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| A three letter word that, when said, causes all boys under the age of fifteen to giggle uncontrollab |
| 06.05.04 (9:26 am) [edit] |
Written Saturday, 05/06/04.
The word is, of course, sex, and the statement is, no doubted, true. It’s something I’ve experienced – say ‘sex’ in front of under fifteens and they go red, get excited and laugh easily (aka they giggle, blush and get horny). The same is not applicable to girls – they merely cast nervous glances and keep their legs closed.
My writer’s mind gets rather easily bored with terms and stuff relating to Biology, so a fairy tale evolved around it all: Angiosperm is the mother of two very strange children, Xylem and Phloem. Xylem is a drug addict, with his xylem-parenchyma and stuff, and Phloem is a slutty sixteen-year-old mildly resembling Phoebe from Charmed. They have special powers (sending dissolved fluids and stuff around space) and they’re taking over the world, tree by tree.
It all sounds much better in Afrikaans, so please do excuse me if I got the English terms wrong.
Cursed must be the very smart people who know exactly why the world is not about to end (Doom’s Day inspiration courtesy from The Day After Tomorrow) and why exactly that movie is wrong or not. I’ve made peace with the fact that I am not exceptionally bright in any way, nor special and wonderfully intelligent. So I can’t do algebra, and I don’t take Science – I am a hideously dull bore and I shall remain as such till the day my beloved children bury me. I shall also become a world-famous author and take over the world as we know it. Revenge of the Boars, George Lucas might call it.
Of course my secret aspiration is to become some sort of consultant – security consultant, décor consultant, grammar consultant, FBI Special Consultant, it all has that ring to it. Of course the chances of me really making it when I leave school are almost nill, but dreams are dreams.
Well, I’m off to see my aunt now.
~yahoos
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| Llamas don't bloody well fly! |
| 06.04.04 (6:39 pm) [edit] |
Apparently they don't. But this post is not about flying llamas. It is, in fact, not about flying. :shock:
It seems the odds are against me. The exams start this Monday - this time they didn't even bother to [i]loom[/i], they just jumped out from behind a dustbin. I write Biology on Monday, so I'll be utterly terrified when I get past the shock. The really bad news is that the teacher is getting most of the questions out of a handbook I don't have, which is just bloody brilliant.
So it's twenty to five in the am, I'm blogging and my mother's watching Oprah-reruns. How exciting.
Silence is golden, but so is the hair of a Baywatch actress. ~yahoos
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| My God. |
| 06.02.04 (9:58 am) [edit] |
Written Wednesday, 02/06/04.
It’s fucking scary, that’s what. Really fucking terrifying. I’ve come [excuse any later pun] to the conclusion that adult life does not revolve around sex, food and TV: it revolves around sex, sex, and sex. I mean, hell, give them a tilt of alcohol and they’re all over the place, bouncing off the bloody walls. I’m supposed to be the horny teenager. I think they skipped a few life stages somewhere.
Other than the horniness of the people around me, there isn’t much to report; I was stuck at home with a cold for most of the week before last week; this week was acceptable, only because a good Economy class; the exams start Monday, the 7th and I’ve not studied at all. My life in a paragraph.
My inspiration was on a nigh boost last week, though it’s calmed down again; and Schumi’s winning again after the minor setback at Monaco. I still hate Montoya, and I can’t wait till Harry Potter is released later next week.
~yahoos
MOVIE UPDATE: Went to see The Day After Tomorrow. Nice story, and the effects were amazing. Great movie, really something I'd like to see again.
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| We've got it. (We do?) Yes, we do. |
| 05.16.04 (4:31 am) [edit] |
So South Africa is hosting the Soccer World Cup in 2010, and aren't we all excited? Apart from this being a mayor oppertunity, countless now have the chance to go and watch.
Yesterday, went to see Van Helsing and Troy; both were mayor disappointments. Van Helsing was OK, not on my "most loved" list, but somewhere on a list. Now Troy, that's on my "too long, too depressing and too incomplete" list. The characters are almost "half done", with no balance, the movie's effects and such are great but it's too long, and [i]Brad Pitt in a skirt???[/i]. Really.
Oh well. At least I got the chance to see a lot of nice-ish looking guys half naked, on the big screen.
To the guy that dozed,
~yahoos.
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| Good news: Hitler’s dead. |
| 05.16.04 (4:24 am) [edit] |
Bad News: I’m not.
Written Friday, 14/05/04.
Well, it’s two weeks since I celebrated my sixteenth; two weeks not so different from the rest of my life, actually. Though I am more confused now than when I was fifteen; confused that it doesn’t, after all, feel any different to be sour sixteen.
I must say I got some wonderful presents this year: cash, books, cash, books, and oh, did I mention cash? Although I’ve spent most of it already, and only the odd ten rand note remains as a reminder of the former glory of my full wallet. Oh, well.
I’ve been in an absolute stupor for the last week, and the previous week I was too busy to care about anything; now the good feeling’s gone, and only the prospect of another year spent wasted in the preliminary institutions dominating teenager’s lives is staring me square in the eye; and in a desperate bid to keep my sanity I’m considering getting myself into some sort of mental institution.
