I've compiled a list...

...of things that exist in my head that, make me happy to think about. Because I've been bitching all day long...

1) a cupcake with a yellow duckling on the top in icing.
2) a round-neck white cotton t-shirt with Ian Curtis*' face on it.
3) a handwritten letter from a friend with stickers and photos enclosed
4) a kitten wearing a tyrolean sweater and knitted bobble hat.
5) painting my nails with lavender-blue nail varnish, with tiny silver dots.
6) talking only in the present tense. "I am sleeping well, last night. I am having dreams. Let's shopping in Dubai"**.
7) a free ticket to any country that has Starbucks.
8) Marc Jacobs designing a shoe based on my wonderfulness, and Philip Treacy doing a matching hat.
9) sleeping late every day for the rest of my life.
10) papering my apartment walls with pale robin's-egg blue and eggshell-white lace.
11) breaking into exclusive books and stealing all the new books I can carry in a black bag, so many that my entire apartment smells of fresh paper and ink for a week.

Also, I would like my colleague to remove Toto's "Africa" as her cellphone ring. It's been a stressful day and that's just not helping.

* This is why google was invented.
** much like english is spoken in Japan.

The Falcon: Running Hog Wild in Italy, and soon.

Because I'm lazy, herewith an excerpt of a skype conversation with The Falcon* edited for brevity** and spelling, of course. Read on at your own risk.

The Falcon : Well I never! Drugs? I couldn't even name a drug.
betenoir : ...
The Falcon : Hmm. Cocaine would technically be going buck wild. But I am afraid of cocaine.
betenoir : rock n' roll? starting a band?
The Falcon : ALWAYS ROCK N' ROLL! I am ALWAYS STARTING A BAND!
betenoir : ..can I be in it?
The Falcon : No. Yes. Maybe. I know you can sing, but I want to be lead singer.
betenoir : bitch. I'll be the “occasional, need-a-girl-for-this-song singer”
The Falcon : Goddamn though, you were good in Guys and Dolls. Did I ever tell you that?
betenoir : no. thank you.
The Falcon : You can sing backup.
The Falcon : But you will not be paid.
betenoir : fuck you, I won't sing backup

betenoir : I will be the sex appeal
The Falcon : You'd better! Or learn to play the keytar.
betenoir : I will draw the crowds.
betenoir : I will be Nico
The Falcon : I hate Nico.
betenoir : I will DRAWL in a GERMAN ACCENT!!!

betenoir : it’s fine. We’ll fight on stage. It will play well.
The Falcon : Okay. You can be more like Karen O.
betenoir : Okay
The Falcon : Except backup.
betenoir : screw you! I’ll be backup if I can stand in front!
The Falcon : You will stand to the side and a little back. But you can do arm motions.

betenoir : I’ll learn an instrument
The Falcon : Do arm motions as you play the keytar.
betenoir : bass guitar
The Falcon : No, I play bass.
The Falcon : And during concerts we play recorded tracks of me playing bass.
betenoir : why?
The Falcon : Because my bass is unstoppable...We already have a guitarist.
betenoir : who is our guitarist? why not have more than one?
The Falcon : We already have three if we need them.
The Falcon : Drums. We need a drummer.
betenoir : I can do drums
The Falcon : All right, you're on drums.

The Falcon : But you have to drum slutty.
betenoir : drum slutty?
betenoir : what, like with my boobs hanging out, and my bra strap showing?
The Falcon : You'll figure it out.
betenoir : can we still fight on stage?
The Falcon : Sure, sure.
betenoir : sweet.

* this is what happens when you let people choose their own pseudonyms.
** yes, this is the shorter version.

...for want of a comedy the kingdom was lost.

