post-ironic quotation marks

Slightly neurotic (but cute!) singleton looking for adventure, finical stability, and some delusion of meaning. With much thought in the topic of sincerity and the occasional film review.

Friday, May 26, 2006

First things first, it is Friday night and I am tired. A sad state for a girl to be in, huh.

There is a problem with London. A lack of burritos. Or any good Mexican food. The population tends to avoid eating with their hands if they can help it, leading to the cutting up of pizzas into small bit sized portions. Why? I don't know. Perhaps it is not genteel enough for a society which is concerned about propriety. My boss has a saying about French Provincial food, that it should not be that expensive or made with the best cuts of meat. The same goes for traditional Mexican (you know, tacos, burritos and other food which is proof of god's love for mankind), or even pizza -- it's meant to be made from left overs. If for some reason a burrito costs 11 GBP then either something is terribly amiss with the universe, the place you're getting it from sucks, or the burrito is approximatly the size of texas.

(Notice that I don't bother to exchange the price into American dollars. I'm being paid in pounds. The whole London is expensive thing: yes, London is expensive if you have to double everything because of conversion rates and blah blah blah. I live here, I make so much per hour. I'm amazed that I can get most of my meals for under five pounds, and I get change back. In the States, I'm lucky if I can find a meal that would be just over five dollars. )

I've become one of those horrible people who are addicted to Big Brother. Its not compelling television, its pure voyerism, and I keep refering to the contestents as characters (oops), but there are these little moments when its worth watching. In particular, I find Nikki enduring. I really wanted to hate her because she's the kind of girl who you just want to dislike. She showed up to the house in a playboy bunny costume, for christsakes! But out of all the contestants, she shows remarkable insight into the romantic and political tangle of the house, and is the only person who really has a sense of what's going on with everyone else. And, she's smart enough to recognize her own selfish and negative characteristics, as when discussing the boy's behaviour, realizing that she herself has acted like that in the past. Now the question is to see whether or not she'll continue to make observations without changing herself, or if she'll truly become a better person. But who knows? We might have all been fleeced.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Yay manicy drugs

While I was back in the States, I visted the doctor who decided that having a constant sore throat for a month was not a good thing and put me on two antibiotics. For the past few days I have been happier than happy, exuberant at the slightest thing, and just generally manic. Yippie.

Just thought that you should know.

I watched Eurovision last night. It was ... interesting. The band that won was great, a bunch of happy monsters bouncing on stage singing some punk/pop "Hard Rock Halejulah" and were the best thing I've seen in a while. Along with the Lithuanians who sang a song called "We are the Winners of Eurovision." It was great, although the contest would have been better if everyone decided the point was either to be ironic, or the worst group out there (the french boy and friends were upset when France got points because then they were second to last which is far worse than being last).

So, yes. And no, I haven't heard back from the guy I met on the Harry Potter trip. Oh well, these things seem to happen to me a lot. As long as I hear back from Tor Books, I will be very happy indeed.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

The mouse pad on my computer is being extra-sensitive today. I tap my finger over it, and am afraid that it will open up a link to another page. Or worse, send out an e-mail that is not ready to be sent. I am job hunting again. It is a frustrating process being told to wait while someone from their department might just get back to me. I dislike waiting. What is the point of having a human resouce department if they are unwilling to field my questions? But I am growing a spine and e-mailing back whoever sends me the lovely form e-mails, which read we'll get back to you. sometime. maybe. why don't you do something constructive while you wait, like take up world travelling. i'm sure you'll have an answer then.

it never fails

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

What I chased around London this weekend

Because I just have to share these pictures with EVERYONE. This is part of a puppet show called The Sultan's Elephant which took over the streets of London, and was perhaps one of the most creative and beautiful things I've ever seen -- especially just listening to everyone after the elephant woke up and started to move again.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Here that silence? That is the sound of a young feminist reverting to traditional gender roles as she waits by the telephone. Or e-mail. Or text message. anything.