Of course I’d have to get past my mother first, but that’s a whole other problem entirely and – quite frankly – one I’m not that keen on exploring on this day, at this time.
Some good news among the drawling lines of normality is Schumi’s victory last Sunday, but it’s getting to be a habit and soon it’ll fall among the drawling lines of normality and it’ll become normal and not noteworthy. Of course, Schumi winning and Monty’s car going is an absolute wonderful event, though it also happens often enough to fall among the drawling lines of normality and become normal.
But then, perhaps, then normal would be great.
Its kind of nasty to think that, when you lean back in your chair and stare at the posters on your wall (posters of whomever: Schumi, Heidi Klum, Brad Pitt), that it’s all they’ll ever be, the people on the posters: posters on your wall. You may harbour an obsession with them, but they don’t know you exist and perhaps they never will: unless you gain their attention for five seconds while they scrawl a signature on some photo or something, not knowing (or perhaps choosing to ignore) that you’ll remember that moment forever and that you’ll treasure that odd signature forever too.
The world doesn’t work in any manner of logic any normal human being can understand.
~yahoos
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| Dear Old Dumbles |
| 04.28.04 (10:54 am) [edit] |
Written Wednesday, 28/04/04.
We left the clutches of PTA some days ago (Sunday, actually) and returned to our normal lives in The Mother City. Well, can’t say I enjoyed it much but it was somewhere else than home, school, the town, whatever.
Yesterday was Freedom Day (27 April). Well, as I was six in ’94 and I didn’t really much care about anything other than my own little world of toy animals and drawing and stuff, I can’t say I really celebrated this 10-years-of-freedom stuff, because – well – I grew up into freedom and don’t know much else about that. But it was a public holiday, which meant no school, so I was happy for something at least.
Of course this week had a very good start, when Mikey won the Italian (?) grand prix, hey that’s four in a row now, I think he’s got this season. I find Button a tad annoying but hey, I’ll give him a chance, at least he’s kinda cute, and Montoya is just a ‘guy-without- a -towel’ sort – in other words burn, bastard, burn. Hey, I’m not against self-confidence, it’s the key and everything but hell – there’s a line where it morphs into arrogance. Monty’s crossed that line, and he’s just totally in the woods now, with his comments about his pass attempt on Michael. He buggered it, but typical him – blame the German.
Of course Mikey’s an arrogant twit too, but everyone likes him because he has a button mouth and ‘pulled-the-team-to gether’-thing going, and this cool nonchalance and well – he’s been around for more than a decade, you can’t not like him, really.
Finished 2 books this month, so I feel good: A White Merc With Wings; Dark Moon. I recommend both. AWMWW is a tongue-in-cheek kinda book, Dark Moon is heroic fantasy (by the King of all Kings of Heroic Fantasy, Mr. D. Gemmell). Reading these books make me realize I have nowhere to go; you see all these people rushing past, driving across bridges and stuff, and you think ‘hey, they’re going somewhere’; then I think, ‘hey, I’m not’.
Thinking is just dangerous, really.
As I have no life, I must go kill some Nazis.
~yahoos
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| Chicken salad with no chicken. |
| 04.25.04 (1:00 am) [edit] |
Written Friday, 23/04/04.
Sure, the few pieces of chicken I found in the chicken salad was good, but they would have been better if they weren’t smothered in tomatoes and leaves and pieces of fried bread which, I know, also has some fancy name, but it comes down to the same thing. Of course, if I had known the chicken salad would be so devoid of chicken, I wouldn’t have ordered it, but the hosts caught me off guard and hungry.
Except for the chickenless chicken salad, the dinner I had last night with my soon-to-be stepfamily wasn’t that bad. Of course I was the only teenager, but hey, the food was good. Besides, none of my friends would’ve liked it there – one is too shy, the other wouldn’t have agreed to come along, the other is loud and boisterous – and my cousin wasn’t even an option. I am still hung-up about things they said behind my back – and gods, I hate them all.
I find myself in PTA, at my aunts. We’ll be staying the weekend. It was her birthday yesterday. I’m glad, of course, to miss a day of school. Blogging about school, the homestudy-thing might be coming through. My mother’s really considering it – and she’s been doing some maths in her head, about the petrol we’ll save, and so forth and so on. Of course there’s a catch – I’ll have to get up a certain time, complete a certain amount of work, do exercise…but those things are indeed small prices to be paid for the privilege of [i]not going to school[/i].
We left the tenants behind, so no news on any of them freaks – though Mr. P might be dropping by in a desperate attempt to save himself from Rev. Cloete’s preaching and moaning.
If I have it right, there’s F1 this weekend – there wasn’t any last weekend, which pissed me off smightily and then some – and of course Schumi will win, he’s practically a god on the track, so…well, even if he doesn’t, Monty’s engine is sure to blow up and that, ladies and gentlemen, is better than five Schumi victories. His partner, Ralf – poor dude. So cute but so scared. He doesn’t overtake. Perhaps he’s realized this isn’t playing vroom-vroom with little plastic cars and that you can actually smash yourself to a pulp if you make a mistake. I don’t blame him for being afraid, but [i]honestly[/i] – be a little reckless, won’t you?
