Thursday, November 21st 2013 - Eff Me, It's Cold
I don't know why winter takes me by surprise, seeing as how it happens every year without fail and it usually announces itself by turning leaves orange and yanking them off the trees a few weeks earlier, yet somehow, I always wind up hosting an expression of utter confusion as if something untoward has occurred without asking my permission.
I saw "Gravity" for the second time last night (because who can see that movie once and not sit slack jawed with awe at the effects and not want to see it again?) and shot out of the warm bosom of the movie theatre and right into the cold, heartless crossfire of the first mini-blizzard of winter and a car that could make ice faster than any freezer. The flurries of light snow swirled right down my parka hood and into my cold, dark SOUL. I uttered some bad, bad words.
In other things that slightly surprised me this week, I went to A&W before the movie last night, for some fast food, which I hardly ever do because not being a meat eater the choices are slim in such places and if they do have a veggie burger of some sort it's usually pretty much like a piece of cardboard covered in a tomato and angst. However, A&W have a pretty kick ass veggie burger I discovered and it has onion rings and sliced dill pickle and tomato and well....yeah!!! I approved. Tasty! How did I not know of this? I thought I knew everything.
How's everyone today? Stoked for the weekend? I hope so.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Behold the New Overlords
Today, around 7:30 a.m., as I was walking in the half-light, around our site on my way to my office, a rat the approximate size of a German Shepherd, shot out from behind some pallets, scurried over my foot in its haste to scare me to death, and made me emit a sound like a 1940s' horror movie victim as she opens her velvet drapes to find a glowering Dracula hovering there in mid-air, like a vampiric, satanic fart. I honestly don't know who got the bigger fright, but I'd wager it was me.
I don't know what's going on in our place, lately. The creatures that frequent it are like colossal mutants, full of food plant leftovers and homicidal intent.
One early morning, I was walking down the thin, paved path, at the back of the factory, when I found my way blocked by the Orson Welles of birds - a giant, rotund thing with a scowl like Kiefer Sutherland when he finds out his car's broken down in a dry town. The avian Tony Soprano was blocking the entire path (and possibly the sun!) with its fearsome aura of malice. He was clearly sizing me up before turning into one of those crows in Hitchcock's "The Birds" and mowing me down in a bloody pool on the paving.
Now technically it was a seagull, but like no seagull you've ever seen this side of Hades. Eyes like tiny, black currants, if currants can be straight from the depths of Hell. It had a body the size of a milk cow, a hooked beak you could moor a boat on. He was a gargantuan, murderous beast of a thing. And he would NOT BUDGE. Most seagulls see a human approach and they sigh and reluctantly fly off while maybe weighing up the options of spitefully shitting on your head. Not this guy. He sat perfectly still, like he was stuffed, and he stared me out with his beady, Danny de Vito, death eyes. I swear he was smirking. When I got almost all the way up to him he came right out and said, "I hope you don't think I'm going anywhere, human. And you even THINK about walking around me and I will eat your eyeballs."
Oddly enough he sounded a lot like Nathan Lane, which I DID NOT EXPECT.
Man, that bird owned that path. Damn thing sat there and had a Mexican stand off with me for about five minutes before I distracted him with half of my lunch, and ran like the wind towards my office door.
Things are afoot in creatureland, that's all I'm saying.
I don't know what's going on in our place, lately. The creatures that frequent it are like colossal mutants, full of food plant leftovers and homicidal intent.
One early morning, I was walking down the thin, paved path, at the back of the factory, when I found my way blocked by the Orson Welles of birds - a giant, rotund thing with a scowl like Kiefer Sutherland when he finds out his car's broken down in a dry town. The avian Tony Soprano was blocking the entire path (and possibly the sun!) with its fearsome aura of malice. He was clearly sizing me up before turning into one of those crows in Hitchcock's "The Birds" and mowing me down in a bloody pool on the paving.
Now technically it was a seagull, but like no seagull you've ever seen this side of Hades. Eyes like tiny, black currants, if currants can be straight from the depths of Hell. It had a body the size of a milk cow, a hooked beak you could moor a boat on. He was a gargantuan, murderous beast of a thing. And he would NOT BUDGE. Most seagulls see a human approach and they sigh and reluctantly fly off while maybe weighing up the options of spitefully shitting on your head. Not this guy. He sat perfectly still, like he was stuffed, and he stared me out with his beady, Danny de Vito, death eyes. I swear he was smirking. When I got almost all the way up to him he came right out and said, "I hope you don't think I'm going anywhere, human. And you even THINK about walking around me and I will eat your eyeballs."
