetrack though. To me intelligence is little things. It's just knowing what's going on. Improvisation is an indicator. If you're in the middle of laying a laminate floor for the first time and you don't have any 1cm spacers for the edges, you need to be able to come up with a substitute before the wood rots. If someone is being sarcastic she's got to be clued up enough to notice.
I guess this is here not so much as a pro-intelligence thing, since it's hard to define and harder to find examples of, but more as an anti-stupidity thing, which is also kind of hard to define and hard to find examples of. Stupidity is something that can either be blindingly obvious or insidious. If you're taking crack every day and wondering why your life sucks and how come you have no money, you're an idiot. I don't want to be yours forever. I know my crack-addict readership is going to be a little hurt by this, but guys, I can't keep these feelings of mine bottled up any more. Also, as a tiny aside, I'd like to give a big shout-out to all the people that have ever asked "Are you making fun of me?" Listen, if you have to ask...
Sense of Humour
A sense of humour is of course important since if my lover didn't have one she'd never get the benefit of all the fantastic jokes I tell, day in and day out. She'd never pass them on, people would never hear my name, and I'd never get that coveted guest spot on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. I don't think, despite how much I want to I can really write too much about this. I mean it's a pretty straight-forward one. I guess I could stipulate that sense of humour can be defined in a couple of ways and I want both. My perfect lover would not only be able to hear the funny and laugh, hopefully spraying Dr Pepper all over the fl... let's make that Pepsi just because that sounds less heart-breaking... oor by her nose, but also be able to make the funny, and make me and others laugh, hopefully until we spray hot coffee all over each other through our noses, scalding our sinuses, leaving us unable to smell ever again. Her sense of humour must include, but not be limited to, knock-knock jokes, satire, sarcasm, movies about stupid people, puns, farce, doctor doctor jokes, blonde jokes, irony and painful accidents happening to idiots because they were acting like idiots.
Cute
Hurrah, after flying through the first lot for today I've come to one that's very difficult to explain and will no doubt lead to lots of questions. My favourite. (Please note the sarcasm, because it has already noted you.) Cute, as used by me for the purposes of this here list, refers to the ability to be suddenly cute and spontaneous and childlike and, well fun. You know I didn't say fun instead of cute because fun comes in all shapes and sizes. People have fun doing sudoku, watching lots of drivers do hundreds of left turns, clubbing, throwing themselves out of aeroplanes, and lots of other things that have very little to do with each other. Some don't even seem fun to some people. So why does this get its own entry and when am I going to explain it? Well, if you look at the list up to this point and add them altogether you can come up with a hot German rocket designer who has memorised 1001 doctor doctor jokes, second edition. (The design part is where we meet up with style in case you were wondering.. or in case I wanted to add more words) Now she does sound fantastic, I'll grant you that, but there's only going to be so many times you can hear a doctor telling a patient to pull themself together before you find a novel and squishy payload for one of her rockets.
Cute is just the quality of acting cute when the need arises. A hot girl to talk with is great, but if she can't spontaneously do a goofy smile that makes me giggle like a schoolgirl walking barefoot through a storeroom filled with feathers, then... I'm not sure about then actually, but it's not optimal. If you can't just go a little nuts every now an then, what's the point of it all? There's this awesome scene in the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Helpless" where she kicks this vampire down the chute at a kids play park. She runs down after him and says, "That was really funny looking, could you do it again?" and when she say this she screws up her nose at the end. It's great. I guess cute is the ability to become carefree when there's no reason not to be. A girl can be stunning to look at, but if she can't just be cute from time to time, I'm going to feel like I'm on some soap opera, with her walking around all stylish and witty all the time. I know some of you (ROB) will be thinking this is the same thing as sense of humour, or simply a different side of sense of humour, but it's not in my eyes. You can be cute without it being funny. With it just being adorable. Like her holding on to all the covers and scrunching them up to her nose because it's cold. Man, there are a million cute things girls do, but there are some women I've seen who just look like they've been serious all their loves and have never been cute. Cute is where the stop and think to yourself, "She's so awesome" moments would come from. Not everyone has it. As a little contrast and aside, in the Buffy scene mentioned above we then get to see Buffy's sense of humour come into play. After the embarrassing fall the Vampire says, "I'm going to kill you for that." Then she says, "For that? What were you trying to kill me for before?"