My Fanfiction/writing is at an absolute halt, I have so much I want to do but no means of doing it. It’s rather annoying. Writer’s block is a real bitch. Damn you, writing scum! :shakes fist in a threatening manner:
7 days to go till my big day. It’s looming at me, I swear.
~yahoos
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| I’ve been weird for eleven years (as I cannot account for the first four). |
| 04.25.04 (12:59 am) [edit] |
Written Wednesday, 21/04/04.
If first impressions last forever, I’m screwed.
When I meet someone new, they assume I’m just your regular meany fatgirl, because I am – in fact – shy when it comes to new people. Those first few minutes, before I have a tap on them, and who they are, are horrible for me – after that, I relax, and may seem less aloof. Problem is, they rarely stay for a few minutes before moving off again, and they leave thinking I’m a prick, and that they should avoid me at all costs.
How irksome.
However, there are a rare few who realize that I’m actually a really nice person – once you get to know me – and they seem to stick around. I’m glad the whole world hasn’t collapsed into stamping someone as “Agreeable”, “Neutral” or “Avoid” in the first two minutes.
Things are better now between my friend, and me though I’ve still not apologized – allow me my pride. Pride, something else that’s been in overflow since Steve and Patricia came back, broken up and sulking: Rev. Cloete and Mr. P – who are, despite their differences, great friends – are still caught on the “gay-swing” Mr. P had, because Rev. Cloete refuses to apologize for his blatant judgement, and Mr. P won’t forgive him without that apology. This may be why Rev. Cloete is still not back. Steve and Patricia are both sulking and sour.
Judgement is also something that’s been irking me for some time now – especially when someone’s labelled on the colour of their skin, or how they look. There’s this one guy in my Afrikaans-class that’s so obviously racist, I want to pound him to a pulp, rip off his ears and stuff them up his ass. One of my best friends is black and, quite frankly, I’ve never been sympathetic towards the “Boeremag” and “AWB” or these boere-loyalties that underline the importance of a pure nation. It baffles me how petty and annoying these sons-of-racists (because that is where they get it from – boys [very few girls] learn these things from their fathers) can be – chucking objects at someone! Honestly! They’re so propped full of this “pureblood nation”-propaganda, they’ve forgotten they’re sixteen. Grow up, build a bridge and get over it!
I have a dinner-thing tomorrow evening (though its not finalized yet) with my stepfamily (or soon to be, anyway). And this weekend I’m off to Pretoria to celebrate my aunt’s birthday + it’s a long weekend, so we’ll be staying a while afterwards.
A big surprise is that we have no homework. It’s so odd, it’s suspicious. Of course, I know that these things pretending to be our teachers are actually aliens undercover, and that they’re working steadily to world domination – by turning us into evil minions. Perhaps they’re trying to soften us up or something.
9 days to go to my birthday – that’s sudden.
~yahoos
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| Why, I’ll have that guy in the corner – and do you offer bulk discounts on children? |
| 04.25.04 (12:58 am) [edit] |
Written Tuesday, 20/04/04.
Human trafficking. Not drug trafficking, money laundering, but human trafficking. Gods. We may call ourselves human, build huts and advance into a prissy, “we’re-better -that-you” race, but we are a long way of being civilized. Human trafficking. Forced prostitution. It’s primal.
Being thoroughly pitted against all forces of logic (I’m not a great fan of logic; of course it’s necessary, but it’s just like voting – not really all that important to the normal being), I cannot help myself wonder how aliens would see us. Assuming, of course, that there are aliens (there are), and that they’re not yet a matter of logic (soon they’ll be). Honestly, I wouldn’t blame them for blasting us into oblivion – we’re pretty fucked up, you know. I think they’d see us as this vein race of things, who live to satisfy their own needs (assuming that they’re not the same as us; and by just satisfying our own needs, I mean we live for ourselves, not stopping to help or do something for the greater good).
Of course, they may just see us as labrats (Restaurant At the End of the Universe), to practise stuff on and when we bore them, blast us into oblivion. Not at all a bad prospect.
I wonder, too, what they’ll say, if they drop by for a visit. “Hi, I’m Marl, I’m from the other side of the galaxy”; or “Grunt grunt, grunt – strain – grunt”, or perhaps *in your mind*, “We are the [insert weird name here] from [insert galactic address here] and we come in [insert hostility here; either “peace”, “war” or “brotherhood” ]. The possibilities are endless, really. And slightly horrifying.
Well, cheer up! The worst it yet to come, right?
Right.
It’s interesting how suddenly alliances and friendships can shatter – one comment, one confrontation, and all is pissed off. It happened to me – I confronted a friend about a lie. She went bezerk, blew her top; as it turns out, it was a mere misunderstanding, but now she’s pissed at me and can’t see my side of the story. Of course, I was too proud to apologize – maybe tomorrow.
It’s my birthday in ten days, but I’m not really excited about it. Why, today is Adolfie’s birthday – poor guy.
Oh well, I suppose dictators must have these special days too.
~yahoos
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| I think I might be a werewolf. |
| 04.25.04 (12:57 am) [edit] |
Written Monday, 19/04/04.
