2 dead lesbians

I'm wearing a massive oversized t-shirt my dad egged me on to buy this morning.

Dad: "Buy it buy it!"

Me: "I can't afford it... I have no money to eat!"

Dad: "Buy it buy it, you look good".

Me: "No!"

Dad: "Go onnnnn"

I bought it.

Dad: "I like shopping with you... it makes me feel young".

Awww.

My dad is super supersticious.  Isn't supersticious a surprisingly hard word to spell?  He's also a massive attention whore, not unlike his eldest daughter.

2 months ago 2 lesbians killed themselves in his hotel.  Yeah, wtf?  He's the manager of this boom ting hotel http://www.thelondonpaper.com/thelondonpaper/news/london/double-suicide-suspected-in-womens-deaths-after-pair-found-dead-at-costel

Fab.

My dad loves to be the centre of a story.  He was the last person to see them alive (apparently one of them was really trippy and asked him if she could borrow a kettle), and they left him a note.

Yes, a note.  This part has been kept out of all the newspaper stories, but they left more in the note (www.thelondonpaper.com/thelondonpaper/news/london/inquest-into-deaths-of-finsbury-park-suicide-couple) then what is mentioned on the site.

In the note it said that "the night manager" (my dad) would be cursed for allowing in 'degenrates'.  Something about being judged and judgement day and allowing in homosexuals and stuff into the hotel.  Judgement day is nigh.  So from this we can summise that my dad has been cursed by 2 dead lesbians.  Srsly, this story is so ridiculous I'm not even making it up.

My dad loves to be the centre of attention, but this is a bit much even for him methinks.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article2411970.ece

Isn't the World fab?

I luv LDN.

Side note:

I just ate a really nice avocado.

I'm listening to Justice absolutely murder MGMT - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxKzgZtREo4

I really need to stop thinking they're called MDMA.

My hand is bleeding.  Not profusely but certainly sufficiently.

Strawberry, banana and orange is a nicer drink than raspberry, pineapple and orange.  Fact.

한국어/조선말

Fuck all that I wrote below. 

I love having a free house. 

I smell like an apple and a strawberry.  Win. 

I want to go to Korealand.

I want to either throw up properly or stop trying altogether.

I wish my sore throat from said activity would go.

I wish this song would finish downloading.

I wish I could fix my fringe.

I wish my best friend was here -_-

Or, I had enough cash to go to Korealand.

Or both.

Wa ana mish bahebek.

I wish I'd done alot more drugs.

I wish today was tomorow, this time tomorow I'll be with people I love, even if it's only for  a few hours.  We have plans which involve drinking and perving on sexy Orientals.

I think I have yellow fever.  :\

I wish my heart would stop hurting.  I mean that literally, not figuratively.

Having said that, I wish my heart would stop aching, I mean that figuratively not literally.

I wish I could be bothered to excersise.

I wish I lived in Camden, in a wooden house with furniture from Muji, on the canal, and blue hair and the back of my neck pierced.

I'm getting that done soon.

Probably.

When I have my own house everything will be from Muji, except for massive thick brightly coloured Arab carpets I'll get from the Armenian quarters in Jerusalem.

Actually I want a Mosaic table from there.

And a mirror.

The Armenians used to make good furniture.

Before the Jews.

Before 1948.

Twats.

Anti-semitism.  Oh noes.

I wish I could keep a cactus alive for longer than a few months.  It's not as though they need watering.

I wish I had a big, broad, straw hat.

And I really wish Jess wouldn't bring up "the time you vommed and fell down the stairs" anymore.

Actually, I feel like I have indigestion.  Yes, I know, this is a stupid thing to do.  I won't do it again, it's ineffective.

I wish my stomach was smaller.

I wish this song would stop playing.

It's MGMT - Time to pretend.

I almost wrote 'MDMA' there by mistake - what does MGMT even stand for?

I want to put the Kooks on, but I cba.

I wish I had an iPod around.  I wish mine hadn't been stolen at QMUL.

I'm watching "Super sweet 16", and this girls parents just bought her a flat in Central LDN.  I'm sorta jealous and wish I was her.  But she's fat and plain looking, so swings and roundabouts.

Actually...her flat is bigger than our whole house.  Fuck it I AM jealous.

I wish it wasn't nearly August and raining.

I wish it wasn't wet in general.

I wish my hair was longer.

I'm wearing my Dolce & Gabbana watch right now.  This makes me happy.  Sex.

I love oversized accesories.  My watch is massive.

I REALLY wish the door I carved my name into at Sion Manning was still there.  And I had carved my name into something at Marylebones.

I wish my friend wasn't obsessed with taking my picture.

Tomorow I need to buy avocados and hair dye.

I need to dye my hair black again.

Longtings.

I like avocados.

Do you?

If there's no food in the house I won't eat it.