Damn it, you know when a girl starts walking around in a guy's shirt that's clearly too big for her, that's not humour, or style, that's just 100% cute. She needs to be able to manufacture other moments of complete cute-osity. I know that most girls will have little endearing things that actually grate on your nerves after a while (Tv tells me this. Why would TV lie?) but the ones that don't end up grating, that are just some awesome little thing that's just hers, that's cute. Beauty is physical looks, style has a little of how you choose to display that, sense of humour is being and understanding the funny, and cute is just an attitude and way of being.
Not Bossy
Another way of being is not bossy. If you're overly bossy, then I'm going to end up disliking you, a lot. I'm sure those of you who've watched "The Apprentice" or pretty much just television will have seen women who are driven, driven, driven. On The Apprentice you see women that are business at the office, then go back to the flat and chat and hang out, and there are others that are business at the office and business in the flat. It's all about business for them, so they must keep things moving and be in control and start trying to order about people that they have no right ordering about. I get one life, and I'm not going to spend it in the company of one of these people. Why work so hard? To earn money. Why do you want to earn money? For security, to have nice things, to have a better standard of living. Better standard of living? Yes, like nicer things, better car, better TV, better house, etc. And what's the point of any of that stuff if you're too busy working or stressing to enjoy it? Shut your face and get back to work, you're not my shrink. I'm going to tell Mr Trump you're worthless. Seriously though, those work all day, I'll have fun when I retire, types, they just turn me right off. Seriously, icicles start-a-hanging. I'm sure they're lovely people underneath it all, but it'd just be too much work trying to get underneath it all. Like I said a while ago, I grew up recently. I don't need managing anymore. (More on the whole growing up thing when I get back to the entry I was going to write before this meme.) So when someone tries to manage me with orders I just get annoyed that I'm getting orders when frankly no-one is my boss, so I don't take orders. I do take requests though. It's all about attitude here. Even if a bossy person come down at home and starts being nice, if they've been bossy with people all day at work and upsetting them, that's not the the kind of person whose behaviour I want to be validating with my attention. Lots of requests and lots of suggestions are fine. A professional attitude at work is fine. But there's a line where go-getter becomes bitchy and if that line is crossed, you're not an empowered woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to ask for it, that title is reserved for those actual women, but the ones who aren't being a bitch about it, bitch. (Yes, guys can be bitches too with this view of them, and that's intended.) I don't like bossy people at all, male or female, so I certainly wouldn't want someone like that as my perfect lover.
Now, without further spell checking or even checking to see if Bossy is complete or needs editing, I'm off to sleep. Part III, tomorrow.
Apr. 10th, 2006 @ 03:10 am
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| » Lateness and memes |
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It's late, and I'm cutting it fine, so instead of your regularly scheduled program, tonight I am bringing to you Plan B.
Plan B is the meme that Rob has so kindly tagged me with and since he's still likely the only person that ever reads this. I think it's abou... okay, so anything likely to come out there is a lie. The facts are I had a plan for something to write, but things got ahead of me and now I'm rushing to get today done. I'm still a "day" behind in calendar terms and I'm not going to miss tonight out, even though I'm so very sleepy. Good excuses, bad excuses, etc. So, as the mighty Plan B I have been holding on to this meme Rob sent around. I'm fairly certain I can knock out 2,000 words on this subject. Some of you, who have no idea what this is about, are wondering what that subject is. You're also wondering if I'm going to "tag" you with this nonsense. Well, the answer to the second question is no, I'm not as heartless and sadistic as Rob. As to the first, well, well it's a list thing. Ten different points of my perfect lover. Now remember this is my perfect lover we're looking at here, so there goes realism, let's see if it flies, or drops like a stone. Rob (the chicken) gave the self-conscious abridged version. I will not. In case you can't work it out from the awesome title, this is about girls...
How to Impress Me
A Guide for Beautiful Girls
- Beauty (Outer)
- Magnetism
- Style
- Intelligence
- Sense of Humour
- Cute
- Not Bossy
- Passionate
- Moral
- Wants Me.