Dear Rupe,
I think my moodiness might be connected to some greater force than me. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for – at least then sobbing over absolute nothing in particular will make me feel useful instead of girly. Mind, I have nothing against my sex and nether regions – it’s just the combination of personality that comes with it that pisses me off.
I wouldn’t really mind being the instrument of some greater fate at work; gives meaning to my otherwise meaningless life. I’m still waiting on news concerning my schooling predicament – I want to drop out and do home study, but me mam won’t let me. Of course she blames finances – don’t all parents? – but apparently there’s something else she’s “waiting for”. I can only guess what it is. Every time I bring it up she goes rigid, so I’ve abandoned attempts to drag information out of her. I’ll wait, patiently…and who knows? Soon I could say good-bye to early mornings!
Of course Patricia is in stellar support of this home study thing, because then I’m there all day to sort out her and everyone else’s problems. Or perhaps she’s just genuinely looking for conversation, or company – company other, of course, than Steve (who is sulking about life, join the club), Mr. P (who’s still hung-up on the farmgirl, and also sulking) and Rev. Cloete (who isn’t even back yet, but memories haunt you). However, she’s a very high-class type of girl, and we have little to nothing in common. And she doesn’t like my mother.
I’m still bushed about Love Under Will, and now I keep eyeing people at my school, and wondering whether they’d make a nice couple. These musings aren’t limited to opposite-sex teens, but same-sex couples as well. Gods. This fic may well make me play for both teams; why can’t one have both sides of the fence?
Blogging of fences, have I mentioned what a prick school is? Ugh. I’m scraping through this term, and the new term promises to be worse. Well. Most of the teachers ramble away, getting lost in the stream of information streaming from them, and then spend the rest of the lesson trying to swim out of the current. Can they blame us for being baffled beyond recover?
Current Music: None.
Current Mood: Chiselling.
Current Book: Dark Moon, D. Gemmell (who is, btw, an excellent writer)
Current Crush: Still Schumi.
Current Preoccupation: Writing a slashfic, or any fic, for that matter.
Current Assignment: I’ve been awarded the task of stalking someone. Pleasant.
Current Embarrassment: My life.
Current FictionCrush: Tarantio (and Duce)
~yahoos
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| If cheese could talk. |
| 04.18.04 (2:25 pm) [edit] |
[i]You want to touch me. You want to taste me. You want to eat me. How do you like it, eh??? Chopped up, melted, on toast, in sauce, in slices, crumbled over a crumpet...hmmmm. I'm so turned on I could eat myself.[/i] - Conversations With Cheese, a Yahoos' edition.
BIG NEWS: Steve and Patricia are back, they've split up and now they can't stand each other (not like they ever could; lust, I tell you). Mr. P is also crushed, after his "perfect farmgirl" wasn't so perfect after all - she's a zolhead. Rev. Cloete is still away, but he phoned yesterday to inform me that everything is well, and he should be back this week.
It's barely started again (hell - school - homework) and I'm already behind with my homework. Gods. Those teachers are bloody well insane, I tell you. Homework-happy. It's slightly disturbing.
I'm still all of a hither over this fic I found - see links - and now I'm jealous because I want to write something fantastic, I have the ideas but [i]nothing's happening[/i]. I also created another identity at FA under which I plan to post a different kind of genre.
I had a wide range of strange and ever so slightly disturbing dreams; my favorite teacher featured in one, carrying spray-it-on super forumula something which, with the combination of the right words, can change people into whatever you want. In another, there was a really magnificent palace with black floors and golden drapes, and men screwing each other.
The election-hub is dying down now, leaving SA in a right state. And the posters are still dangling from the lampposts, which must be really annoying if you're a lamppost, and we all know that lampposts are aliens in disguise anyway, aliens - moreover - plotting earth's destruction, so damn them who gives a damn if [i]they're[/i] uncomfortable. It's the least they deserve.
I suppose I should blog off until next weekend, as it's late and it's school tomorrow. Glory. :x
Cheese knows more than it lets on.
~yahoos
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| Fatness is happiness. Drunkenness is even better. |
| 04.18.04 (12:57 pm) [edit] |
Written Sunday, 18/04/04.
Have you ever felt so completely empty, that you're stupified with the breadth of it? Have you ever felt alone, even though you're surrounded by people? This poem I wrote a while ago sums up how I basically feel.
~~Depression~~
I lie here in a darkened room,
jagged shadows dancing on the wall.
I lie in anguish, tearing at the comfort
that does not exist –
Hands ripping at the softness
of the blankets, desperate for any
consolation;
I lie here, in the darkness,
willing death to take me,
drowning in my agony,
the people across the hall
oblivious to my misery.
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| Chocolate: Main Cause of Murder. |
| 04.17.04 (7:55 am) [edit] |
Written Saturday, 17/04/04.
Reasons to live:
1. Why, I can't think of any.
2. Nope, still nothing.
3. Maybe - no. No, nothing.
4. Hmm...er, no. Doesn't count.
5. Hey - NOTHING!
Conclusion: I have no reasons left to live.
This may be my last entry.
~yahoos
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| Works well when cornered like a rat. |
| 04.16.04 (10:21 am) [edit] |
Written Friday, 16/04/04.
After two days of school, I’m welcoming the weekend – by doing as little as possible.