So I wish there was no food in the house.

I wish I wasn't nervous about next Sat.

But at the same time I'm kinda looking forward to it.

I wish my grandparents were still rich.

I wish I was tanned.

If I could look like anyone on the planet it would be Haifa Wahby.

I wish people would stop making Jewish jokes.  I feel like the token Jew.  I'm not Jewish.  At all.  Stop.

I also wish Israel wasn't such a shithole.

I wish I didn't have an £80 library fine.

And the £71 I just found from my childhood savers account wasn't going towards it.

And I wish the Oyster wasn't so ridiculously expensive.

I wish I didn't like food.

I wish I hadn't lost my rosin.

I really need it.

I wish I had a pair of Nike hi-tops.

Want.  Want.  Want.

I wish I could make my mind up over the Denim leggings I'm wearing right now.

And I wish my legs were skinnier in them.

And I wish I had a sort of long white top which isn't a tank top, doesn't show cleavage but isn't a t-shirt.  I can't find what I want.  I really want to minimise my bust a bit.

But I really, REALLY want a pair of hi-tops which aren't Converses.

Srsly wish this headache would go.

I wish I liked the taste of vegetables.

And I could stop drinking Coke.

I wish I liked Diet coke or Coke zero.

Instead I think they're vile.

 

-__-

Sum total

Most people write one blog post a month, or have blogs with the sum total of around...5 posts?  Not me.  No, I have to be atypical.  Always.

I update this almost every other day... as I'm sure you're beginning to notice.  Why?  Why not?  I have a lot of time on my hands, I think far too deeply about too many things and I like to write.  Strangely, I dislike the act of putting pen to paper; I'm lazy.  I've always written incorrectly; I've never held my pen properly.  When I was in primary, no one could understand how someone as bright as me could write so poorly.  My handwriting is poor, I hold my pen incorrectly (I actually forget I hold it incorrectly, untill someone new brings it up, which they inevitably will), I hold my bow 'like a bread knife' and apparently I don't have a lifeline and should never have been born.  I dislike the act of writing.  I would be terrible at calligraphy.

 

All of this is irrespective of my point.  I dislike the act of writing, but I like to write.  I have so many thoughts in my head sometimes it's almost purifying to focus them on something else.  It's like organising a folder.  It's neat and perfect.  ABCDEFG, i ii iii iv v vi vii viii xi x.  I think I think far too much; is that possible?  Can you think too much about something?  What is too much?  I can't sleep at night, there's so much constantly running through my mind.  Or is it my brain?  What's the difference between your mind and your brain?  Is there one?

 

Whatever, On the reverse side, if you write to be read, then you're somewhat forced to edit what you write; right?  I guess it would be a brave person who could talk completely cadidly on here, there's an act of censorship always.  This blog is highly censored, inspite some of the stupid stories I've told on here, tbh the truth is harsher.  You're reading a highly censored version of my life.  Odd.  I said a while ago "this is an exorcism of an essay, a probably jejune and excessive essay...", how can that be?  When I wrote that I was writing purely for the act of writing, with no consideration for how it would appear to others.  I'm not sure now if I'm writing for myself or for others.  Do you remember how I said right at the beginning "my ego wants everyone to read this. To at least think of me, even if what my writing right now is self-indulgant crap."  I dunno.  Also, I'm seriously overthinking about what is essentially a poorly written, angsty, teenage blog with...5 followers in total(!)

 

I don't know what I'm talking about.  This is my illucid ramblings - eat.  :\

Ffs

I am really stupid.

Last 10 minutes:

Go into kitchen

See cake.

Avoid.

For some reason unbeknown to me, I decide to eat it.  And then 2 slices of bread.  I hate doing this.  It's not even binging, I'm not compelled to eat, it's just there and I do it.  

Why?  Why?  Why?

Ffs.

Eat cake.

5 mins later... Allow

Go to bathroom.

Throw up.

Well, try to.  Wtf happened?  I can't even make myself throw up anymore?  I haven't done this in the longest time,

It's literally bile, and I'm coughing like I've got swine flu.

Louder than I realise.

Wake up the mother.

She's outside the door, whilst I'm coughing up half a lung.

Shit.

"Sorry, I'm just a bit ill.  Must be coming down with a cold".

I come outside, eyes are bloodshot, holding a fucking toothbrush (ffs)

That couldn't have been more obvious if it tried.

My life is amazing.  And I have such a fucking headache.

Oh

<<<<<<< And what do you think of my new songs?

Weep and you weep alone

Laugh, and the World laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

(Oldboy *sigh*)

I don't understand that.  "Weep, and you weep alone"; why?  That's not even true, there are always collective outpourings of grief, look at Michael Jackson, Princess Di, Pope John Paul II.  I simply don't see how you can say that.  Perhaps it implies that the World doesn't have time for the sad, melancholics.  Or the depressed.  Or just those whiney people everyone knows who complain about everyone and everything.  We all know one of them, right?  The people who exhude discontent and are generally unpleasant to be around.  Is that what we're talking about?