Oddly enough he sounded a lot like Nathan Lane, which I DID NOT EXPECT.
Man, that bird owned that path. Damn thing sat there and had a Mexican stand off with me for about five minutes before I distracted him with half of my lunch, and ran like the wind towards my office door.
Things are afoot in creatureland, that's all I'm saying.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Well...
"What's a really fun thing to do on a Saturday night, Veg?" I hear you cry (or it could have been the wind) Well. How about drink some wine and write a blog entry, because what could possibly go wrong with that? Nothing!
The wind is really howling outside. Sounds like Kanye West sat on a kitten, only less offensive. I decided a night at home with wine sounded pleasant because, doesn't it? I'm too happily introverted to give much of a hot damn about going out and doing social things when I like being home because I have a recliner, some candles, wine and some Swedish TV shows on Netfix and what could beat that?
Oh, oh! Is it wrong that I'm stoked because I bought six pairs of obnoxiously loud stripey socks today? I'm talking socks so bright that Stevie Wonder would probably swear and put on some stronger sunglasses. They are FANTASTIC.
Sorry about the Stevie joke, was that too much? And also sorry that I'm excited for socks. I just saw my life from the outside for a second and it was a whole big pile of WTF, so I poured another glass of wine and figured I might as well just go for it.
But it's the weekend. God, I love the weekend. When I wake up at six am, instead of having to drag myself out of bed, dripping curse words from my lady-mouth, I can cheerfully roll over and go back to sleep. Especially since it's dark till about 8 a.m now although the clocks go back tonight. An extra hour in bed? SIGN ME UP!
In other news, my big toe is weird.
The wind is really howling outside. Sounds like Kanye West sat on a kitten, only less offensive. I decided a night at home with wine sounded pleasant because, doesn't it? I'm too happily introverted to give much of a hot damn about going out and doing social things when I like being home because I have a recliner, some candles, wine and some Swedish TV shows on Netfix and what could beat that?
Oh, oh! Is it wrong that I'm stoked because I bought six pairs of obnoxiously loud stripey socks today? I'm talking socks so bright that Stevie Wonder would probably swear and put on some stronger sunglasses. They are FANTASTIC.
Sorry about the Stevie joke, was that too much? And also sorry that I'm excited for socks. I just saw my life from the outside for a second and it was a whole big pile of WTF, so I poured another glass of wine and figured I might as well just go for it.
But it's the weekend. God, I love the weekend. When I wake up at six am, instead of having to drag myself out of bed, dripping curse words from my lady-mouth, I can cheerfully roll over and go back to sleep. Especially since it's dark till about 8 a.m now although the clocks go back tonight. An extra hour in bed? SIGN ME UP!
In other news, my big toe is weird.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Remembering the Magic
Autumn has arrived complete with blazing orange leaves and sharp cold and even the occasional blue sky. I like it. The contrast is breathtaking. It's not at that place where you curse when you touch a metal object with your bare skin or scrunch up your toes in your boots to keep the blood from freezing, but it's slowly getting there. Winter is always on the horizon.
I loved Halloween as a kid, and a few days later, if you were in the UK, Guy Fawkes night. In my memories the nights were brisk with cold, dark with a scattering of stars and our breath suspended in the air while the darkness became illuminated by fireworks and bonfires.
One of my earliest memories, harks back to when I was about three years old, sitting on a step in the back garden of the old tenement flats where we lived, with Slow Sandra, a little girl my own age who was mentally impaired. I didn't know it at the time, though. We rode tricycles together and played with dolls. Then I grew up while she stayed a child. Slow Sandra had a much older brother who would set off fireworks for us to watch while we sat in our winter coats and clapped.
Nowadays, all I clap for is people falling over on ice and when someone offers to refill my wine glass. Where is the magic now? Do we just grow up, grow old and nothing is special any more?
I spent some time in the desert, fairly recently. The wonder of the colours, the heat, the vast, open expanse of hot, sandy nothing and the clear blue skies, made me feel alive. It made me remember the magic and I realized that it is, in fact, still present, you just have to know where YOUR magic lies.
And that's the corniest thing I've said in a long time.
I loved Halloween as a kid, and a few days later, if you were in the UK, Guy Fawkes night. In my memories the nights were brisk with cold, dark with a scattering of stars and our breath suspended in the air while the darkness became illuminated by fireworks and bonfires.
