Saturday night was the uni reunion, I went last year and it sucked royally because of an ex-boyfriend who apparently loves to make me want to kill myself, even five years later, there he was all "you have no soul", which is an interesting insult when you think about it because maybe he's right? I can't prove otherwise, but then insults that make you think about existential arguments and the inate nature of humanity aren't all that cutting really, he's just a pillock.
We decided this year that we wouldn't even pretend to stay at the halls of residence because fond memories need not be replaced by real life, halls were great when you were 18 and your room was just the pitstop between the bar and the lecture theatre but it was what the halls represented that was great rather than the building itself, so we booked a couple of hotel rooms and felt smug and superior for the evening. Nice.
This, plus me drinking Jack Daniels rather than Tia Maria led to some rather mocking looks, Amit now lists me in his phone as 'Hannarr actually' and I had a full five minute talk on 'seriously man, what happened to you?', until I poured half a glass of Jack Daniels and coke into a glass of Tia Maria and coke, not realising that Amit and Andy were trying to reconnect me to my roots, then they realised nothing had happened to me, take away the mortgage and the car and I'm still an idiot. And yes I drank it. And yes I felt like someone had removed my brain and replaced it with ball bearings the next day. Tiny ball bearings. With spikes on them.
By the way, to answer Moch's question, I totally believe that while it's not intentional but Top Gun is absolutely about Maverick struggling with his sexuality, it's the only way to explain the soundtrack.
'Danger Zone', that's all I'm saying.
Anyway, Saturday night got messy, really messy and I can't talk about why or how (how relieved are YOU? You know who you are.......), it's just that now I have these flashbacks, debilitating ones that make me go "oh god!" every so often, which doesn't bode well when you're back at work.
To properly demonstrate how messy Saturday night got, but without giving away any details that will make someone reading this start to sweat in an unattractive way, at one point I decided the best plan was to lock myself in the security room and hide, which resulted in me being thrown out of the security room by some deeply unimpressed security guards. I bet you never thought that you could get thrown out of the little room where they put the drunkern reprobates did you? Well you can.
Oh the flashbacks, will they never end? I want to fill my head with stuff I can distract myself with, like why is Ray in a wheelchair in the previews of next weeks ER? and I can't believe I missed Grey's Anatomy again this week, It's all TV based stuff, I think I prefer fictional drama about men with hair to real life men with hair (that was a clue there, did you see? Subtle, like a ninja clue).
Think about the decking, the calm prettiness of the soon to be finished decking, Ahhhh.......
There are some photo's on Facebook you can see if you're my friend, they're awful because Andy clearly can't take photo's for shit, seriously, I know it's a camera phone but just STEP BACK MAN! Focus.... That's better.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Brilliant
Top Gun is fucking great. What is Top Gun? You think it's a story about a bunch of fighter pilots.
It is a story about a man's struggle with his own homosexuality. It is! That is what Top Gun is about, man.
You've got Maverick, all right? He's on the edge, man. He's right on the fucking line, all right? And you've got Iceman, and all his crew. They're gay, they represent the gay man, all right? And they're saying, go, go the gay way, go the gay way. He could go both ways.
Kelly McGillis, she's heterosexuality. She's saying: no, no, no, no, no, no, go the normal way, play by the rules, go the normal way. They're saying no, go the gay way, be the gay way, go for the gay way, all right? That is what's going on throughout that whole movie...
He goes to her house, all right? It looks like they're going to have sex, you know, they're just kind of sitting back, he's takin' a shower and everything. They don't have sex. He gets on the motorcycle, drives away. She's like, "What the fuck, what the fuck is going on here?" Next scene, next scene you see her, she's in the elevator, she is dressed like a guy. She's got the cap on, she's got the aviator glasses, she's wearing the same jacket that the Iceman wears. She is, okay, this is how I gotta get this guy, this guy's going towards the gay way, I gotta bring him back, I gotta bring him back from the gay way, so I'm do that through subterfuge, I'm gonna dress like a man. All right? That is how she approaches it.
All right, but the REAL ending of the movie is when they fight the MIGs at the end, all right? Because he has passed over into the gay way. They are this gay fighting fucking force, all right? And they're beating the Russians, the gays are beating the Russians. And it's over, and they fucking land, and Iceman's been trying to get Maverick the entire time, and finally, he's got him, all right? And what is the last fucking line that they have together? They're all hugging and kissing and happy with each other, and Ice comes up to Maverick, and he says, "Man, you can ride my tail, anytime!" And what does Maverick say? "You can ride mine!" Swordfight! Swordfight! Fuckin' A, man!