Even so, just look at the European existentialists; Sartre, Nietszche, Dostoyevski and Kafka.  Sartre had a life long affair with Simone De Beauvoir, Dostoyevski is read by millions (Crime and Punishment, anyone?) and people are always quoting Nietszche and Kafka ("After coming into contact with a religious man I always feel I must wash my hands" - Nietszche).  You could hardly argue that 

they were alone or marginalised or ostracized.  But what did they ever write which wasn't "The World is crap, there is no God (how very great gasby), Faith is redundant, when you die you die and your life has no purpose, angst angst angst".  Ok, I think I'm going off track, my point is that really, you don't weep alone.

I don't even like what that implies; unless you're saccharine sweet, indefatigably happy and looking on the bright side, what, the World doesn't want you?  What's wrong with well placed pessimism  Don't you find optimism slightly pointless?  Fuck look on the bright side of life; what are you... Jiminy Cricket?  Look on the bright side; look where that got Pinnochio.  Didn't he get swallowed by a whale?  Look at all the people dying of Aids or Cancer, what's the fucking point in looking for the bright side, when the bright side doesn't exist?

Pessimism ftw.  I prefer pragmatism to dellusion, maybe that makes me a negative person to be around but hey, at least I'm honest, right?  Anyway, the World revels in negativity.

Bad news sells papers.  Srsly, lets look at a few of todays headline:

The Daily Star: Jordan's Lesbian Lust.

The Sun: Broken Britain

The Daily Mail: Fugitive British couple who led 'champaign lifestyle' may have starved to death of stolen yacht.

The Times: Swine Flu cases double

The NotW: Some gash about Michael Jackson

The Guardian: Class A drug use  on the rise among young people (waittt...why is that bad?)

The Independant: More Swine flu.

Boo.  Bad news sells.  Sad news sells.  Death, swine flu, drugs, MJ, some random couple.  Weep and you weep alone; no.  Weep and the whole World secretly revels in your sorrow and solipsism, profers a lugubrious hand, writes an obituary, cries with you (in earnestness or not), and secretly enjoys your misery. 

 Because lets be honest, everyone likes a miserable person. 

 It makes you feel better about your own life.  No matter how bad life could be, I could be her.  I could be fat.  I could have cancer.  I could be homeless.  I could be abused.  I could be an African Aids orphan, in which case several of these would apply.  It's like the infinite passing on; no matter what, it could be worse.  I could be you.  I could be her:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLvNGZjMt8I&feature=fvsr

Worse still: 

The PHOTO is the "Pulitzer prize" winning photo in 1994 during the Sudan famine.  The picture depicts a famine stricken child crawling towards an United Nations food camp, located a kilometer away.

>The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat it.  This picture shocked the whole World.  No one knows what happened to the child, including the photographer Kevin Carter, who left the place as soon as the photograph was taken.

> Three months later he committed suicide.

I'll delete this tomorow

I've no idea what to write, this is really strange. It's like some sort of ostrobogulous writer's block I've suddenly been given (although I guess it would be tenuous to refer to myself as a writer in the first instance.)

I'm bored of lugubrious prose and I think my blog has reached ophidian levels, I didn't intend for this to be a bitchfest and I'd rather it didn't now.  Also, this post seems somewhat sesquipedalian.  LMAO, wasn't even on purpose... 

Please, I do not want obloquy. *hand*

On a slightly more purposeful note, I just got my first year university results back. BCCC; my life of academic mediocrity continues.  Huzzah!

And the B wasn't even for Politics.  ¬_¬

Ok, so having read the post directly before this one, I sound like a chav.

I sound like a stupid, drunken, loud, obnoxious, conceited sket, and you know what?  I swear far too much.

I speak common and I sound common.  I swear too much and my accent is at times far too London.

Ug,  I'm not all bad.  If you knew me, you'd probably like me.

I don't even drink that much, and if you met me now you'd think I was the most uncool, unpopular, unsociable freak on Earth.

My Aunt wants me to go to Jerusalem for a few weeks.  Go, don't go?  Go, don't go?

I don't know.

I'm reading Hamlet right now.  I like reading plays.  Weird?  I create the mise-en-scene in my head, the props and so on, and put it together.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar

but never doubt thy love.

Fuck frenemies

So, I tripped over.

Again.

There is something wrong with my limbs.

There are 3 people angry with me.

Oh no.

I dropped the shisha on someones head.

Shit.

Which reminds me of how I met he who is not my ex.

