...getting rained on in Tokyo.
...old enough to drink alcohol but not old enough to know when to stop.
...blogging since 02/22/03.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Titles? We don't need no freaking titles! I wish I could stick my face into a blender and push the on-button. That's how great it feels to be struck down with a summer cold. This turns my inner cranky bitch into an outer cranky bitch as if my blotched face and danger of contagion weren't enough punishment for my fellow humans. The veneer of normalcy is rather thin and sickness does not improve the looks of it. I hope I get better before I fly to London in a week. Trying to have fun around people is hard enough without your head pulsing like the heart of fat guy running a marathon.
Fried eggs with a twist So I almost melted a pan on the stove, one of my finest displays of cookery. Good thing that my landlord who had stopped by for some documents had already left at that time. He was blessed with the face of a French aristocrat that has fallen into a giant tub of self-tanner. A nice man but his orange countenance is an unsettling sight to behold. He would have made a wonderful arch villain for a comic superhero. Who knows what he would have done if he'd seen me destroying his stove: Dip me in a pool with mutant sharks?
The herd Suddenly my screen went black. So did everybody else's. And the light. And the air conditioning. The electric blinds went up and down before finally giving up. If this had been a horror movie, the building - possessed by the tortured soul of its bloodthirtsty architect - would have instantly started to kill my co-workers while I scrambled to reach the exit dripping tomato ketchup.
But unexciting as only real life can be, we just sat around blinking befuddledly. The power outage had also hit the adjacent buildings so that a bunch of people started to hang out in the court like sheep out at feed. As time passed by without any visible voltage improvement, more and more people went home. Not even the revolving door of the entrance worked though this did not stop a dozen of people trying to use it, ignoring the wide-open emergency exit right next to the revolving door. There's never been a day I've had more faith in the bright future the company than today.
Now if I only had a car... The queen of procrastination has finally gotten herself a new driver's license after her old one was stolen in February with her wallet. As I'm not eligible for a German one any more, I got a Belgian one. It the archaic paper version, something that has been long replaced by a credit card-sized plastic thingy in Germany. But not in Belgium. It doesn't fit into my wallet and what is worse, it's... pink.
In view that men regard cars as an extension of their penises, it is quite amusing that the document that allows to exercise their mighty machines is so girly.
"Whenever we go out for a drink, you wear the same black T shirt and jeans", my friend teased me on our Friday night out and he hit a sore spot. It's not that I have a hygiene issue: I just own more black T shirts than a normal non-Goth can stomach. It's simpler this way and simple is good. Simple is also very boring but laziness normally outweighs my underdeveloped fashion-sense.
On Saturday, the sun shone brightly and I decided to break the pattern and don a bright pink top to go grocery shopping. A guy walked past me and looked at me strangely before he turned around, and asked me where I come from originally. It takes me two minutes to realize that this ethnographic survey is his way of hitting on me. The incident adds up to pathetic three times I've been hit on in the last 8 months (not counting a waiter who complimented me to get a bigger tip). Not only do I get hit on less than a dead monkey but the only men who show interest in me are creepy stalkers. What normal person asks a stranger where she lives after a minute of conversation?
So I'm back to wearing black T shirts (and my glasses, just to make sure). Also, I'm this close to rolling in garbage to prevent weird people from talking to me.
It's getting hot in here... This Monday I had the rare pleasure of TF's company. We were back to eating our usual microwave dinners at my place like in the old days. This was so much better than the spaghetti with ketchup I had last week... especially, when TF spilled red wine on his shirt and had to take it off. Unfortunately, he wore a T-shirt underneath but for someone who's pining for Zach Braff that's eye candy enough.
Couch potato with a crush The first anniversary of my singledom is approaching as I slide back into antisocial behavior. I'm tired of hitting on guys without them noticing it so I'm staying at home and watching my favorite TV shows. It's nice to get a break from sucking in my stomach but the unpleasant side-effect is the series syndrome: After a multi-seasons marathon of their sitcoms, Zach Braff and Topher Grace start to look pretty hot. Good thing I'm not into Married with Children.
I'm more of a cat person, anyway We have a new temp. If work hadn't turned me into a jaded shadow of myself, it would be heart-warming to see someone be so genuinely excited about his new job. He's like a little puppy exploring the big, big world for the first time. With his floppy, blond hair and his big, shiny eyes, he actually reminds me of a golden retriever. My having to answer his constant flow of questions is the only thing that prevents me from getting him a chew toy.