As explained by Sid (Quentin Tarantino) in Sleep With Me (1994)
It is a story about a man's struggle with his own homosexuality. It is! That is what Top Gun is about, man.
You've got Maverick, all right? He's on the edge, man. He's right on the fucking line, all right? And you've got Iceman, and all his crew. They're gay, they represent the gay man, all right? And they're saying, go, go the gay way, go the gay way. He could go both ways.
Kelly McGillis, she's heterosexuality. She's saying: no, no, no, no, no, no, go the normal way, play by the rules, go the normal way. They're saying no, go the gay way, be the gay way, go for the gay way, all right? That is what's going on throughout that whole movie...
He goes to her house, all right? It looks like they're going to have sex, you know, they're just kind of sitting back, he's takin' a shower and everything. They don't have sex. He gets on the motorcycle, drives away. She's like, "What the fuck, what the fuck is going on here?" Next scene, next scene you see her, she's in the elevator, she is dressed like a guy. She's got the cap on, she's got the aviator glasses, she's wearing the same jacket that the Iceman wears. She is, okay, this is how I gotta get this guy, this guy's going towards the gay way, I gotta bring him back, I gotta bring him back from the gay way, so I'm do that through subterfuge, I'm gonna dress like a man. All right? That is how she approaches it.
All right, but the REAL ending of the movie is when they fight the MIGs at the end, all right? Because he has passed over into the gay way. They are this gay fighting fucking force, all right? And they're beating the Russians, the gays are beating the Russians. And it's over, and they fucking land, and Iceman's been trying to get Maverick the entire time, and finally, he's got him, all right? And what is the last fucking line that they have together? They're all hugging and kissing and happy with each other, and Ice comes up to Maverick, and he says, "Man, you can ride my tail, anytime!" And what does Maverick say? "You can ride mine!" Swordfight! Swordfight! Fuckin' A, man!
As explained by Sid (Quentin Tarantino) in Sleep With Me (1994)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Out for lunch
The girl I’m working with at the moment says there’s a great place down the road, we should go for some lunch, I am desperate to get out of the office so I say yes. It turns out to be a sandwich shop, we order together which confuses the woman behind the counter because really, two chicken salad rolls, one with no cucumber or mayonnaise and one with just no tomato is apparently a much more complicated order than it sounds. As she rings up the till she says “are you paying together?” A moment of awkwardness ensues, both of us stood, not knowing the other well enough to really know what the other is thinking, I am thinking “no, she can bloody well buy her own sandwich”, but I am saying “I’ll get these”, she says “oh, you don’t have to”, I am thinking “what the fuck? Why are you offering to buy this person food? You don’t want to buy her a sandwich, you don’t know her, coming here was not your idea, you don’t even like the look of the sandwich, and the woman behind the counter was offensively stupid, just say ok, just say alright then, pay for your own”, I am saying “no, no, I’ll get them, you drove here”, I am thinking “it wasn’t even a mile!”, I am saying “you can get them next time if you like”, “I am thinking, “this sandwich sucks, there will never be a next time”.
My £450,000 house
I'm working in Hampshire at the moment and staying in Winchester. Winchester is very pretty and ridiculously English and picturesque. Normally I stay in a Holiday Inn near Eastleigh Airport, which is a lot less picturesque, with spectacular views of the M3, but they are fully booked (something sporty is going on, there are lots of cricketers around, this is not interesting to me) so I'm staying in the only available hotel in the surrounding area, a Bed and Breakfast in Winchester.
I mentioned where this B+B was to the lady I'm working with and she made lots of ooooohing noises and said that the address is probably the poshest road in Winchester, which is already to me, the poshest place in the whole world, and as I drove down the private access only Sleepers Hill, I thought yes, private drives, large iron gates, house names like "Oaklands", and "The Grange", Trusty Car and I are not in Longbridge anymore....
It is a very beuatiful house, with eight bedrooms, six of which are rentable, but I can't shake the feeling I'm staying in someone's home, when I opened my bedroom window they were hanging out their washing (in their two acre garden) and there are photographs of their children in the hallway.
This forced me to go out for dinner, whereas I normally like to sulk in my room, order room service and stare at the pilates DVD I take everywhere with me but has thus far never made it out of the box. I went to a french restaurant and I was the only customer (no reflection on the food, I think it was more a reflection of it only being 6.30pm),I sat there wondering if this was me growing up, being able to sit in a restaurant alone, and just think about things for a while, I would certainly never choose to do it but I remember a time when I would rather buy a sandwich and take it back to the hotel than sit in a restaurant on my own. Although there is much less of a chance that the waiter will come over and slime across the table at you while whispering in a appalling french accent "what is a lovely young lady like you doing eating alone?", I resisted the urge to say "I have this nervous tick and every time I get too close to another person I tend to accidently stab them in the face".