I hit him in the face with a baseball bat by mistake when I was drunk.  Then I knocked over his shisha pipe, the coal fell inside his shoe and burny it.  We spent all night singing ridiculous Arabic pop tunes on a broken bed.  He was drunk/stoned and I was drunk/drunk.  Which is not a good combination.  Especially as the next morning I woke up and couldn't move because there were 3 6ft tall guys all asleep on top of me.

We took the place on the bed of a fat guy who looks like Snorlax the Pokemon (see picture).  He tried to get us to get out of his place, but we refused.  He went away, and came back and told us to come and see the mud on the stairs.  We looked at him blankly and asked him if he was trying to get us to move by convincing us to look at the mud on his mate's mum's carpet.  He looked at us and shuffled off.

The carpet had a lot of mud on it too.  And spilled pills.

Then we watched Team America.  Cause everyone's got aids right?

Anyway.  I am a clutz.  I have no grace, poise or balance.  I was a dancer for 10 years roughly, fucking fail.  I have no balance; I can barely stand on one leg.  I walk into things when I'm completely sober and when I'm drunk lol it's a mess.  Like I said, I have no balance or grace.  I'd be a terrible model.

Which reminds me, someone texted me yesterday morning: "I love your face.  Model for me this week?"  Cute.  I'll update on this later sometime.

Someone is very annoyed with me.  I feel guilt.  Actual guilt.  This doesn't happen often.  I hate this feeling.  Argh.

Hmmmm.  I need a funny story.

I'm also hungry.  Pizza please.  I'm going out for dinner with my dad tomorow night, he always makes me eat so much I think I'd weigh a stone less if it wasn't for these dates.

Pizza, reminds me of: the home made pizza without a baking tray pizza, the 3000 kcal pizza, the pizza we never ate, the pizza we wished we had, Anne's bd pizza, the never handed out the flyers pizza, the why the fuck does he pick his nose when everyone is eating pizza, the fungi pizza, the why the fuck is this german guy spilling cous from his mouth to the table and putting it back on the plate, " we should have had pizza instead" pizza, the why the fuck is he picking his nose AGAIN while we're eating pizza, pizza, the I will never eat pizza agan pizza, the "we're running for the first time this year just to get to USA pizza asap pizza. And I just realised they dont sell pizza at McDonalds.

That's one of those you had to be there things.  Hmmm.

A drug dealer in King's X called me "negative girl" after I told him to fuck off and no I didn't want to buy cocaine or ket or LSD or anything or get in his car with his mates.  Srsly though, the guy was Somali and had a gold tooth and was busting a little Afro - can you blame me?  My best friend put him in her phone "D for dealer".  Ha.Ha.Ha.

Anyway, he called me "Negative girl", and said I was really rude (lol).  Today I was in the corner shop next to my house and had a conversation with the shop keeper.  We're chatting (briefly) and this Arab hoodrat comes in.  "Rahhh...she's speaking to you?  You're the first bloke I've ever seen her speak to in 5 yrs!  I fort dere ws sumfin wrong wiv ure voice innit"

Me: Erm...wut!?

Asian shopkeeper: Oi, I'm talkin to the young lady.  This is a one way conversation

Him: But I thought you didn't have a voice?

Me: Yeah... I have a voice?  And..?

Him: Whenever someone chirpses you you don't speak.  It's like we all thought you had a problem.

Me: We?  

Long story short, apparently the hoodrats of W10 all know me as the fit girl they haven't fucked, who they don't know and who has rejected them all.  I'm known as the snobby bitch who doesn't talk "in like 5 yrs".  I never realised I was actually...known.  I have notoriety in my ends.  Weird.  I think they would call me negative girl if they knew it was my moniker.

I've lived where I live since I was 18 months, love it.  It used to be really dodgy; I used to play out with other kids from the estate when I was about 8/9.  Next to my house there was a marsh and an alley which went behind some other houses.  This meant that it was where all the junkies would meet up, which is a pretty loltastic place for a kid to grow up.  When I was probably 9/10 I picked up a syringe and played doctors and nurses with it (I fucking kid you not).  Then a few months later I heard that you only contract Aids 10 yrs after you touch a dodgy needle and spent months panicking that I had contracted HIV and was going to die when I was 20.  Who makes up these fucking rumours!?