One of my earliest memories, harks back to when I was about three years old, sitting on a step in the back garden of the old tenement flats where we lived, with Slow Sandra, a little girl my own age who was mentally impaired. I didn't know it at the time, though. We rode tricycles together and played with dolls. Then I grew up while she stayed a child. Slow Sandra had a much older brother who would set off fireworks for us to watch while we sat in our winter coats and clapped.
Nowadays, all I clap for is people falling over on ice and when someone offers to refill my wine glass. Where is the magic now? Do we just grow up, grow old and nothing is special any more?
I spent some time in the desert, fairly recently. The wonder of the colours, the heat, the vast, open expanse of hot, sandy nothing and the clear blue skies, made me feel alive. It made me remember the magic and I realized that it is, in fact, still present, you just have to know where YOUR magic lies.
And that's the corniest thing I've said in a long time.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Still Groovin'
Monday, August 19th, 2013 - Yeah.
Jesus people, what a week. Busy, busy. Nothing interesting. Just work busy. My eyes sort of feel like they've been freeze dried at this point from too many hours staring at my tiny work computer screen. I feel myself wake up in a cold sweat in the dead of night, mumbling things about "raw material specifications" and I'm pretty sure the other night I woke up and uttered the phrase "fucking disodium phosphate!" Because this is what my life has become.
I was so tired this morning, on my way to work I put my headphones on, turned my iPod up as loud as it would go, and blasted myself awake with something noisy and exuberant which may have been some vintage Barenaked Ladies and which permanently (probably) destroyed my sound detection centre (waxy ear holes!). It did, however, improve my urge to dance around with an inane grin on my face, immeasurably so there's that, I guess.
Enough of that nonsense. It's Monday again. Funny how those roll around. The only good thing about Monday is I get to watch last night's "Breaking Bad" because thanks to Netflix - you marvellous, glorious bastards - streaming the next day means not having to acquire stuff via more uh....secretive...methods. Yay.
Damn Mondays. Still, on the upside, it isn't Tuesday!
Hey, anyone fancy a drink?
Jesus people, what a week. Busy, busy. Nothing interesting. Just work busy. My eyes sort of feel like they've been freeze dried at this point from too many hours staring at my tiny work computer screen. I feel myself wake up in a cold sweat in the dead of night, mumbling things about "raw material specifications" and I'm pretty sure the other night I woke up and uttered the phrase "fucking disodium phosphate!" Because this is what my life has become.
I was so tired this morning, on my way to work I put my headphones on, turned my iPod up as loud as it would go, and blasted myself awake with something noisy and exuberant which may have been some vintage Barenaked Ladies and which permanently (probably) destroyed my sound detection centre (waxy ear holes!). It did, however, improve my urge to dance around with an inane grin on my face, immeasurably so there's that, I guess.
Enough of that nonsense. It's Monday again. Funny how those roll around. The only good thing about Monday is I get to watch last night's "Breaking Bad" because thanks to Netflix - you marvellous, glorious bastards - streaming the next day means not having to acquire stuff via more uh....secretive...methods. Yay.
Damn Mondays. Still, on the upside, it isn't Tuesday!
Hey, anyone fancy a drink?
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Gibberish
Weird things are afoot in the highlands....
Not really. No more than usual I'm thinking. Bunch of northern weirdos. Ha!
What the hell am I talking about?
Well it's been a quiet, part rainy, sweatfest this weekend. I can't understand it. One moment it's monsooning (new word alert!) from the heavens and the next, even your ears are sweating like tiny moist cauliflowers. It's most unpleasant. Make up your mind, weather. Jesus. I appreciate the desert even more now. It might be five hundred degrees and out to kill you in a hundred different, nasty ways, but at least your cleavage remains dry as a Death Valley canyon.
Only you know...less sandy. Or deep. Or less full of psychopathic hippies. Usually. Moving on...
I have a Miley Cyrus song stuck in my head. And this can't be normal for any human being who isn't actually demented. It won't leave. It just dug in its hooks and there it is on a loop. How do I even know this song? I am alarmed at my psyche and its devious grasp of social media. Git out damn song! I recant my invitation.
That works for vampires, apparently.
Another Monday morning looms. Won't someone make them illegal already? Huh? Here's to you all having great weeks.
Not really. No more than usual I'm thinking. Bunch of northern weirdos. Ha!
What the hell am I talking about?