I’ve started watching 7de Laan. Let me qualify that statement: it’s better than Isidingo, which is just unwatchable and might well start reincarnating people soon, the way it’s heading. M-net is no longer doing Open Time (although I'm assured Egoli is still doddering around like some sort of very conservative zombie), etv have some sort of ur-Backstage codswallop and sabc1 has B&B aka The Bold, a show which often makes me wonder if I’m high, because not one minute of that show has any semblance of reality.*

Now, firstly, what happened to this timeslot? It used to be prime time: comedy shows, the occasional good drama, a talk show here and there, and a little sport. Soaps came earlier, for the housewives**, I think was the general idea. They started around four and never extended past five thirty.

Obviously, things have changed. Apparently the masses like nothing better than to come home after a long day at work, and settle down to… a soap opera.

In any case, as soapies do, 7de Laan is shaking things up- Dezi is being a faithless wife (but she has such great hair though, really shiny) and the new-but-actually-returning guy is starting a Grand Romance with the cute boutique girl. He even showed her his pigeons. But something is brewing- he has the flu. Which means he’s going to die, or something. In the meantime, to ramp up the emotional content, we have to suffer through their hugely romantic dates.

Which are awful. It’s kind of icky to watch a real date in progress: PDA’s people, get a room! But being forced to watch the gooey cooing and canoodling of “lovebirds”*** merely to press home the point of how pure and vast their love is, so that the tragedy that’s sure to hit them is even more…well, tragic….it makes me want to drink many, many Alcohol.

In any case: I need to not have to watch 7de Laan any more A change needs to be made. I’d even settle for a game show. Although if it involves Fiona Coyne, I’m outta here.

*although Brooke’s “Pirate Booty” shirt was pretty funny.
**because once you decide to be a stay at home mom there’s nothing you like better than watching the impetuous behaviour of beautiful frivolous, wealthy loonies. It’s, like, a law!
*** the forced, unnatural romance of Mills&Boon novels. Which I have never read. Just heard about. Obviously.

Boringest Days So Far.

Yesterday, I had my informal six-month employee review. Basically I'm doing a good job ("what you do is wonderful, and spot-on...") but I'm disorganised("when you do them"). Hmmm. Also the Untidiness of My Desk came up, as it has been bothering "people". Oh, I cannot guess who that could be. Oh who would have mentioned this*. A Mystery. In any case, I did protest this point, as I have been pretty good about the tidying of the papers and moving the random bits of obsolete equipment to where they can't be seen... as much. So that's a win. Oh, and also I apparently spend too much time on the Interweb. Pah. "Define too much time", I would have said, had I been the innately cooler, more rebellious person I am in my head. But I didn't. But I thought it.

So, the last few days have been a blur of trying to look more organised, which it is hard not to be, as it is so quiet. I've been able to get through a multitude of tasks I haven't had time for but are, I guess, important. I've been bloody cataloguing all the DVDs, VHS cassettes, and cd's in my office**. With descriptions. Seemingly an easy task, except most of the cassettes are hand-labelled, with maybe one post-it bearing a scribbled nametag. So, lots of IMDB research and finding obscure dutch film sites***.

So, that's done. Although I'm sure they'll find some way to make it need more work out into it. I can feel it in my bindles. In the meantime You'll find me doing a stocktake, and then maybe when I'm done I can find something to collate.

Do you think it's wrong to order a beer while I'm working?

*this, children, is what we call Sarcasm. Or perhaps Dramatic Irony. Fine line, fine line.
** and there are lots. Many of them, oddly, in Czech.
**Not porn, you dirty-minded reprobates!!!

FAQ

What's up with you and the bunnies?
pygmy bunnies are super-cute, especially with the big eyes and the flopsy-forward ears. Also, I'm desirous of a pet, but I read Bridget Jones' Diary a while ago* and the thought of dying old and alone and being devoured by my cats/ dogs/ pet rocks became sort of a theme in my more obsessive moments** rabbits are a) vegetarians and b) mostly live in cages, so they don't get to live off my body. A horse would probably also be okay, but they're a bit big, aren't they? A teeny tiny horse, therefore, would be perfect.