Yeah, I grew up in an area where you could open your door and find police tape all outside because crackhead #1 and beat her boyfriend with a pole outside your house and there was blood everywhere.  Or where some 14 yr old got stabbed to death so close you can see where it happened.  When I was in year 9 me and my friend were the only witness to our bus driver getting stabbed.  He bled everywhere (this was in Ladbroke Grove), and we had to call the ambulance and try not to panic.  I tried to get out of giving a statement (because even at 15 hellll no do I want to get fucked for being a grass), but I sort of had to.  So did my friend.  It was all over the TV and my dad went crazy and started ranting about how shit this country is becoming and how he wishes we could live somewhere else.  This is the stabbing if you're interested: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-310200/Bus-driver-stabbed-traffic-incident.html

and

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-11941430-details/Bus+driver+stabbed/article.do

to be young in this city... ^_^

Love it.  No where like London, as my darling Liz put it once: I love the interesting characters I bump into on the underground. Drunken no-face man, Businessman-by-day-bestial-lover-by-night Guy, Fugly Rude Chick w/ Dick, Orthodox Jew with Nike's, 21st Century Elephant Man Reading The London Lite, random pigeon who decided to rest its diseased wings before changing at Kings' Cross...

The 'chick w/dick' refers to this horrid old woman we met on the Central line.  She pointed as us and tutted and asks her friend very loudly "Doesn't she EVER shut up?"  We didn't reply.  2 mins later she's tutting at us and pointing at us (to herself...her friend had gotten off the train).  Suddenly, she asks "Why can't you speak ENGLISH?"

Erm, excuse me?

Her: What's with this word... "like" "likelikelikelikelike...its not standard English!  It's not correct".

Me: "Sorry... you don't like that we say the word like??"

Her: Yes!

Friend: Why are you even listening?

Longlonglong conversation, she gets increasingly agitated with us.  "Why can't you speak proper English?  In my book it doesn't say the word like!"

Friend: "Excuuuuuse me, I speak 3 languages fluently-

Her: But not English!

She got more and more angry with us.  She tells us about how when she was a youth she didn't use words like "like", and why did we have to throw it in every sentence.  Our bastardisation of the language was repulsive.  When she was young it was different.

Everyone in the carriage is watching and listening, suddenly a Hijabi woman gets up and tells her "Why don't you shut up and leave these poor girls alone?  They're not disturbing us...YOU are" before she left.  

This shut the woman up.

5 mins later she starts sighing and tutting again.

Angry me: WHY ARE YOU STILL EAVESDROPPING!?  DO YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW INCREDIBLY RUDE YOU ARE!??!?!  NO!?!??!  GO AWAY YOU OLD BAT!

She sighs and shuts up.

A few minutes later me and my friend (and her friend who was with us who I hadn't met) are talking about international stuff.  I mention that I'm Israeli and we talk briefly about the lols of being Israeli.

The woman looks at me, and goes... "You're Israeli?  Well I'm half Palestinian!".

Firstly, why is this woman STILL listening?  And... so what?  She's trying to start debating Palestinian/Israeli politics on the Central line on NYE?  Really!?!!?

Me: "Well so am I you hag.  Why the FUCK are you STILL eavesdropping?  And so what if you are?  Do you want to discuss politics with me?  Really?  Cause I'm up for that, I'm a Politics student... have you heard Olmert's last speech?"

She gave me a dirty look, said "oh well", and got off the next stop.

Crazy woman.  Some people are just horrid.  Honestly, I mean... urgh wtf?

Love London people.  Hate London people.  On NYE again (but year before last) I was coming home on the bus slightly drunk.  I'm on the bus, and who do I see?  My 30 odd year old Arab neighbour who lives in the flats opposite.  He smiles lasciviously.  We exchange pleasantries.  I remain on the other side of the bus.  He beckons at me.  I accidentally don't see it.  We get off together.

"Why are you walking so far away from me?"

Lololol.

"I've liked you since I first saw you.  What's your number.  I dream like a woman of you".

I was 18, he moved in 5 years previously.  He's fancied me since I was 13.  Nice.

"I dream of woman like you.  I have 2 sons, I have no wife... you know; she died.  I'm a chef on Edgware road!"

Now there's an offer I can't refuse.  18 months ago near enough and everytime I see him I both cringe and blush.

Brb, gone to get crumpets.  This is why this is why this is why I'm fat. (said to the cadence of whatever the fuck that tune is)

Back.  I love crumpets.  Don't you?  Ok, I'd rather have a pizza.  Ommm, yessss *orgasm noises*, the chewy goodness of this cheese, ommmmmmm, nomm, you know what?  Ian McEwan can eat his heart out.  I am pathetic at descriptive prose.

What was I even talking about?  *Scroll up*

Oh yeah, my neighbour.  Yeah, nothing more to say about him.  I have a slightly more lulzy story though.  A story that made me sleep with a baseball bat next to my bed for a while.  One day there was a letter through my letterbox.  Wow.  No, shut up and read.  There was a letter, right.  It's adressed: "To the violinist".  Ok, glaring fuck up right there.  I am not a violinist.  Take out the 'n'.  That's right; I'm a Violist.  I play the Viola.

Ok, digression.  There's a letter adressed "To the Violinist".  Ok... I open the envelope and their is a typed letter inside, it's from someone who has followed me home from the tube station (a good 10 minute walk away), and is intrigued by me and wants me to be in a movie he's making.  I kid you not.  Someone followed me home, and posted a letter through my door with a telephone number/email, asking him to contact him.