Beauty (Outer)
No, don't get all freaked out, this list isn't in order of importance or anything... because everything is as important as everything else. Ha, tricked you into thinking it wasn't all that important there for a second, but really, it is. I'm not one of those people that can "grow to love someone" so if you're not what I find pretty in the first place, I'm afraid you can't be my lover. Shame huh? I'm sure you're all devastated. So what qualifies in this instance as beauty (outer)? I don't know whether to do this as a large glowing paragraph or a bullet point list.
Well, I guess I'll start with smaller than me. We're talking about perfect here, and that's generally what I go for. I'm not talking midget here. I mean, a finger smaller will do. Same height, fine. I've just never been attracted to women taller than myself. I'm not saying there isn't one out there that might have it all, but I've never encountered her. So, if you're a 6ft 2 supermodel, you have little to fear from my advances. Yay you. I know a lot of you are thinking that this is some kind of power thing, or control thing, and you know what, I don't know enough psychology to confirm or deny that. I don't think it is though. I think it's purely physical attraction stuff.
She's got to be athletic. I know some of you will think that means thin, but it doesn't. Thin is not attractive to me when it's thin for the sake of thin. If you look at any of those skeletal models on a runway you'll see why it's not attractive. So instead I say athletic, as in fit, toned, able to move. That's something that's hard to put into words. Some people just don't know how to move. It's like they've just got a hold of their bodies like they're a new pair of shoes and they don't want to do anything too strenuous and crack the leather. I mean, like they've learned how to walk using just two of the muscles in their legs so it looks awkward, and they're unwilling to try twisting in new ways to learn about all the other excellent muscles in their legs. Now I'm not saying she has to be a sports fanatic, because that kind of girl tends to get an over-sporty way of moving. They move too much like guys after a while. You can tell I've thought about this a lot, huh? So what I'm saying in regards to this is, not too big, not too thin, a bit of toning on the old muscles and the ability to run for a bus or climb a tree if you need to. If you can pull off a bikini... no wait, (I would be the one pulling it off... the bikini that is) if you can wear a bikini comfortably and have people gaping, you go to the top of the class.
Beauty also, of course, is in regards to the face. That's what I'm going to be looking at most of all. A pretty smile can melt me, though not literally, I hope. I'd hate to find out that was literal and I didn't have a bucket around to catch myself in when it happened. A beautiful face is essential, though it's hard for me to define it.
What about boobs? Everyone goes on about them, right. so what about them? Well, so long as you're fit and toned I can't think how they'd be displeasing. However, if you're looking to find out my preference, and of course you are, I'd prefer small over big. Too big, and I have no idea of measures, so I can't quantify, and I'd be less likely to be attracted to you. Silicon would instantly send you plummeting down my list of candidates... unless it was reconstructive. But that's to do with the attractiveness of the brain more than anything. All vanity based plastic surgery falls into this category. It makes me think there's something wrong with your brain. Yes, that makes me sound like an asshole, but I just can't stand the way people who keep getting plastic surgery end up looking, and making the choice to do that to yourself just baffles me. Getting surgery... you know it is actual surgery... where they cut you open and shift bits, no, I just don't get it.
If there are any bits of beauty you feel I've left out from my description and you'd like to know about, pop in a comment and I'll update this with the relevant information. That goes for the rest of the list as I write them.
Magnetism
No, she doesn't have to be able to attract metals, and being one of the X-Men's greatest enemies isn't a sure fire winner with me. What I'm talking about is personal attractiveness. I know some of you are thinking I've already done beauty and you're right, I have, but this is not that. Beauty (outer) is the pure physical characteristics of the way someone looks. Without them being in the right ranges I'm not going to be attracted enough to make you my lover. But, just having the right physical features won't get you there either. I have to be physically attracted to you... like being drawn in by a magnet. I hope you know what I mean. You've surely met some people that are physically very beautiful, but you just never felt attracted to them. That's what I mean. It's a pull you feel when you're near someone. If you're sitting next to someone pretty, but you never feel the need to lean in close... then there's no magnetism there. I think scientists have figured out it's all about pheromones or having complementary antibodies or something. Either way, you just find people that although they tick all the right beauty (outer) boxes, they just don't do it for you. Also, there are pretty people you've found out about the personality of and that turns you off to them. Thus, there's a loss of magnetism. You can't just be pretty, you need that special tractor beam that pulls me in.