What's the weirdest birthday present you ever received?
Mr Flinn sent me a full-frontal naked picture of a young Tony Danza. I'm now pretty convinced that He's the Boss. Tony Danza, I mean.

What's your natural hair colour, anyway?
Sort of a dark-blonde-to-light-golden-brown. It's unexciting, except that in sumer it used to go pretty light. But since I was 16 I've had red hair, auburn, champagne blonde, black, brunette, platinum blonde, and even a brief, accidental period of purple, which taught me the lesson: don't dye your hair in Israel. All of which has been way more fun than my "natural" hair colour, aside from the occasional need to remove all my hair.

Axl Rose: what's up with that?
I dunno. He used to be the epitome of bad-boy cool. Mind you, that as when I was about 11 or 12, but still, everyone that year had the bandanna or the sticker or the little Gn'R pendant/earring whatever. Then he got all weirdy, tubby, and...ginger. How do you suddenly become an eyebrowless Ginge? was he not blonde, most of the Cool years? How does it take ten years to record an album? Actually it's more like 15 at this point. Whether or not the album is good or not is somewhat moot: would people spend money on what is essentially a joke band at this point?

Mind you: people buy Michael learns to Rock***, Avril Lavigne, and Nickelback. Next question.

What's the longest English word in the world?
According to Wikipedia it's (deep breath, now) pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, a 45-letter word which refers to a lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silicious particles, which just goes to show research scientists have as much of a sense of humour as the rest of us. When I was in junior school, however, I was taught that it was Floccinaucinihilipilification, the act of estimating something as worthless, which ironically enough, was what I was doing earlier with Nickelback. Think about it, very time you find yourself contemplating Urine...I mean Irene Bester, you're engaged in Floccinaucinihilipilification. Don't you feel more well-rounded and interesting already?

Why do you swear so much? And why is your blog so relatively sweariness-free?
I can't swear so much on my blog because I'd get blocked, or some shit. The kids read this stuff, you know what I'm saying? But swearing is fun, satisfying, and also it juxtaposes nicely with my cute, sometimes ladylike exterior. Belching loudly and being cynical are also hugely entertaining, especially if I can do all three at the same time.

Better yet: making up my own obscure cusswords. People are never sure how to react when you call them a bok-dancing monkeysmuggler. Or a pituitary-glandular Robespierre. They look at you funny, and that's the cue to feel smug and superior.

What are we having for dinner tonight?
I dunno, what are you cooking?

Don't be like that. I made Sashimi last time.
Yeah, sashimi is hard to make.

Biyatch.
dumbass. What kind of questions are these anyway?

* I'll never admit that again.
** All the time.
***he actually learned to suck.

Self-esteem Issues, Illness, Self-pity and Carrie Bradshaw

I had one of those Sex And The City girls' nights on Saturday night*, the kind where you have one of those awesome, frank, uncensored discussions about sex and relationships, and realise that a) you are not as ridiculously jaded as you though you were, b) you actually feel quite upbeat and positive about relationships and men in general c) women are for the most part pretty pervy, but in a fun and wholesome way, and d) Ryan Gosling, we'd like us some of that, please.

Then came Sunday, and the Amazonian Death Flu**, and with it, the fall of my poor little self-image. Now, I'd like to assert that I have a normal, mostly healthy self-esteem. Yes, there are things about myself I'm not overly fond of***, but I've reached a stage where it doesn't bother me that much, and kind of love myself, and think I'm rad**** (especially my bottom, which is pert, oh yea) but throw in a cocktail of exhaustion and viral agents and suddenly I feel like excrement on the shoe of the universe.

Probably being all feverish and delirious and having slightly greasy hair and an untidy apartment doesn't help. Also, being stuck in bed all day is boring. And when I'm bored I think too much, and also eat Cheetos, which equals Bad Idea. I get to thinking I'm going to die childless alone and be eaten by my rottweiler, which is ridiculous because I'm going to buy a whole bunch of pygmy bunnies and they'll be in cages, so... but you get the idea. Also, I'm not really good with other people for extended periods and the idea of marriage and children has been know to give me the grille, so my paranoia about the abovementioned dying alone scenario is a little confusing.