It seems to me that the entire teacher-population of my quaint little high school is insane. We’re not even two days into the new term, and already I am swamped by homework. Weekend-homework, on the first weekend? Honestly. It borders on the ludicrous.
Most of my friends are preoccupied with their test results, ect., and much of the depressed/hopeless silences filling our “conversations̶ 1; are due to bad results. The whole grade’s been dumped into the deep end this year: we’ve had OBE (Orientation Based Education, or something like that) for the last two years and now all of a sudden we return to the original syllabus. OBE was a breeze. What we’re doing now, is not. Shit happens, I s’pose.
Got cheese?
~yahoos
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| Dear Lost Friend. |
| 04.16.04 (10:20 am) [edit] |
Written Thursday, 15/04/04.
It’s a real pity that our friendship had to come to end as it did. Perhaps you wrote me off months ago, and maybe I’ve still hoped that it could be rekindled, in some way. It cannot be. I refuse to associate myself with someone like you; someone who does not grant friends and family the appreciation, praise and loyalty they deserve.
You are a coward.
You deny others happiness, because you are not happy. You deny yourself happiness. You falter into petty jealousy and competition. You measure yourself up to other people. If they beat you at something – something like writing faster than you – you feel a failure. You need to take revenge, then, to justify yourself. It’s sad, really.
Between the two of us, a panel of judges might decide that I am the most likely for the psych-department. They would be wrong. I have my faults and fears (and many at that), but I do not need to look at someone else, and think “Hey, I’m prettier than her”, or “I’m smarter than him”, to feel proud of myself. You do. You need to constantly bring down the self-respect of those around you, to be able to respect yourself. You need to feel above them, to feel happy. When you fail, you totter.
I’ve always ignored this, during our friendship. I looked past your imperfections. Perhaps you thought I did not see you; I did. I tried to accept that part, and to overcome it. We were friends. I accepted you as you were, with boots and all, and in return expected the same. But you were unwilling to make compromises I have made, to save the friendship.
Surely, I am to blame too in this destruction – I am not perfect, I am human. We both are. I made peace with it. You could not. I tried to accept you. You could not accept me. What was I to do?
You left, seeking greener grass with less challenging friends. People you could easily defeat in everything you regarded important. I hope you are happy, with your friends. I am not among them and I’m sure you do not count me among them. I am glad. I’m not prepared to change everything I am, because you’re jealous of it. I am not willing to sacrifice so much, when I know you wouldn’t do the same in return. Call me selfish, I’m sure it will make you feel better.
I sincerely hope you are happy. I am. And despite everything, I grant you that happiness, because you do deserve it. I cannot help wondering, however, whether you grant me the same?
…
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| I’m not dead. Honestly. |
| 04.16.04 (10:19 am) [edit] |
Written 15/04/04, Thursday.
Well, my hopes were dashed – ANC got approximately 69.78% of the votes. But hey, what the hell – the worst is yet to come, right?
I keep saying that, desperately trying to convince myself of it. Nothing seems so bad if you know something even worse is on its jolly way. Maybe we’ll get some evil dictator next. Perhaps there will be a army-supported dictator (there’s a fancy name for that, it’s just escaping me now). What the hell, why not start a war? All good, right?
To be honestly truthful (there’s another fancy word for that right there), there was no doubt ANC would win. But isn’t the perfect democracy two strong parties, head to head? They keep each other in check. Not so here; a bunch of small parties (the Independent Democrats beings among them; they received something like 1.87% of the votes) struggle to survive. Why can’t they just join up, leave old baggage behind and move on? But no, politics doesn’t even [i]concern[/i] elections and so forth anymore – it’s all about a bunch of old people who sincerely believe they can rule, competing against each other, setting low standards and failing to achieve them. It’s insanity; really.
As I’m writing this I’m lucky to be alive. We got our raw examination marks back to-day, and moi will get thru, I am proud to announce. I didn’t do that good (I suspect it has something to do with me not really studying as hard as I should have been), but I’ll be fine when my other marks and stuff are added up, divided, multiplied and voodoo-ed, to produce a shiny term mark. My mother did not, despite my obvious belief, torture me, pull out my toenails, skin me alive, ect. ect. ect.
I’ll be stuck doing revision for the next few days (i.e tomorrow, next week), my inspiration is at an all time low, and I’m still baffled by the absolute petty jealousy that broke a long friendship to the ground. I granted her acknowledgment and praise for her achievements and talents, but she refused to do the same for me – because hatred, jealousy, depression, whatever. I dunno. [Don’t compare yourself to others – they are more screwed up than you think]
Mr. P is getting ridiculous. Now he’s decided he’s not gay after all, and that he’s in love with a farmgirl he met at some godforsaken bar. I have not told Rev. Cloete anything about this, because he would probable rush back – something we don’t want. The longer he stays away, the more time it gives Mr. P to decide which side of the fence he wants to graze on, if any side at all, or both; plus, I don’t have to be stuck with him (Rev. C) for hours on end. Rev. C no longer has a – er – community, is it called? Well, he no longer has a congregation. He has no other job, loaves around the house and lives off his inheritance.