Style
Style is another thing that's hard to quantify. I'm certainly not saying you need to know who Jimmy Choo is but then I'm not sure what exactly it is that I'm saying... and I'm not all that sure who Jimmy Choo is. Style in my eyes is just an innate sense of what works. Why is style important? Well, I like to buy stuff that I think is cool. Any lover of mine is, I'd hope, considering this is about my perfect lover, going to be spending time in my house, and my room, with my stuff, and maybe choosing some of it, so therefore style is essential. Naturally this sense of style will be massively compatible with my own. When it comes to clothes and the like, I'm not really bothered. My own sense of style when it comes to clothing, as in for boys, is pretty much non-existent. But since we're talking about a girl here, and a perfect one at that, then some style would be cool. Now, I'm not talking pin-stripe suit, slabs of make-up or all diva'd up. That's not stylish to me... well, a suit can look hot on a girl actually. Make-up, not so much. Just the ability to pick out stuff that looks cool all put together is what I'm looking for. When I say cool, I'm talking about to me, and for the occasion. I'm not talking expensive either. A girl wearing a scarf, a brown woolly jumper and jeans can look super-stylish, (the one I'm thinking of to make that image was also carrying a Guinness at the time which gives her extra-super-special bonus style points.) I'm not sure if any of that makes sense to any of you, but tough, it's my list, and it makes sense to me, so I'm keeping it in here. Now don't go getting on at me because I have absolutely no sense of style whatsoever unless it comes to technology so I shouldn't be "demanding" it in someone else. This list isn't about me. I just happen to know a girl that has that sense of style I'm talking about, and I'd like that in my perfect partner. I know if she went out shopping for a lamp for my desk it'd be something that fits in with everything else on my desk and not just a fancy looking one with a dimmer and chrome and all kinds of adjustable bits because she knows how much I love gadgets and technology. You see what I mean, someone who knows the difference between what's cool and what's expensive, and realises they're definitely not always the same thing, and that neither are cool and cheap. That girl I was talking about also has the cool clothes sense down, in case you were wondering.
The second part of style is knowing what's just stupid. There used to be a time when you'd go to a club or something and you'd be worried about seeing too much mutton dressed as lamb. Well that problem still exists but now we also have the reverse. However, there's also a new dimension. As well as lamb dressed as mutton, we also seem to have the problem of lamb dressed as hookers. Therefore, there's a basic level of style that simply must be exceeded.
Well, I seem to be about to make that magic 2,000 word barrier disappear and I've still got more to say and because of how late it is and the fact that my sense of style is coming into play tomorrow when I dump my carpet and put down new laminate flooring before my new bed arrives, I'll just leave this list like this just now and finish it tomorrow. Then, since I still need another extra entry to be up to date calendar-wise, I'll get back on the normal subject train once my new look room has come into being. Maybe I'll take pictures with my amazingly stylish cameras. See you then.
Apr. 9th, 2006 @ 01:37 am
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| » On visiting the comic shop. |
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Because of the great "Infinite Crisis" massacre over at DC the number of comics I buy on a regular basis has plummeted. That means I can leave them in the shop for longer without picking them up since they'll take up less space than they used to. This time there were only seven books waiting for me, and that's after about a month of not collecting them. So this morning I had a choice of whether or not to go get them. It was kind of dependent on the rain and how I was feeling about the journey and all that and one more thing, my hair. (My old deciding factor - if there was a new Batgirl out - no longer applies.) My hair had somehow managed to grow itself back into a puffy mess with matching puffy mess beard, so I had decided some time ago that I would cut it again before I went into town for my comics.