Honestly... what on earth..!?

A few months ago I had a really brief conversation with an old rasta man on the Bakerloo line.  We got off at the same stop, and I went into the shop next door.  He comes in, and as I'm paying for my stuff tells the shopkeeper: "Tell her she's beautiful.  Honestly...LOOK at her"  I'm standing.  I'm cringing.  "Please don't.."  Shopkeeper looks at me "I already told her she was".   Oh Gawdddd.

The hijabi woman in the chip shop opposite loves me.  She gave me cut price cod last time I went there, and told me I was beautiful but was wearing too much eye makeup.  Nice.

My neighbour next door has known me since I was 18 months.  The first day my parents moved in next door, my dad went out and left the door open.  I decided to follow my daddy out, so I went out the front door and wandered down the street a little.  I didn't find my dad, he walked much quicker than an 18 month toddler.  So I decided to go back.  I went into the wrong open door.  I went into my neighbours open door.  I wandered into my neighbours house, she looked at me, her 10 yr old son looked at me, her dog looked at me, they looked at me.  Eh??  Who is this baby in my living room?

So they took me outside, to where there was no one.   No frantic parents, no explanation at all for this random baby in their house.  

About a minute later frantic mother comes out looking for her eldest and only child, and this is the story of how I met my neighbour.  She's fucking epic.  Grows weed (doesn't sell apparently), and makes costumes for Notting Hill carnival.  She always tried to get me to be in the carnival, but no... I always thought I was too white to shake my non-African ass down Notting Hill/Ladbroke Grove.  So I didn't.  Quality.

Fucking psychic too, she was in my house one day, we were chatting about literally the most inane thing ever (the weather or something thereabouts), she looks at me... "You smoked weed around...3 weeks ago, didn't you?"

Ehhhhhh...WHAAAAAAAAT!?

"I can see it in your eyes".  Wtf?  Woman is amazing.  Knows everything.  Sees things.

That wasn't a very amusing story was it?

When I was 3 I fell in donkey shit.

Amazing.

I was in Nazareth, and back then they had grooves in the road for donkeys.  Because yes, in modern day Nazareth donkeys were still a viable mode of transport.

So...there are grooves in the road for donkeys, and I, with the aforementioned clumsiness combined with the typical dexterity of a 3 year old; I fell in.  Imagine that.  Middle Eastern midday August heat, 3 year old on the way back from the toy shop with her dad, falls in donkey shit.  Epic.

I'm listening to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmPo9Cpn_MA 

bad start, wait untill it gets to 0.46.  Brilliant.  Love it.

I'm flicking through tagged pictures on FB, just found some crazily old stuff.  I have a friend, her name also begins with H.

H is a complete alley cat.  Fucking love her, though we hardly see each other anymore.  Anything that's happened in my life that you could consider 'ghetto' has been with her.

Once (ok...last Jan?) we went to her cousin's house party ("this is a black people party...so everyone's late innit"), got her cousin's stoned mate to drive us back.  We get in car, he's drunk/stoned.  He drives.  He stalls.  "OMDZ I can't MAKE it no more!", he crashes, we panic.  Somewhere in Walthamstow I think.  We're walking.  We find this brand new (wet) fur coat.  Has the labels in it.  We pick it up, carry it a bit, wonder wtf we're doing carrying a fur coat we found on the floor, drop it.  Get the munchies.  Get home at around 4ish.

That's not very interesting.

Once I went to her house.  She wanted me to meet some guys who live opposite, and whatever I had nothing better to do.  So, I go to hers (she lives in Harlesden... :\).  I'm at hers, when she tells me (Oh...they're dealers btw).  Eh...nice.  

So, we go opposite, and there's one guy there.  He's short, shifty, black Portuguese.  As we get to his door he kisses H and tells her "take my keys, drink anything you want, I'll be back in half an hr, just gotta drop something off".

Ok.

We go to his.  He has a whole bar full of alcohol.  Absolutely filled with everything.  Why?  Someone couldn't pay him, someone who worked in  a bar... so he took the alcohol.  Literally I have never seen so much alcohol in a house.

So me and H turn on the TV and watch a documentary about Indian child labour on BBC, whilst shotting random drinks.  We find a bottle of Aftershock.  It's green.  Don't drink green alcohol.  We decide to go for it.  We shot it.  Someone I know recently swallowed disinfectant; I think Aftershock must be worse.  It's in my mouth, it hits me.  I need to vomit.  I have to vomit.  I need to get this poison out of my mouth.  Tears are in my eyes.  But the logical part of my brain tells me "Do not vomit in drug dealers house.  Do not vomit in drug dealers house.  Do not vomit in drug dealers house".  So I swallow it.  Absolute poison.