Galling, as Mr. P rightfully said – but then again, he and Rev. Cloete feel daggers for each other, so…you get the idea.
I must re-launch the almost-forgotten Stella Project. Perhaps I will.
Gods, Goku is annoying, always [i]saving the day[/i]. Huuuuur.
~yahoos
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| Happiness in a nutshell. Five pennies an ounce. |
| 04.16.04 (10:17 am) [edit] |
Written Wednesday, 14/04/04.
Today is Election Day, and the last day of the Easter holidays. I don’t know which is worse: a new president, or a new term?
That it to say, if there is a new president. ANC will probable win by a lot again, I’m just praying it’s not a 2/3 majority. God alone knows what will happen then. Then they can pass whichever laws they please. They’ll probable ban the actual baby products, such as baby feed powder and bottles next, not just the advertising thereof. They want women to breastfeed the kids until they’re like three years old. They may have the time, but some people don’t, and I’m definitely not spending my whole life nursing little brats. (That is to say, when and if I decide to curse the little children and have them).
Honestly. With the amount of politics going on, I’m starting to [i]feel[/i] crooked. Four years to go till the next dawn of the end approaches (the next election). I’ll be able to vote then. I’m going Independent Democrats – I like Patricia.
There is a chance tomorrow’ll be declared a public holiday, so that voting can continue. I just hope it’s applicable on schools too. Give me another day any day.
My friendships are in a mess. Why can’t we just all be happy?
Meanwhile, Mr. P’s back, heartbroken and mostly drunk. Steve and Patricia are still eloping and Rev. C is still away. I repeat, why can’t we just all be happy?
There must be more to life than blogging, crushes on cartoons and friends rendered insane by the choice of their actions,
~yahoos
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| Got slash? |
| 04.16.04 (10:15 am) [edit] |
Written Tuesday, 13/04/04.
It seems my inspiration is stuck in the shithole again, and I haven’t been able to write anything decent so far. I’m trying for a sequel to Crimson Tears, a slashfic with RJ Lupin and a oneshot about Tom Riddle and what may have caused him to become who he is (working on the theory that he was abused at the orphanage). So many ideas, so little inspiration. Soon, I hope.
Meanwhile Steve and Patricia are still planning to get married. I haven’t seen Mr. P for days and Rev. Cloete is still in denial but luckily (for me) visiting friends in some godforsaken place in the Kalahari.
School is starting the day after tomorrow. Ugh. I shudder at the very thought of going back there. Usually, after three weeks of lazing about and doing as little as possible, one’s excited to get back “into the mix of things”. Not this year. Somewhere, something went horrible wrong, I tell you.
Had a look at Tom Felton’s official website. Hmm. I’ve never been a great fan (I’m all of a hither over Alan Rickman, Jason Isaacs and Gary Oldman, what can I say?), but there are some nice pics. Lowpoint is the fact that you have to join for “a small fee” and you get all the photos and stuff you want. If I had the money to blast, I would rather join a Schumi site or something. Hur.
Speaking of Schumi, something to look forward to is the GP this weekend. At least, I think it’s this weekend. Hmm. Well, I’m already the worst obsessed fan ever, it can’t get any worse, can it? Besides, I may not even make it to the weekend. Not if my mam sees my report. :shock:
Notice how they still sell Easter eggs, even though Easter is over?
~yahoos
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| Damn you, aqua scum! |
| 04.11.04 (10:25 am) [edit] |
Written Sunday, 11/04/04.
Dear Rupert,
Four days to go, till the beginning of the end (again).
I’m writing, of course, about the beginning of the second term of the new school year. God help me (and kill those ruddy teachers). Of course, the worst is waiting for me there – my report. I can truly say that I’ve never been so nervous about a report ever. I’ve made a solemn vow to study harder this term. But of course, vows can be broken.
To top it all off, Steve and Patricia are getting married. Married. Gods. When two people hate each other, you don’t expect them to go galumphing off in a whirlwind of lust (note, LUST, not love, two different concepts that basically excuse each other). Honestly. And yesterday afternoon Mr. P announces that he’s gay (but experimenting), and now Rev. Cloete is in denial about it, because he feels Mr. P betrayed him somehow.
Now, Steve and Patricia are off to some exotic location, Mr. P is sleeping around, leaving me worried for his AIDS-status and, above all, leaving me alone with Rev. Cloete for hours on end. [i]Hours[/i]. Does he want me to die?
A light spot amid a mess of black ones, is the fact that Crimson Tears seems to be doing well, as is A Different Kind of Bravery, and I feel inspired enough to start with Innocent Eyes again. I’ve decided to remove Shadow Monster and Eternity Beyond the Keyhole, edit and finish them, then post them. Or delete them. They’re the first of my Fanfiction, the experiments, and I want to move beyond them. I feel they’re going nowhere, and weighing me down.
I just wish the shouting would stop.
~yahoos
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| The food is perfectly acceptable, woman. |
| 04.10.04 (10:40 am) [edit] |
This isn't about food. This is about - [i]me[/i]! Ha!
Well, I'm up there again, dancing around in heaven because I got a few good reviews for my fics, Crimson Tears and A Different Kind of Bravery. It's nice to know people actually like your work. It...gives meaning where there previously was none.
