...

I can't really think what to post... So have this:

Selling Scheduled Air Travel

Exam results! I woke up at half five at first, then six, then about five past eight before I finally got the e-mail xD

Chemistry - A
English - B
Mathematics - A
Art and Design - A
Biology - A

Ragdoll!

Ah! My auntie has a ragdoll cat and it's so fluffy and placid, it just flops all over you and it's like a giant marshmallow, ha. It looks very much like this!



Still doing art crap. Results soon. Art crap.

Art

I've finally started work for school (that does mean browsing the internet for lamps, but you do find some nice ones. Anyway, I came across this:



I don't know what it is... but I do love it.

Untitled #2

I thought this might not be appropriate, but then I realised "Yes, as a joke!" and I'm sure there are worse.

Praise the lord

Thank god I never had to go into town, but no wonder! It was very rainy indeed. But then I did feel bad because it was sunny and I finally went down to M&S for battered prawnies.

Fantasy band!

• Go to Wikipedia and the first random article you get after clicking the 'Random article' button is the name of your band.
• Then go to www.quotationspage.com, hit the random quotations button, and the last four words of the very last quote on the page are the title of your first album.
• Finally, go to http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/ and the third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Name:
Lawrence (the first one was "List of Death Note characters" but I wasn't having that!)
Album:
"Information in The World"
Cover:


SHE'S WEARING CROCS! UGH. But other than that, it's a pretty good image xD

Gumsy Wotsit!

Oh my god, I think tomorrow (really 10 hours from now) is going to be really bad. Mainly because it'll be crap! But it's going to be a counter-balance because I have to make a big fat cake. And that cous cous I served to everyone two days ago was two months out of date.

I've ordered Sybil: The True Story of a Woman Possessed by Sixteen Separate Personalities by Flora Rheta Schreiber, and Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Everyone needs a controversial author every now and then. My reading list over the summer has now swelled: Frankenstein, The Island of Doctor Moreau, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Anna Karenina, Crime and Punishment, We, Understanding Mental Illness and finally Teach Yourself Psychology.

I just wish I was like Celine:

"Celine has an over-sized brain." - Mr. G.

Untitled #1

This week and the last have been good! Endless Trivial Pursuit and watching Bargain Hunt at 4.20am. Of course, I eventually did have to retire but that means not waking up until two in the afternoon.

Xiang, on the other hand, has stained my cushions! Dirty bastard. He did not appreciate the picture of his face on Madonna's cone bra stuck to my front door's peephole, and the picture of him dressed in female's clothing [furfag] on the main door. The look on his face was the most hilarious thing I have seen in quite some time. If you can imagine a cross between the emoticons of T_T and :@

Where've you been, bitch?

Oh, thank god you're here. I don't have a lot to type about except that this is distracting me (pfft) when I should be reading all of my English books! But I've had the entire house to myself for two weeks as my parents have gone half-way across the world -- thankfully I don't like beaches. So I've just been eating lots and lots of ice cream and dulce de leche whilst watching Special Victims' Unit. I'm just like Brave Africa: A laugh riot.

I

cannot believe that it is actually June and this year is almost half over. What a waste. Nevertheless, my eyes have been glued to this monitor as for about three days solid I've just sat and watched all of Lost's season three. I absolutely hate Sky for stealing one of the few things Channel 4 was good at, but at least they aren't at a snail's pace for getting episodes. Still, bastards.

The Flan Man

Well this was ages ago at night (naturally) but I had the most oddest dream. Several people from the art classes this year were in it, some of whom I've rarely spoken to, and one whose Scottish name I just cannot spell and Google won't help me. Anyway, we were all taken to the Mitchell Library but then we left for "Edinburgh Library" since Mitchell is too noisy.
After we arrived there, in what could only be The Flan Man's car, we all sat around this table then Sophia had a bag of Maltesers. And since I am practically a Malteser myself I stole them from her. Now, at the climax, someone threw a pink snooker ball at The Flan Man's head then we all had to leave, never to return. Then I woke up.

Antioxi-WHAAA?!

Oh CRA, how dare you take over Welch's! I love their grape juice. Cranberry juice is only number two now. *tear*

First, I must rant. But that word is over-used, really.

And so I sign the little prescription form, claiming that I'm in higher education (I don't think I am, but I'm certainly not paying! I don't even have a job. And don't get me started on bus fares to that apathetic place on the other side of the city) when I'm not. So I have to sit in this new chair (several weeks ago they were all of a different variety) which are all uniform. Bizarre!

Anyway, after about five minutes, this heroin junkie comes in then goes into this little booth with the "METHADONE. NO CHILDREN ALLOWED" sign scrawled in giant bold letters, but I let it pass as I keep staring ahead, not wanting to see her tainted visage, even though about ten other people were all in line first.