Dying dressed in a polyester housecoat and ugly orthopaedic shoes: now that's truly terrifying.

...perhaps writing a post when feverish is not the best idea. My posts suck. I suck! The world is a vale of tears and sucktion! Life is Sucky! Poo.

*in the brief hiatus of feeling healthy that fell somewhere between the Bubonic Plague and the Amazonian Death Flu
** Oh, my kidneys, joints and glands will ache? Sweet, I like to multitask. And I hate my lungs anyway, so let's cough those biggers right out, shall we?
*** nose, ankles, could be taller, fall over too often, socially inept and shy, talk too much
**** BTW I'm bringing back the word rad back. Go out and use it.

sick, like the doggie*

Suspiciously, the symptoms started about an hour-and-a-half after the flu injection my doctor tricked me into (with his wily doctor skills). This was shortly before he made me pee into a bowl. Mind you, it was easier than peeing into one of those little plastic cups, it's just that he actually refers to it as "making a weewee into the little bakkie". It makes me feel about four years old.

Anyway, peeing over and done with, blue-cheese-and-avo burger devoured, book bought**, I started feeling awful. Muzzy head, fever, coughing. Luckily I was on leave for two days. And after that it was only a half-day's work until the weekend. Because I used it all on being sick.

Then I came back to work, and between bringing the destruction of everything in existence***, running around looking for things, trying to educate 15-year-olds, wrangling the website designer, and carrying things, I got sick again. I had a day off yesterday but got called four times (once, annoyingly, to be asked where a remote control was), and was asked nicely to pleeeeease come in today.

Now I feel like the undead, truly feverish and nauseous and gurky***. So, Zombie undead, not cool Anne Rice vampire undead. So, thanks, job. You reward me in so many ways.

* wait, where does that expression even come from? Dogs don't get flu or colds, as far as I know... and I'm not into eating my own poop, so...
** so I finally read Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis (took eight hours): okay, dude, enough about your girlfriends and heroin. yes, they were all awesome in bed. Yes, you took a lot of heroin. let's not belabour that point.
*** or something like that: apparently now we've reached the point where nothing can be done without me, but everything that goes wrong is also my fault.
**** screw you it's a word.

Friends in far-away places.

I have a lot of friends all over the world. Now, that may sound all; glamorous and jet-settery, but. really, it's annoying. and kinda sad. I mean, every time I have great time, I think:"Man I wish Bob/ Peter/ Mary/ Squishy McGee* were here. That would be awesome". And on the days I'm sitting home all sad and lonely and bored and feeling friendless and pathetic, it's cold comfort to remind myself that I'm actually very popular... overseas.

I also spend a lot of time on gmail chat and skype, and emailing people. I'm intrinsically lazy, so that's less fun thatn it should be, especially as everybody gets all pissy if I send out group mails.something about not being special and wanting individual attention yadda yadda. Facebook is cool that way because I can send the occasional poke people's way, and it sort of amounts to meaningful human contact. In a a way. If you squint.

I guess, then that it follows logically that I should start to form bonds with people whose blogs I read and comment on (and vice versa). There is now a little blogging community that communicates almost solely through each other's blogs, which is sort of like having pen pals, I guess. Pen pals that swear a lot. and are sometimes inappropriate. So just like when I was 13, then?

I do miss the actual flesh-and-blood people though. Especially Squishy. He was always good for a laugh.

* not their actual names. it would take too long to type all their names and If I left any out there would be hurt feelings and sulking, for sure.

Regrets? I have a few.

so, there are a few things I would really like to have done in my lifetime, but haven't. I mean, I've accomplished a whole lot of really cool things: putting myself through two degrees, getting really involved in photography, living in strange countries for extended periods, giving a volcano the finger-- these are just a few of the awesome things I have enjoyed doing. But I'm talking the really awesome things, my dream activities, my fantasy life.

get your mind out of the gutter.


anyway, herewith find enclosed the aforementioned list of things I would like to accomplish at some point.