10 mins later, I'm drunk, she's drunk.  We're waiting for Portugese man to return.  He returns with his cousin.

We talk.  We lol.  He asks us why the fuck we're watching a programme about Indian children.  We have no answer.  He has weed.  Lots of weed.  We toke, smoke and drink.  Portuguese man sees inside my bag:

"Wtf is that?"

"O, it's a camera"

"Whyyyy you got a camera for?"

Turns out dealer is paranoid (not surprising).  He doesn't trust me.  It blatantly looks like a tape recorder and of course a man like that has to be every right to be paranoid when there's a drunk teenager in his house drinking his alcohol.

He's paranoid.  Makes me promise I'm not police.  I promise him.  We talk more.  There's 4 of us chatting absolute shit and eating cheap pizza.  Nom.

He tells me he'll call/pay a taxi for me to go home, because Harlesden at night is no place for a pretty young thing like me.

I worry about him knowing my address, but am too wasted to think through the implications of this.

He tells me he'll give me 2 lines of coke if I make-out with his cousin.  I think it through for around 3 seconds, say no.  Tbh that's pretty cheap... 2 lines for one make-out?  Whatever.  I like Cocaine, don't get me wrong, but I'm not a whore.  So I say no.

We talk some more.

I remember very little after this.

I'm so drunk I pass out.

I wake up with friend about to have sex on the floor with dealer man.

And his cousin is lying on top of me, taking my bra off and saying my name.

I'm like helllll no.

Well, that's what I'm thinking.

But I'm drunk.   V. drunk, and a bit panicky.  I just want to go to sleep.  Argh, why won't he just leave me?   I need to go from here, fuck, I have uni tomorow...

I need to get out of here.  I'm going to throw up.  I need to get out of here right now.

Friend on floor sees me, she holds her drink amazingly; never seen her actually drunk.  She sees me, gets up (which annoys the dealer), and is like, yeahh, lets get Holly back to mine.

She drags me back to hers.  Thank God.

I'm at hers.  I go to her bathroom.  I throw up in her toilet; the upstairs toilet that doesn't flush.  I sit on the edge of her bath tub; I fall in.  I'm in her bath tub throwing up.

She drags me out, throws me into her bed.  I throw up some more.  In her bed.  In my hair.  Fuck.

She gives me a bowl, which I pass out next to.  Still in her bed.

__________

Next morning... I have an essay to print and hand in by 10AM deadline.

Fml.

It's 8.40.  What do I do?

Brush the vomit out of my hair.  Spray Britney Spears perfume in it.  Tie it up v. tight.

Go to uni.

I had left my iPod/coat/stuff at dealers house though, so I had to return to my friends a few days later (he'd dropped it off at hers).

I see her.  We say hello.  We hug.  I notice she's wearing a backbrace and shes grimacing.

This is new.

"Babes what's with the backbrace? :S"

"I pulled the muscles in my back...dragging...you...across...the...ROAD :@"

O.

Sorry.

*Shuffles off*

I'm sure there's more stuff I've missed out.  Just way too tired to remember it.  :\

<3>

 

A kiss with a fist is better than none

You hit me once, I hit you back.

*something.something.something.*

Then I set fire to our bed.

Letters to the abyss (or Facebook wall chats tbh)

b;lah

Die mutter und ich; Mother and I

Ich: Do you ever shut up?

Mutter: Do you ever stop being a bitch?

Ich: God, just leave me ALONE!

Mutter: STFU and DON'T ARGUE.

O mutter mutter, Ich liebe dich <3

This post is partly German, because my mother surely should have been a Nazi Camp Commandant.  She certainly looks the part.

So hungry

I am so hungry.

Argh.

Famished.

Need.  Food.

*Raids fridge*

Zomg, it's like a holy nimbus. =)

That which is not happy is not unhappy by default.

"What makes you happy?"

Someone asked me this.

I had no answer.  Response: "Erm...nothing?"

Very informational.

What makes you happy?  What makes me happy?  Jesus...what doesmake me happy?  I don't have any answer to this, I don't think I've ever really, really been happy.

Do you think ecstasy can exist?  Pure, unadulterated, uninhibited, ultimate, absolute indefatigable happiness?

I've never been really happy.  Obviously, I've been happy; childhood birthdays and Christmas and so on, but there always seems to be a shadow in my life, maybe I've just never been content.  I don't know contentment.  There's always something hanging over me, whether it's my fault or not I don't know.

It probably is my fault.  I'm a negative person; I find it hard to see the better things in life.  I don't believe in true happiness, whenever something happens I think it'll be bad, I assume the worst in people and I probably get that reflected back.  I have very little hope for the future; I feel like nothing I plan will come to fruition.  Why am I so negative?