When I got up in the morning it was bright and sunny outside, the clouds were white and fluffy, and the sky was as blue as a robot's eyes. So after I'd done a couple of chores I decided to cut my hair. I closed the curtains, took off my top so it didn't get itchy, and cut it. Then I had a shower to get rid of the itchy pieces of leftover hair. Then I watched a TV show while I dried, and ticked it off my list. Then I got changed into some new clothes. Then I opened the curtains. Then I cursed, and rolled my eyes. Ah, sweet life giving rain, tumbling from the sky like a badly thrown paper aeroplane made by someone with no grasp of aerodynamics. To cut a long story short, I realised it was going to be showers all day. Eventually, during a dry spot, I decided I'd already cut my hair so I may as well go. Thus begins the story of the first time I've left my house in about a month. No, it actually doesn't get much more interesting. Sorry.
Now, because of the rain, and because I hadn't been out of my house for long enough recently to buy anything, I had a little extra money, so I decided to save myself the hour and a bit it would take to walk into town and just got the bus instead. So I was sitting there reading "Thud!" and I looked up every now and again to make sure there were no ninjas anywhere and I see this advert. There are always adverts, on card, on little rails running along the top of the bus just before it curves into the roof. This one was actually clever, so I'm going to try to recreate it from memory. That means this is paraphrased but it should give you the basic idea.
"That girl just caught you staring at her, so now you're trying to look like you find this sign really fascinating. Pretty soon you're going to have to go back to trying to find things to look at out of the window or reading the small print on the back of your ticket. Don't you wish you'd bought the paper?" It's simple, but oh so accurate. Luckily I had a book with me, but there have been so many times when that ad would have been such a smirking kick in the teeth. I like it.
Anyway, I got off the bus just as this downpour started. Don't get me wrong, it had nothing on the one in Edmonton, but it was big for here. You could feel the diameter of the water droplets, whereas normally you just notice these little patches of damp slapping at your face. So I hustled along to the comic shop, shielding my book with my jacket. A couple of minutes later I was back out again, and standing at the bus stop for the bus home. Normally I would walk home, and if it hadn't been raining I would have walked home, but it was, so I was waiting at the bus stop.
So I stand there at the back of a queue of about four people, under the shelter, and I wait to go home. That's pretty much the extent of my adventure, and it's hardly surprising. Then this girl walks down the street and she's extremely pretty which catches my attention. She's small, fairly dark skin, black hair, blue jeans and with one of those big warm looking black coats on. You know, the type that looks like they're maybe wearing a large woolly jumper (pullover?) on under it. It has that puffy look like the design is taken straight from the Michelin Man's walk in closet. She gets to the bus stop, passing the rest of the queue and stops behind me. This is where I realise I might be staring and desperately wish I had a paper, even though I'd look slightly demented with it dripping and falling to pieces in my hands. She kind of leans over, almost sitting on the little bar that's meant to be a seat at the bus stop, and I think about telling her that it's wet and wouldn't be a great idea but I'm not sure she's actually going to sit on it so I hold off, and anyway, I'm looking at the bottom of the jeans she's wearing and there's a pattern on them. That's tough to describe so I won't bother, but I'm looking at that and it immediately confirms my suspicion that she's not from here, and I don't know why exactly, but it does. She looks either Spanish or Portuguese. I'm pretty sure about that, and I'd probably place my money on Portuguese. But yeah there's a difference between being ethnically from there and actually being from there, so I couldn't be sure until that point, but then I was. Then her head starts coming around so I try to look like I'm randomly looking about for something interesting to look at. I think she notices my eyes are coming back from her and I have no idea if I've convinced her it was part of some sweep around the area, and that's not important in the slightest but I'm just trying to set the mood, okay? Then she starts talking to me. I can't remember the entire conversation, which is unusual for me, but unfortunately so in this case, so I'll have to paraphrase and all that.
"Hello. Could you tell me where eh..." she brings out a small, folded, piece of paper, already partially opened, "... this place is?"