Well it's been a quiet, part rainy, sweatfest this weekend. I can't understand it. One moment it's monsooning (new word alert!) from the heavens and the next, even your ears are sweating like tiny moist cauliflowers. It's most unpleasant. Make up your mind, weather. Jesus. I appreciate the desert even more now. It might be five hundred degrees and out to kill you in a hundred different, nasty ways, but at least your cleavage remains dry as a Death Valley canyon.
Only you know...less sandy. Or deep. Or less full of psychopathic hippies. Usually. Moving on...
I have a Miley Cyrus song stuck in my head. And this can't be normal for any human being who isn't actually demented. It won't leave. It just dug in its hooks and there it is on a loop. How do I even know this song? I am alarmed at my psyche and its devious grasp of social media. Git out damn song! I recant my invitation.
That works for vampires, apparently.
Another Monday morning looms. Won't someone make them illegal already? Huh? Here's to you all having great weeks.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Thursday Rhymes with "Worse Day"
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Today work was out to kill me. It often is on Thursdays. It's some cosmic law made by some colossal knobhead.
I don't know why Thursdays particularly, but they are always busy, stressful, tiring and leave you muttering to yourself on the bus afterwards and rolling your eyes like someone who's got a weekend pass from an asylum. Obviously by "you" I'm being loose here. I mean ME. By lunchtime on Thursdays I'm usually cursing inside my head and wondering if I have a wine strong enough to cancel it all when I finally make it home.
To make matters worse, THIS Thursday - today - it was raining heavily enough to sail to work. That might be a touch dramatic but you get the picture. RAIN. And warm too. Too warm to wear a coat. I had no normal formal work type of umbrella but managed to find an old transparent plastic thing - the kind that comes right down over your face like a giant plastic tent-bubble. It was emblazoned with the words I "HEART" LONDON on front. It might have well have announced "I am a tremendous douchebowl". I have no idea where this monstrosity came from. I have no feelings about London either way. Mostly I want it to shut the hell up and send me its weather.
I had two choices - lose my dryness or lose my dignity. Thankfully dryness won out because, plastic tackbrella in hand, I got outside to find that some plebian fuckwad had moved the entire bus shelter, leaving only a pathetic pole in its place with a bus stop sign nailed on. What the actual feck? WHO MOVES THE BUS SHELTER ON THE RAINIEST DAY OF THE YEAR?
Who moves a bus shelter at all?
So I stood there in the pouring rain, in my damp work pants and little cardigan and big fuck-off, "I AM NOT ON TOP OF MATTERS", umbrella straight from 1979, and said a bad, bad word. Then I planned to immediately eat some cake upon arrival at work and felt better.
The end.
Not really. What I'm saying here is Thursday is a huge asshole and I am not friends with it. Hope your Thursdays were/are better? I'm off now to maybe open that wine...
Today work was out to kill me. It often is on Thursdays. It's some cosmic law made by some colossal knobhead.
I don't know why Thursdays particularly, but they are always busy, stressful, tiring and leave you muttering to yourself on the bus afterwards and rolling your eyes like someone who's got a weekend pass from an asylum. Obviously by "you" I'm being loose here. I mean ME. By lunchtime on Thursdays I'm usually cursing inside my head and wondering if I have a wine strong enough to cancel it all when I finally make it home.
To make matters worse, THIS Thursday - today - it was raining heavily enough to sail to work. That might be a touch dramatic but you get the picture. RAIN. And warm too. Too warm to wear a coat. I had no normal formal work type of umbrella but managed to find an old transparent plastic thing - the kind that comes right down over your face like a giant plastic tent-bubble. It was emblazoned with the words I "HEART" LONDON on front. It might have well have announced "I am a tremendous douchebowl". I have no idea where this monstrosity came from. I have no feelings about London either way. Mostly I want it to shut the hell up and send me its weather.
I had two choices - lose my dryness or lose my dignity. Thankfully dryness won out because, plastic tackbrella in hand, I got outside to find that some plebian fuckwad had moved the entire bus shelter, leaving only a pathetic pole in its place with a bus stop sign nailed on. What the actual feck? WHO MOVES THE BUS SHELTER ON THE RAINIEST DAY OF THE YEAR?
Who moves a bus shelter at all?
So I stood there in the pouring rain, in my damp work pants and little cardigan and big fuck-off, "I AM NOT ON TOP OF MATTERS", umbrella straight from 1979, and said a bad, bad word. Then I planned to immediately eat some cake upon arrival at work and felt better.
The end.
Not really. What I'm saying here is Thursday is a huge asshole and I am not friends with it. Hope your Thursdays were/are better? I'm off now to maybe open that wine...
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