I don't know, I haven't got an awful past to reflect upon.

Lol at looking back at the past, what will I see?  When I was a kid, I was happy.  I think.  Nah, I wasn't.  I adore my dad, adore him, honestly, but you wouldn't say he wasn't the easiest person to live with.  Swings and roundabouts really, that's what it was with him.  Like a minefield, just waiting for him to explode.  Which it always did.  It was a tangible anger, I suppose.  I wouldn't even know how to describe it, and I wouldn't even want to.  Such a pointless thing to go back to.  I adored him but I hated him a little also as a kid.  And even now, and I'm 19 and seriously I've done some fucked up things, even now I'm almost on edge sometimes, waiting to see what will happen.

Combine this with a recovering anorexic mother (and I mean the anorexic type where you're in hospital refusing to eat and they give you 3 months before you die type of anorexic), who was mildly depressed, young and dissatisfied (and devastated when her closest brother died of a brain tumour when I was 3/4) and you have my childhood.  Plus, I was an only child ofcourse, happy.happy.happy days.

I dont think this has made me unhappy though.  I was never actually unhappy as a child, that which is not happy is not unhappy by default, I have good parents who I love; had all the toys in the World, ice creams, my dad took me out every sunday, to the toy museum or cinema, or park, or to get my face painted.  And in the summer holidays he used to wake me up at 6AM to watch cartoon network together.  He actually adored me, you will never see a bigger daddy's girl than me.  He bought me anything I wanted and actually, writing this is making me feel guilty, because I had forgotten about alot of this, and now I feel guilt for some of the things I've done to him or said.  This has gone rather hopelessly digressive hasn't it?

Why am I not happy?  I guess it's just so many things, I feel so frustrated at my life and how it's turning out (and I'm not even 20, this is probably a few decades premature), and so many things.  And I wish I was a different person; not literally, I like who I am, I mean just certain character traits.  But that can be changed right?  You can change who you are, can you?  Can you not?  Do you think you can change from being shy to outgoing, or naive to precocious, etc... or do you think we're stuck with the same flaws forever?  I have so many character flaws it's unreal.  I feel like such an imperfect person, I have so little to give to others.  I'm nothing in the scale of things, not especially intelligent or outgoing, or talented or exceptional...or even mundane?  I offer nothing to the World but my illucid ramblings.  Do you make the World a better place?  I don't.  This isn't even self-hate either.  I don't hate myself at all, in fact I quite like being me, I just wish I was different, and seem to lack the ability (or perhaps motivation?  Or belief?  Or discipline?) to do it.

I used to think I'd be happy if I was skinner.  Yeah, that didn't work, and now I weigh more than I did before.  I used to crazy skinny, it was hot.  I used to think that if I was more beautiful I would be happier.  I thought you could achieve happiness through beauty, hence probably where some of my vanity comes from.  When I was around 16/17 I tried to compensate by looking as perfect as I could.  Parfait hair, make-up... didn't change.

I'm 19 and I've never been loved by someone I loved (I'm not talking about love in the Agapean sense), I think I've missed out here.  I never had any real teenage romance, because the guys I liked were always unobtainable, and the only guy who loves me right now, really does, is someone who I will never feel anything for (which is horrible, and unfortunate).  It's strange to know you're the source of heartache.  To know you're the cause of someone elses unhappiness, even though it's not on purpose.  I don't mean to cause him grief, but my very existance does this sufficiently.  Ug.  It's also strange to know that someone feels the way about me, the way I feel about someone else.  A sort of yearning.  I yearn for someone, I really do.  Even though I hardly know him.  God, I hate that.  I hate yearning for someone/something that I don't think I can have.  I think that's a current source of my general unhappiness right now.

"Have you never been happy... not even in a relationship".  No.  Never.  I'm never happy, I just seem to want what I don't have.  I don't want much, and I never did.  I don't want the World, I just want to feel ecstasy.  Even on ecstasy, the drug, I've never felt that pure happiness people talk about.  Trippy and amazed and hot, yes, but happy?  I don't think so.  My best friend is following someone around with the biggest smile on her face, thinking about how absolutely perfectly loved up she is, and I've never had anything like that at all.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone you really, really, really liked.  Happiness just seems so elusive for so many people.  Or as I said, not happiness, which can be fleeting, but contentment.  Happy in all aspects of your life.  We're all so discontent.  Well, not all of us.  Me.  I am so discontent right now.  My happiness has always been fleeting; orchestra, with close friends, occasional moments I can cite, odds and bobs I guess.

However, things will look up.  They inevitably must, I have the ability to become a better person, a stronger more heady and in control person, and I shall.  I can change my life if I want, and I will.  There's no reason to be stuck in this rut anymore.

And failing that, fuck it... that which is not happy is not unhappy by default.

But no, I want this to end on a redemptive note.