Still sitting in this leather seat that was becoming uncomfortably hot, another crackhead comes in and is served before me. HOW DARE SHE? (xi)

My name is called and so I can only feel Schadenfreude and announce the embarrassment of them by asking if those addicts are more important than actual sick people; of course, they are probably emotionally sick. But she just stares, and I don't really care so I just leave. I hope this doesn't happen again otherwise it'll be a not-so-anonymous letter people will be receiving.

Ah

We are Siamese if you please,
We are Siamese if you don't please,
We are former residents of Siam,
If we like we stay for maybe quite a while.

Do you see that thing swimming round and round?
Yes. Maybe we can reach on in and make it drown,
If we sneaking up upon it carefully,
There will be head for you and a tail for me.

Do you hear what I hear? A baby cry.
Where we finding baby there are milk nearby,
And if we look in baby buggy there could be,
Plenty milk for you and some for me.

Crap

I was forced to travel half way across the city to the apathetic Glasgow Fort. Having the layout of a concentration camp, I was further forced into numerous crap shops.

Eventually I managed to go into Boots and buy wine gums and a cranberry and apple juice, but the latter was rubbish as it was still. I only like sparkling cranberry or still cranberry, not a combo! The Topman there smelt of kippers, then finally walking outside a seagull almost shat on me. I am not impressed.

Why was I not informed that Law and Order is on in the morning?

PS: Jehovah has not arrived yet.

Morning!

Today there was a chap on the door and on the mat were two jolly, smiley ladies.

"Hello," I said. "Hello," they said, "and good morning."

"Morning" I said, as you cannot fault my manners.

"Have you," they asked, continuing to smile, "ever thought about letting Jehovah into your life?"

"Well," I said, "maybe, but it all depends if he is prepared to do his bit. If he is just going to lie around watching BBC Parliament and think he's God, then no."

At that point they acted as if they had rather gone off the idea of Jehovah coming into my life. "Thank you for your time," they said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and shuffling their papers, "but we must get on."

However, I liked the sound of this Jehovah, who might prove handy, and I was not going to let the ladies get away that easily.

"Do you think," I asked, "that he might even babysit twice a month, instead of my doing it? After all, he sent his son to be looked after by us, so it seems only fair that he looks after my brother and sister every other Saturday, don't you think?"

They said: "We can see you are busy."

But I said: "I certainly am not. I haven't been busy since 1992 and even then I was just pretending. Tell you what, why don't you send this Jehovah over and we'll see how we all get on."

"Tuesdays are best for me, as I never pretend to be that busy on a Tuesday. Thursdays are out, though, as I pretend to be at my busiest on Thursdays. Thursdays are a nightmare. If you ever call on a Thursday and I am short with you, you'll know it's because I am just so busy pretending to be busy."

They said: "Thank you for your time. Is your neighbour in, do you know?"

I said I do not know. I said that, furthermore, I had always hated him and his goods. I once post a branch through his letterbox, so it's not as if we're exactly on speaking terms."

Also, I added, "I recently kicked his washing machine on the stoop and shouted as his budgerigar through the walls." They said: "Goodbye."

"Whoa!" I continued, "what about Jehovah?" Are you going to bring him next Tuesday or not?"

"We can see you are busy," they said, moving towards the other door.

"Only pretending to be busy," I said. "There's a world of difference."

In the end, there was no stopping them going, but they did leave me a leaflet called Why You Can Trust The Bible.

I read it, just as I read everything: cereal packets, mini-cab cards, serving suggestions, nutritional information and even those advertisements for extra-wide shoes and things that allow you to let your trousers out as always featured in the back of the Daily Express, a newspaper which appears to have a readership compromised solely of people with waists and feet the width of sofas.

And so I read the leaflet, which starts with: "Some people say the Bible is unreliable, and their views have gained wide acceptance."

What? Some people don't accept it was written 6,000 years ago. Are you sure? This is madness.

"Thus many dismiss what the Bible says as untrustworthy."

Not me, I would have told the smiley ladies, had they not been so keen to 'get on.'

I take it all very literally, which is why I poked out the eye of my womanservent yesterday when I discovered she was stealing from me and then stoned to death Daft David from across the road for swinging on the washing line.

"Is there really any evidence that the Bible is unreliable?"

I hope not. Or I'm going to be in big trouble with the human rights people, the police, and possibly, even, the British Dental Association.

You see, my dentist took it upon himself to take out one of my teeth, so I went back the next day and took out one of his. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and all that.