I might have lamented about this before, but I'm much too lazy to post a link. But why is it that we still have to revert to the man pursuing and the woman being chased? Of course there are a variety of dating books and guides out there, none of which agree with each other. Most of it is common sensical anyway.

Now, for more interesting stuff (besides me bemoaning my love life): brilliant mcsweeney's on Friday. COOKIE MONSTERSEARCHES DEEP WITHINHIMSELF AND ASKS: IS MEREALLY MONSTER?

Thursday, May 04, 2006


Him or me, or both.

I don't know. After a few days of deliberations, he actually came up with a place to meet and a time, and offered them up voluntarily instead of the teeth pulling number we've been doing for the past couple of days.

And we met up last night. But it took awhile to get there. I was just about to leave my apartment when Elge, the new Lithuanian film student, texted me saying that she was coming over to move more of her stuff in. Well, over the weekend we re-arranged that apartment to iron out the inequalities (small scale communism here), making a room that was too small too be a triple a double, and making the large room a quad. Because the French Grrl (who will always be know as that around everyone else in the flat) was not pleased with the new layout, and raising holy terror, I was afraid that Elge would be too. So much so that she might pull out. Eeek. So, I didn't leave when I wanted to. I wrote her a note explaining where her storage space was, and why we did what we did, and left her a cookie. Twenty minutes afterwards, ten minutes to make a twenty minute trip, I leave figuring that I should just a bus to Oxford Circus instead of walking to Lancaster Gate and going directly to Tottenham Court Road. Not the smartest move on my part, because I was impatient and couldn't read the bus map. I assumed that all buses from Bayswater lead to Oxford Circus. They don't. I didn't start panicking until I ended the bus started going over the Thames, and then I frantically texted the guy telling him that I was stuck on a bus and was, indeed, coming, then rushed down to the Victoria line cursing to myself and running over otherwise nice pedestrians who's only crime was to be in my way. The highlight of the evening being when I sat down and frustratingly started crying on the bench.

I did manage to get the pub, forty-five minutes after I was suppose to. And by the graces of god(s), he was still there, and only made fun of my slightly. Until I explained the real reason I was late.

"I ended up in Vauxhill," I said.

"Vauxhill? Didn't you realize that you were going the wrong way," he said

"Well, after Victoria Station I was just curious to see how they would swing back up, but once I saw the water I realized that all hope was lost."

We ended up chatting about stupid stuff (like my lack of interesting stories about myself. If anyone can think of any interesting stories about me, the more embarressing the better, please comment), like how one gets over the fact that their younger sibling is more mature than you are, or parental pressure and dating. He complimented my necklace, a silver celtic knotwork hound that I got for Christmas, which I had to lean into to show him. And then later, he decided to look at my rings. Now, there two methods of looking at a ring which a person is wearing. The first, and most effective method, is to express interest in said ring, and wait for the wearer to take them off and hand them to the other person. This has the benefit of being able to examin the ring. The second way is to bring the hand up closer to you in order to look at the ring, while at the same time gives you an excuse for holding someone's hand. Or maybe he was just really interested in my class ring.

However, the night ended with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I can't even remember if we made any commitment to talking to each other ever again or not. Of course I keep checking my e-mail a hundered times a day, but there's been nothing from anyone except the fund-raisers for the DNC (ahhh, mid-term election season). And while I enjoyed my self, and I think he had fun as well (or why would we even be here, we concluded), although I fear for my reputation around his friends because some of them ended up in the same pub as us, and thus my companion has some explaining to do. I even got introduced to them, and invited on a day trip. But the boy (he needs a better name, I'm consalting with Rose) said that he would tell them stories about me. Luckily, one look at him makes everything he was going to say very, very implausible.

Yet I'm still trying to figure out what that was. If it was just hanging out as friends, or is there any interest on his end (and if there isn't can I just figure it out). Where's my copy of he's just not that into you?

Tuesday, May 02, 2006