I got back to the B+B and flicked through the local trade magazine's they leave in your room so that you can feel like you have every right to sit in a million pound house in Winchester rather than on your half finished decking in Longbridge. I found a house the same size and proportions as mine, with a garden about one sixth of the size, for sale at £450,000.... I rang Glenn and we decided that the only solution was to transport our house, brick by brick, down south, why on earth not? I can live in a tent, hell, for £450,000 I'd live in a tree...
I found my dream house though, for £3 million, it has 6 bedrooms, a master en-suite bigger than my entire upstairs, a hot tub, spa, kitchen the size of Wales, stable block and the bit that sold Glenn - A CINEMA.
Now all I have to do, is make about £10 million, just enough to buy that house, start my alcoholic smoothie business, and take over the world!
I mentioned where this B+B was to the lady I'm working with and she made lots of ooooohing noises and said that the address is probably the poshest road in Winchester, which is already to me, the poshest place in the whole world, and as I drove down the private access only Sleepers Hill, I thought yes, private drives, large iron gates, house names like "Oaklands", and "The Grange", Trusty Car and I are not in Longbridge anymore....
It is a very beuatiful house, with eight bedrooms, six of which are rentable, but I can't shake the feeling I'm staying in someone's home, when I opened my bedroom window they were hanging out their washing (in their two acre garden) and there are photographs of their children in the hallway.
This forced me to go out for dinner, whereas I normally like to sulk in my room, order room service and stare at the pilates DVD I take everywhere with me but has thus far never made it out of the box. I went to a french restaurant and I was the only customer (no reflection on the food, I think it was more a reflection of it only being 6.30pm),I sat there wondering if this was me growing up, being able to sit in a restaurant alone, and just think about things for a while, I would certainly never choose to do it but I remember a time when I would rather buy a sandwich and take it back to the hotel than sit in a restaurant on my own. Although there is much less of a chance that the waiter will come over and slime across the table at you while whispering in a appalling french accent "what is a lovely young lady like you doing eating alone?", I resisted the urge to say "I have this nervous tick and every time I get too close to another person I tend to accidently stab them in the face".
I got back to the B+B and flicked through the local trade magazine's they leave in your room so that you can feel like you have every right to sit in a million pound house in Winchester rather than on your half finished decking in Longbridge. I found a house the same size and proportions as mine, with a garden about one sixth of the size, for sale at £450,000.... I rang Glenn and we decided that the only solution was to transport our house, brick by brick, down south, why on earth not? I can live in a tent, hell, for £450,000 I'd live in a tree...
I found my dream house though, for £3 million, it has 6 bedrooms, a master en-suite bigger than my entire upstairs, a hot tub, spa, kitchen the size of Wales, stable block and the bit that sold Glenn - A CINEMA.
Now all I have to do, is make about £10 million, just enough to buy that house, start my alcoholic smoothie business, and take over the world!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Head. Buzzing.
After my operation I decided to give up caffeine, this wasn't because anyone told me I should, or because I read something in the news, it's because for a few weeks before I was admitted the only thing available to drink where I was working was, unbelievably, these really amazing cappucino's that were 30p. So I went from one or two cups of tea in a day, to five or six strong coffee's, didn't feel particularly different, so I didn't worry.
The day I was admitted, I didn't have anything to drink, because I wasn't allowed, and by 1pm I was feeling really horrible, I was incredibly sleepy, my whole body felt lethargic and heavy, I couldn't string a sentance together and my head felt like someone was inside it with a pickaxe trying to bash a hole out of my skull. I made the connection, no coffee = FEEL LIKE DEATH and decided that I should probably not become so apparently dependant on something again. I took being deprived of caffeine as an opportunity to give it up and apart from a pretty huge relapse in Florence (sometimes the only way to get the attention of a very cute italian waiter is to order a steady stream of espresso's) I've succeeded. Everything in the house is decaf, coffee, tea, coke, bring on the tie dye and wheatgrass because I am half way there.
This morning I visited somewhere new and was offered coffee, I didn't want to appear rude or ingracious so I accepted their offer and now I think my veins are trying to get out of my body. Everything is twitching, my eye's are having problems staying focussed on one place and I typed this whole thing in about 1 minute, I. Can't. Stop. Moving. This is bad, it's like I've had a weird hit of something and it won't wear off, I'm one skinny latte away from painting a mural on the decking with my own blood.