Afterwards, I went to the opticians, but they shut their door and put up a closed sign when they saw me coming. I will never go to that optician again. Their loss.

"Has anyone ever shown you an actual example of the unreliability of the Bible?"

They might have tried, but until I get some reading glasses, I really will never know.

"Some persons will draw attention to what they consider a discrepancy in the Bible, asking: 'Where did Cain get his wife?'"

Why would some persons do that?

"The assumption is that Cain and Abel were the only children of Adam and Eve."

That is generally the assumption, yes.

"But the assumption is based on a misunderstanding of what the Bible says."

I'd think carefully about where you're going with this, if I were you.

"The Bible explains that Adam 'became father to sons and daughters'."

If you are now about to say what I think you are about to say, I'd recommend keeping quiet and settling for the Bible being unreliable and not to be taken literally. But no! Here we go:

"Thus Cain married one of his sisters."

Oh, well, that's all right then. Phew. Fun for all the family.

"Often, critics are just looking for contradictions."

Loons.

Just wait until Jehovah pops round next Tuesday and we'll see what he has to say about that! I just hope he doesn't read the Daily Express because, to be honest, I don't think I'd have the room.

(:

Today was probably one of the best days in school, I think. Despite being accosted by Gryffy in the corridor about a stupid "Unit Three Prelim", staying behind in art for an extra... uhm four and a half hours... was quite good. Thorburn even bought us two pizzas and Coke!

Good lord

"On Tuesday 4th March S5 Life skills pupils took part in a 'Masterchef' invention test. Each pupil was given an identical tray of ingredients plus access to the store cupboards. underway.

At the end, Mr Cunningham arrived to be chief judge and after much deliberation Derek Welsh was announced as winner and John Lyon as runner-up.

John's hot potato salad and chunky banana muesli."

I retched too; just those words of "John's hot potato salad" - and the thought of such a person procuring it - is absolutely revolting. Come on, LOOK at it! (I actually mean L@.@K.) Looks like a lump of white shite. Maybe that was a bit harsh... Looks like a lump of chalk.

There was an Anthony Hopkins film on last night, which was okay, but it was a bit crap.

Yesterday was 4/20, and Neil Burns et al was a day too late! After school, I do not want to be wafted in the face with a giant puff of GANJA smoke. Officious bastard.

On another note, I've noticed this:

Although inspired in part by true characters and people, the above picture is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.

I don't believe it

I do actually: Not ten minutes ago I was awoken by my arse-y neighbours for playing Whitney Houston, Huey Lewis & The News and Genesis. If only they'd do this at 7.40 then I'd never be late for school.

Objective: To buy jacket today.

Thought Pool

I am extremely, extremely dissapointed that, despite the recent trend in Little Miss/Mr Men and retro cartoon t-shirts, that there is no Wacky Races t-shirts! (I have found some, but none are mainstream.) Bloody outrageous.

Anyway I have an entire backlog of school stuff to do AND I need to buy another pomegranate. It'll be the third one I'll kill. This week has had nothing interesting, need to complete silly portfolio, ie endless watercolouring.

I had to phone the police last night as the branchy neighbours were starting their shenanigans again. She started moaning about how she's had a broken nose, he just keeps shouting and swearing at her. (They were playing Will Young earlier on and the Wilkinson Sword/Shocking Blue "Venus" (both sang/shouted in staccato and seperate lines).) It really was quite laughable.

I've bought more Bret Easton Ellis novels; I have the entire collection now. >_> My thesis will probably be on them.

And I've just had a horrid flashback of a TV show some time about about unusual jobs, and it was in a farm and it subjected on a fat man with large sideburns directing sexual gratification. It was quite grotesquely funny.

I need a new jacket, computer and I still haven't read 1984.

Frumpy!

Ah, I miss it! The flight there was quite good, but I found it bizarre saying "soda." Humph, but the flight attendants were very funny in a frumpy American way: She said "Well I don't know!" and started waving her arms around, and the other said "back off" to this old woman.

I spent, at whole, four days shopping and eating. Maybe I should have been born an American. In these five days I accumulated:

Two bags of Hershey's Kisses and one bag of Jolly Ranchers, Miniture Mixtures and Jelly Belly; Italian waistcoat; Levi's; boots; shirt; t-shirt; underwear; more food; a complimentary Hilton umbrella (fuck yes! And it was one of the posh ones with the push-button) and.. hmm, there should be more.

What's your poison?

Buhy Buhy

Shall be back soon!

À bientôt!

Stupid arse

If I hear that stupid Asian Radio advert I will scream. I am sick to death with the stupid faux-panoramic slides of shitty people going "do do." Not only is it probably racist against caucasian people but it would not be that if people started creating a radio for non-Asian people. Arseholes.