1) Being a ninja would be Pretty Damn Cool. I think that my life is essentially an empty sucking void when it comes to my lack of Ninja skills, or skillz as it were. I often imagine how much better everything could be if i could jump around buildings, kicking the shit out of people, throwing shurikens in the supermarket, and generally delivering Hard Life Lessons to people that annoy me. Especially guys who kmake kissy noises at me when they drive past. Or who walk past and are all like: "hey babay" I'm not your fuckin baby. But I digress. who wouldn't want to be accomplished in silent, gymnastic kick-assery?
2) Being an invincible robot ninja would be even better. do I even have to clarify this? I thought not.
3) I would like to smash a beer bottle across the face of a punk-ass. A green one. And not a wine bottle. and no, not smash a beer bottle and cut someone. I want to actually whack the bottle across their cheek, due to their deserving it. I can see it. I think it might be satisfying.
4) wait. A ninja pirate!!!!! holy cross-genre fantasticaciousness! Skaaaaarsgaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrd!
5) Killing a Zombie, obviously. with a crossbow? nothing too gross or bloody, like a chainsaw. whatever: I'd like more than 50 action points a day though.
6) Is it too late to learn to skateboard? or is it too having-a-midlife-crisis? Can women even have midlife crises? I think I would make an awesome skatepunk: I already have a snotty attitude and a tattoo, and enjoy rebelling against authority (ie: The Man).
7) eventually, before I get too old, I'd like to turn Vampire. With an awesome sword that glows blue and steals souls, which would feed my eternal.... ah. wait. that's the plot of Soul Reaver*..... oh whatever.

I really did not intend for this to contain quite as much violence. Oops. Next post: sunshine, kittens and picnics.

* I once found the cheat that allowed me to get the Soul Reaver during Baldur's Gate. It was pretty sweet.

gnah. gnf. blep.

Fah, but my brain is deaded. it's somewhat amazing how a relatively simple but mind-numbing task can rob you of your cognitive power. Also the ability to walk, talk, or breathe through the nose. The key is to find something repetitive and boring, requiring just enough coordination/ skill to make it annoying. Then do it for an entire workday, or two, or (it looks like it's gonna be) three. Add a soupcon of interruptions, other tasks that need to be handled urgently, and a phone that rings constantly. Then bake in a windowless office, until nicely zombified.

I will not be able to make witty conversation tonight, I can just feel it. I hate going out all unwittified. I might as well not wear makeup. Or deodorant. Or pants. I don't feel I am being too arrogant when I claim that I am the Oscar Wilde of my Generation... Okay, Not quite, but certainly the...someone... of... fuckit, I am unable to maintain this post. Here I am trying to be funny and I just cannot pull it off. This is vaguely pathetic. And yet I cannot stop. Oh, and it seems I have lost the ability to speak in contractions.

Help. me.

Some Days are weirder than others.

On the days that I don't feel like being at work, I do weird things to entertain myself. today I have:

• annoyed and intrigued most of the office by asking the unanswerable: "how and where do the staplers go in the copier? what if they run out?" Cue Jocelyn and I taking apart the machine in an attempt to find the source of the stapley goodness. No luck, but I found the pack of spare staples. copier staples have no bends. how cool is that?!!!?
• caught a falling phone book, and reacted by growling and making claw hands, and yelling:" reflexes of a cat!!!!!!". The volunteer did not think that was amusing, but it's not my fault she has no sense of humour.
  
• stood silently by Jocelyn's desk until she noticed me. raised my eyebrows. then walked away.
• answered everyone's "can you do me a favour" by saying "no. no i don't feel like it".
• Gone online window shopping. Does anyone want to buy me some sweet Cons? I'm a size 5 ½.

sigh. 1 Hour 5 mins till I'm free. why is the shortest day also the longest?