And now Itunes is playing some kind of christmas song because the shuffle function doesn't know it's June.
I'm not sure my brain will recover from this.
Question - We replaced the tea in our house with decaf, and someone Glenn works with advised him that actually the chemicals they use to take the caffeine out of tea is pretty much as harmful as caffeine so we should drink redbush tea if we're going to drink tea at all. It turns out that redbush tea tastes like Mick Hucknell's armpit, so can anyone tell me if that's true?
And now I have to dig a hole through to next door with my fingernails. MAKE IT STOP.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Favourite thing I read this week
You are part Fine Glass of Wine. You are sophisticated and refined, but also complicated and hard to deal with. Not everyone loves you, but those who do swear that you're the coolest thing since sliced bread....
I'm just going to let you think that was written about me, carry on...
I'm just going to let you think that was written about me, carry on...
The country with the ugliest language in the world.
I have been so busy! Which is why no blogging for a while, and certainly not as much blogging as there used to be, like last year when I posted every day because of my lack of a life. Oh! Maybe my creativity got sucked out along with the endo! Maybe the endo was the secret of my powers… what have I done?!
Anyway…. We spent the last few weeks helping others fulfil their dreams, truly, I am the Jimmy Saville of the 21st Century, except with a lot more hair. A couple of weeks ago we flew to Germany to attend a kind of big weekend long party for Glenn’s parents, lots of drinking and an awful lot of sausage eating (of actual sausages, dipped in curry sauce, with chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and some vegetables, drowning in cheese sauce, it is a miracle that Germans live as long as the rest of us but it certainly explains Glenn’s eating habits) and even more beer drinking. Three days where I said goodbye to healthy arteries and hello to being hung over whenever it was day light.
We left Dusseldorf airport in a people carrier, six of us and luggage, six people not used to spending that much time together, about to embark on a 45 minute drive to the small town of Menden, or so we thought. We left the autobahn and took the road to Koln, someone in the back mentioned we might be going in the wrong direction, someone else told that someone to “SHUT UP!”, and so we drove for an hour and ended up in Menden, except it was the wrong Menden and so we drove an hour back to Dusseldorf, and then an hour towards the right Menden, through 5pm Friday evening traffic, making a 45 minute journey last three whole hours. Nice.
At the first party that evening someone claiming to be psychic pulled me to one side, gripped my hand tightly, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I can’t see children in your future, but I can see a lot of dogs”. So that was weird.
This is making it sound like the entire weekend was dreadful, it really wasn’t, we had a wonderful time and I got to see where Glenn spent some of his childhood, which was lovely. He has such fond memories of that place and now I do to.
But I’m never speaking to a psychic ever again, what in the world I was thinking I don’t know, the only coherent thoughts I can remember are “where’s the Jack FUCKING DOGS?! Daniels?”.
Anyway…. We spent the last few weeks helping others fulfil their dreams, truly, I am the Jimmy Saville of the 21st Century, except with a lot more hair. A couple of weeks ago we flew to Germany to attend a kind of big weekend long party for Glenn’s parents, lots of drinking and an awful lot of sausage eating (of actual sausages, dipped in curry sauce, with chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and some vegetables, drowning in cheese sauce, it is a miracle that Germans live as long as the rest of us but it certainly explains Glenn’s eating habits) and even more beer drinking. Three days where I said goodbye to healthy arteries and hello to being hung over whenever it was day light.
We left Dusseldorf airport in a people carrier, six of us and luggage, six people not used to spending that much time together, about to embark on a 45 minute drive to the small town of Menden, or so we thought. We left the autobahn and took the road to Koln, someone in the back mentioned we might be going in the wrong direction, someone else told that someone to “SHUT UP!”, and so we drove for an hour and ended up in Menden, except it was the wrong Menden and so we drove an hour back to Dusseldorf, and then an hour towards the right Menden, through 5pm Friday evening traffic, making a 45 minute journey last three whole hours. Nice.
At the first party that evening someone claiming to be psychic pulled me to one side, gripped my hand tightly, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I can’t see children in your future, but I can see a lot of dogs”. So that was weird.
This is making it sound like the entire weekend was dreadful, it really wasn’t, we had a wonderful time and I got to see where Glenn spent some of his childhood, which was lovely. He has such fond memories of that place and now I do to.
But I’m never speaking to a psychic ever again, what in the world I was thinking I don’t know, the only coherent thoughts I can remember are “where’s the Jack FUCKING DOGS?! Daniels?”.
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