Sacré bleu

Well, English was hopefully alright, doing essays on The Horses and 1984 but the latter of the two was probably not done too well. Maths wasn't as bad. Non-calculator was diabolical.

But in other news, I found this poor tirade:

True story: late January, I put a phone call in to a friend I haven't seen in just shy of a year. I find out he's working as a bouncer now, so instead of rolling out on a Friday or Saturday when he's throwing Northampton's undesirables down the staircase at Revolution, we agree to hook up on Sunday and spend the last vestiges of our pay checks on as much Navy rum as we can afford. (It's the only alcoholic substance that mixes better with Pepsi than it does with Coke. Fact.)

Anyway, eight hours into the session, we land at this run-down but functional faux-Irish bar just out of town centre, around a quarter full with its usual clientele: people who just don't have the time or inclination to become alcoholics and lower-tier office workers.

So we roll in. The boy hits the bar to order drinks, and I head straight to that integral part of any down-market pub—the video jukebox. God bless these things: for two pound you can chose seven of an increasingly depressingly poor selection of music videos to aurally and viscerally entertain you. But there's some pearls on there, so I make the usual selections: “This Charming Man,” “Ignition (Remix),” “Together in Electric Dreams”... over my shoulder I hear a voice.

“Oooh, put The Cure on.”

I turn around. Behind me, dishevelled on a bar stool, is a woman I'd have guessed at being in her early 30s, dressed far too well for a pub that has three fruit machines in it. In her hand, teetering in slapstick-drunk fashion, is a glass of what looks like total bitch-piss white wine. I shoot her a “Buh?” look.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Put The Cure on! “Fridays I'm In Love” is an amazing song, it's one of my favourites.”

“Ummm, no.”

I put “Typical Me” on instead, and she pulls one of those over-exaggerated sulk faces where you push your bottom lip forward and look like, to all intents and purposes, a smacked arse. It's at this point I realise that I'm being flirted with by someone who looks like my old science teacher. OK, steel myself through all of this, it's just some drunk slapper who's played the same cards with 17 other guys this evening.

Oh, fuck, she's joining me at my table.

I can finally see her face now. She was obviously quite something ten years back, but now she just has a washed-up sexuality, smoker's skin—the eyes of someone who cries a lot. And I get her life story. I don't want it, I don't need it. You don't either. Potted highlights include her claim that Jonny Greenwood was her boyfriend when she was a student at Oxford Brookes, and then... yep, here comes the husband problems. Her man is ten years older than her, married to his job, he doesn't give her the affection she needs (by this point she's tracing circles on my hand, and has somehow already entangled our legs together without really moving that much)... it's kind of pathetic, really, to see someone who had a youth with such vigour and promise reduced to flirting with a fat guy in a blazer-and-scarf combo in an Irish theme bar.

She leant over to kiss me. It was like snogging Mick the Miller. Wet, graceless. By this time I'm alternately feeling really sympathetic towards her, and worrying that she's spiked my drink, so desperate is she for some physical contact.

“You know, my husband's away in Chester for a few days and we could go back to mine and....”

At the very moment she was about to offer drunken depressed sex, God and that bottle of wine she'd necked intervened. She vomits all over the table. She literally paints it with spew, before lolling her head around in the manner of a comical zombie. I made my excuses and left.

JENINE

Bloody Fauve

There has been an absence of postings. At least almost a month. This calls for a decent post. Let's put this into perspective in the oh-so-CV-style of recent to latest.

There's been no big issues related to my education. Too many essays for art; not enough in English. Oh and prelims. UGH. I kinda know most things except for English. I should really finish that past paper and write an essay. And I want to go on and do history of art. Stupid Glasgow Uni website is rubbish -- doesn't tell you anything.

Kaa! Ba boop ba dada!

I'll be visiting the States again in March. This means nice food for me, ie. stuff I can't afford from Dean & DeLuca and Cucina & Co. But, meh, I'll be on in holiday. I will buy the pocket watch (hopefully -- I might just keep it for myself, Amy >.>) and Lucky Charms (yes, you'll get them). And generally more buying of stuff. Oh yes, and DS games for half the price they are here. 8o|:S

(I turn over and look at the TV and find that there's an Indian man putting a giant pole through his cheek.)

I've gotten into The Kills. New album I must buy on 10 March, I believe; I'll trust HMV. OH, and the bitches The Daily Mail reported they were touring! Why wasn't I informed?! I'll be seeing Panic at the Disco in March too. (They've removed the exclamation mark; March is a rapt month.)

(On the TV: Cleft lip and palate.)

I've applied for Barista at Starbucks. Aim high, people.