She's definitely foreign. It's the accent that gives her away, not her English, which is perfect. I instantly feel a whole lot dumber than normal. That's one thing that's guaranteed to do that to me. I absolutely hate the fact that my brain has, so far, only been able to grasp one language with any fluency. I take a look at the piece of paper and there are a couple of place names written on it in red ink. There's even a little squiggle where whoever wrote it, (and I presume it's her) tried to get the pen to start, and then they've written over the top of it instead of doing that in the corner and writing in the centre. This one is a big long squiggle, not the short, back and forth hurriedly, squiggle everyone else I've ever met uses. I think she's pointing to the top place name, but she's not obscuring the second one, so maybe she's after both. The top one is Holyrood Park. The bottom is Meadowbank. I have to think about this for a second to make sure I've got it right, even though Holyrood Park is something you can really mistake for something else when you have your head screwed on. I always do this when I'm asked directions. I've probably said this before, but I'm absolutely fantastic at giving directions when I know the place people need directed to. Maybe there's something about the way I look that says human sign post, or maybe they're watching me (and know how good I am), but people just seem to think I'm the guy to ask for directions. Honestly, I've seen people squeeze through a crowd of people to come and ask me for directions. This is actually quite strange, because the names of places are not the kinds of things I generally pay attention to. I'm rubbish with street names. I always think for a while, give directions, then look up places when I get home to be sure that I have't sent some poor sod on a wild goose chase, or off completely in the wrong direction. Back to the story, and I know these places because they're big enough to know, and that's another weird thing. These are areas, not exactly place names. They're not addresses or anything like that, just those words, those two place names.
I look around a bit, mapping things in my head, then I point back the way she came from.
"I think the best way is to go back that way to the high street, and turn right. Go straight down there."
She sees me continuing to think and says "Someone said that I could get there this way. Go up and turn left." She motions the way she was heading before she stopped. She's obviously got directions off someone earlier, but still decided to ask me. Maybe the other guy seemed a little off and she didn't quite trust his knowledge. I give it a couple of seconds of thought and then come up with the best way I know to explain it. Massive hand gestures are in action during the following statements. You can imagine them if you like.
"Well, you can. You could go that way and get there, but... well, you see, if you go that way and turn left you'll see Arthur's Seat." She nods and smiles, she's clearly heard of it or seen it. "The... hill in the middle of the city." It's a volcano, but that word escapes me at that moment. "Well Holyrood Park is that, and the area all around that." I elongate the "all" as I make the hand gestures. "But Meadowbank is on the other side of it." I point in what is almost certainly the exact, as the crow flies, direction to Meadowbank. She sees that it's way more back the way she came than the way she was heading.
"Okay, so up there and take a right?"
"Yeah."
She heads off, out from the shelter of the bus stop, back the way she came, back into the rain. I watch her go. After a few seconds my brain starts up again. Beautiful girls are like kryptonite to me. I just lose all my powers. Afterwards I'm thinking I should have offered to show her the way. I don't care about the rain really. I wasn't doing anything. I could have got her to teach me some of her language on the way, or just any old thing. Then I'm thinking I shouldn't have offered that because that'd create an awkward moment in what was otherwise a startlingly pleasant encounter. I mean, if someone asks you where the coffee is in a supermarket you can show them the way, but not across a whole city right? That's when I realise I know next to nothing about actual human interaction and human behaviour and there'll be more on that next time.
For now though, I want to say I hope the girl found where she was looking for without any problems. It's bizarre, but I really liked her, not as in she was hot, or I fancied her, but I mean I liked her, as a person. She seemed nice... and yet I never got to know her at all and maybe she was a serial killer escaping from the law in her own country. But I'm sure she's great, and I liked her, and she talked nice, and smiled prettily and seemed completely at ease in a foreign country and city where they speak a foreign language in an accent that other people that speak that language often can't understand. There were all these tiny things about her that made her stand out as different from everybody else I've ever met, whereas most people that ask directions are just passing faces with questions. I guess the best way to put the way it felt is, I'm the main character in a TV show about my life, and there are people I know and they're major characters, and then there are bit part characters, and then there are recurring bit-parters, pushing to be major, like the guest stars in TV shows that eventually become regulars, and then there are the extras. When people ask directions they are invariably extras. If they're super chatty and try to hog screen time they can become bit-parters that are soon forgotten. This girl was none of that. She was like a main character from another show and they just crossed her over with mine for a tiny scene to point out that this network's shows all exist in a shared universe, and to give the fans something to get overexcited about. Like that crossover with CSI and CSI: Miami. Or Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis. Or Boston Public and The Practice, or...
Apr. 7th, 2006 @ 09:31 pm
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