God bless deeper meanings. :D
I'll stop being annoyingly happy.
It's Easter, duh,
~yahoos
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| Hi. My name is Sam. I’m generally fucked-up. |
| 04.08.04 (1:26 pm) [edit] |
Written 08/04/04, Thursday.
Yesterday, cousin and I had a decent, long conversation, which consisted mostly of what we wish to accomplish and how our houses will look if we have the resources to build and design them to our wishes, whence the time comes. Of course, he’s aiming to become a business mogul of some kind (mind you, I think he has the talents required), and me – well, I’ll settle for a best selling author.
I really don’t know whether my writing will carry me as far – I have no problem with writing Fanfiction and my own poems, but as far a good, long, completed original story escapes me. I have several gathering dust on my hard drive but nothing that I feel is good enough – I may be a sluggard in general but when it comes to writing and creativity and such I tend to be a perfectionist.
Of course my mother (and my cousin, but he’s just sucking up) all say that I’ll make it and become a bestseller and such shit, but they’re family. And of course friends are jealous of my new improved writing, but they’re friends. I just don’t know. I won’t stop, that’s for sure – but I’m looking to be something else and nothing I’m writing now (original) is living up to it, and I won’t be happy ‘till it is.
I’m going to visit friend tomorrow, so that’s something to look forward to – plus tonight is TV night, which means from 16:30 – 21:30 I’m booked – DBZ, Medabots, Egoli, Isidingo, news, The Invisible Man, Law and Order Criminal Intent, and this show by Peter Dirk Uys (whom is, btw, an absolute genius, I love that man). I fear, when I’m not living my life on the Internet, I’m in front of the TV or avoiding doing my homework. It’s a cycle. I may be addicted. And to think, I’ve just quit smoking.
If I don’t make it as an author, I’ll settle for infamy – I’ll make the perfect serial killer. Seriously. I have the right background (rejected as a child, made fun of at school), the skill to act as though I’m insane (my mother argues, of course, that I don’t even have to [i]act[/i] as much) and reason for revenge (*gosh*, it could be fun). Hur hur hur. No, not really, no matter how much I wish, I don’t have the heart for it – damn my conscious. I’ll settle for money laundering or such.
Speaking of killing, saw Freddy vs. Jason (or is it Jason vs. Freddy?) yesterday. It’s not that a bad movie – I actually enjoyed it. Plus it raised a new question to add to my template: Freddy or Jason? Personally, I choose Jason – Freddy is a) annoying, b) a pervert (you don’t say, huh) and c) he talks too much. Besides, I think the Black lady had a point when she was taunting Freddy – I think he’s lacking where it matters, if you know what I mean. Plus his weapon is so flimsy – whoohoo, a few sharp fingers. I prefer Jason with his big knife contraption, and the mask – *gee*, I love of man of mystery.
Must say, I feel better today than the day before yesterday – and I’ve no idea why. I’ve been going up-and-down a lot lately, and my mood changes often; maybe it’s this time of year. Easter this weekend, so…well, that concludes my ramble.
I wanna be there when the people start to turn it around, when they triumph over poverty,
~yahoos
Patricia, Sam.
Rev. Cloete, Mr.Padfoot, Otto.
Steve.
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| Bee in my bonnet? No, more like a raging Tyrannosaurus. |
| 04.08.04 (1:23 pm) [edit] |
Written 06/04/04, Tuesday.
My problems seem to stem from two very distinct causes: my family and Survivor: Pearl Islands.
My family, you see, are a group of two-faced, backstabbing oafs; at this point I would like to throttle anyone who claims to be related to me in some way, be it by blood, marriage or some gambling problem. To say I hate them, is like saying George W. Bush is a bit of a powerfreak: an understatement.
Then there’s Survivor. Rupert was voted off, sending me into a murderous rage. Give me Jon and Burton in an alley, an axe and five minutes and I’ll give them something to guffaw about. Gods. I’ve never wanted to maim anyone so badly (not even my family). Burton and Lill don’t deserve to be there. They were voted out. Rupert was the provider, and generally a nice guy who knew how to play the game. He hurt as little as possible while getting on with it. Poor soul.
He just wanted to be accepted. Gods, I know how he feels. May he be happy, and may Lill, Jon and Burton’s souls burn in hell.
Speaking of hell, religion and what it means to [i]believe[/i] has been bugging me. God, yes I know He’s there – it’s just difficult to pave my way to eternity with stones I won’t regret paving. I’m human, I can’t help it; I try, but it’s hard. You’re supposed to love and not to judge and so forth and so on…but then [i]this[/i] (I’m referring, of course, to the mutiny mentioned above) happens and I’m sent flying off the handle in a flood of swear words and previously unheard of expressions.
It’s hard.
Saw a part of Amistad (or something like that) last night, and that sent me spiralling into hatred for faceless presidents and kings and queens and every other sod that had something to do with slavery [i.e, almost everybody]. How stupid is humanity? Same thing with the Death Penalty (which I’m against) – killing the killer? It makes no sense in the context they want it to make sense in. It makes sense in the way of letting everyone know how stupid we still are.
…
Are we, as humans, defined by suffering? Is that what makes everything real for us, pain? I stood at my father’s funeral and didn’t shed a tear; years later I saw, while passing, someone else’s funeral (someone I didn’t know) and it broke my heart. It doesn’t make sense.
I’m tired. I want to go home.
~yahoos
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| Am I the worst obsessed fan ever? |
| 04.04.04 (1:03 pm) [edit] |
I forgot. [i]Gods[/i]. How did I manage that? To just [i]forget[/i]. It's like - like Hitler without insanity. Montoya without a blown-up engine. [i]It's just not right.[/i]
I blame Dorie. From Finding Nemo. Me and my friend were watching it, and afterwards we sauntered to the cafe nearby for some coke (as in cola). Half way back, she casually remarks: "Isn't it GP today?" It hit me. I've never run so fast in my life, and it takes something for me to run. You see there are very few things in life I'd run for - Schumi is one of those few things.
I got home. But alas, it was finished. Got on the hotline. Called a contact. "No, its OK," he said, "Schumi won. Barri was second, Button third. Monty's engine blew, and both McLarens retired." Gods. Relieve.
Does it make me the worst obsessed fan ever, to simply forget something I've been looking forward to for a fortnight? How did it happen? Where was my mind (I don't think I should expand on that).
Oh, hoot.
And as if that's not enough, Survivor: Pearl Islands is really upsetting me. I think I should refrain from watching it - I get dangerously murderous whenever I come near Tuesday night television.
There must be something more to life than this - forgotten obsessions and upsetting Survivor - maybe, just maybe, there is? As in, [i]Brewer Twins[/i]! :oops:
Gods, [i]must [/i]stop this! Obsessed - with - men! Most terrible, most terrible!
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,
~yahoos :arrow:
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| World domination and frog-ridden dreams...it takes a while. |
| 04.03.04 (3:28 am) [edit] |
Yes, Job was saved...in the end. Must admit I'm past my "lazy suicide" phase of last night when (or so I suppose) some hormones or chemical imbalance occured, that made my neck prickle and my eyes water...but then I went off-line, watched a movie ([i]The Elite[/i], apparently, which was rather good though mostly because almost all the characters were blonde and good-looking), went to sleep and woke up this morning with a lust for...muffins and life.
Unfortunetly, we're outta muffins so all I have left is the lust for life. :cry:
Tomorrow, friend coming over, and I'm looking forward to lasagna (if there's nothing else to live for, remember this: food) and the GP tomorrow, now I'm excited (took a while, but I got there) and of course my crush on Schumi was renewed when he appeared in an ad last night. Gods, it must be lust. :lol:
I think the saying, "I could fall madly in lust with you" or "I could fall madly in bed with you" about covers the term "Love". In fact, I think "love" is a concept designed by men as an excuse to demand sex three times a week.
Speaking of sex, I found a great HP fansite dedicated to the "banned" NC-17 fics that usually plagued FF and FA. JKR feels that HP is for children and that these fics could be harmful, or something like that. :? I quite agree after having read some of those things - not something you'd want your ten-year old to find. That is, if I [i]had [/i]a ten-year old...nevermind. These fics, however, are quite hard to just "stumble" upon, so I'm thinking it's relatively safe for under 15's. (Not under 18's, because every 15+ kid is sex-obsessed and pretending to be 18 which just breaks the 10 commandments into lying and perversity). :twisted:
World domination, Adolf Hitler and evil have been paddling around my thoughts. Interesting topics, me thinks, but do friends, family agree? No, they just say "She's weird" and continue on their rocky road and mundane thoughts and pleasures, leaving me alone. Don't they know shit about psychology? Don't they realize that leaving me to my own devices with these thoughts humming 'round my bonnet will surely drive me to some state of insanity, cause my lid to pop and turn me into a serial killer or - not worse - a dictator?
Tut tut...maybe if I chop off their heads with an axe they'll start to a) notice and b) care. [i]Maybe[/i].
That concludes my rambe until some later stage.
Tuna can kill,
~yahoos
(say it with me: [i]ya-hoos[/i])
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| Does having a crush on a cartoon render you insane, or does it take a shrink with a clipboard to do |
| 04.02.04 (10:45 am) [edit] |
I can't help it, I honestly can't. It's just who I [i]am[/i]! I like people. I like DBZ. I like Vegeta. Poor guy. Lucky Bulma. Trunks aint too bad either.
I have no life, so I blog about it.
I feel I should explain.
It's Friday night. I'm writing this. I'm uploading two new shiny fics to FA. I feel sorry for Vegeta. I can't wait till Monday, 'cause then DBZ is up again. Medabots, too. I have to wash my jeans before I can wear my Jedi shoes. I'm ranting.
It's GP this weekend. Gods. I'm not even excited. Schumi'll win, and if he doesn't, I'm watching soccer. :shock:
If I had a gun, I wouldn't have shot myself. Too messy. Shards of skull and teeth everywhere. Blood on the carpet. My brains on the ceiling. Too much trouble. Drawer with knives in too far away.
Maybe I should just pick up and become annoyingly happy. I'm feeling like that Job fellow again. Poor Job.
Things to do: find easy, effortless way to commit suicide,
~yahoos
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