Last night I finished A.M Homes Music for Torching which had the most harrowing ending, which lead me to thinking standing up in the kitchen, sipping Diet Coke, taking a break from interview preparation.
Yes, I did get an interview at the company to which I applied using that covering letter that I managed to lose. Which I didn't cry over and couldn't remember the last time I did. Now at this interview, they ask for stories, which I am chop full of but need to think of quick recall, which prompted the whole crying thing yet again.
I don't know if I've even cried yet this year. Oh wait, I did during Marley & Me, but I was more concerned for Chris who was blubbering away (stiff upper lip my ass!). Music for Torching should have definitely prompted crying but it was too tragic, as I explained to Chris last night it's the William H. Macy of novels. But I would highly recommend it because it reads like a screenplay, or piece of theatre and is ominous being set in the present tense. Very eerie.
A book has never made me cry, certainly not as adult. I can't remember any as a child except for 'Where the Red Fern Grows' which my gr. 5 teacher read out loud to the class and even she cried. Evidently anything involving dogs dying prompts some emotional outburst. But seriously, I've read a fair share of depressing novels- John Updike's Rabbit Series (truth be told I've only read the first two but still...) but the only thing it caused was an argument with Chris regarding Rabbit's mistress who I felt the most sorry for and he disagreed. And far be it for me to disagree with a English Lit major from Oxford but still.
But to be fair to my tearless self whilst reading, I don't read books that perhaps touch women. I hate to use the term as it's rather derogatory but I don't read Chick Lit. In fact my taste in literature is rather masculine (stereotypically and/or typically). My favourite writer is Ernest Hemingway who is by far a man's man. I'm staring into our bookshelf for my next read. Petite error is A.M. Homes is a woman but the novel was omniscient therefore male perspectives are given as well as female, therefore I don't feel that it was entirely feminine.
I was going to read Sebasitan Faulks, Engleby next but I think I'll read Doris Lessing, the Cleft, which I think was her nobel prize winning novel. Not that I fear I'm becoming particularly brutish but I need something to pull my heartstrings, or at the very least touch my soul (in some Oprah kind of way, something to penetrate my icy exterior, does that work better?) and have it be something that isn't about a dying dog.
Wednesday 29 April 2009
Friday 24 April 2009
more differences between him and me
So I'm reading A.M. Homes Music for Torching which is really depressing for a newlywed to read. More depressing than referring to yourself as a newlywed. Not that my marriage would ever turn into that pile of mess, not that I would equate my life to a piece of pop literature but still. Anyway I have to a point that I'm slowly driving at.
Last night I had another shocking realisation of our difference. Yes he speaks funny. I've established that a long time ago when he said 'yogurt' for the first time and I couldn't help but laugh at how silly he sounded. And there are lots of words that I get Chris to repeat over and over again: lobster, turtle (when he says that I think my heart is going to explode because it's absolutely adorable. The sound of the word is personified as the cute). But all in all, I can't hear his accent any longer and he can't hear mine. Except when I say silly words and apparently when I talk to my sister on the phone I sound 'really Canadian'. Blah blah blah it doesn't enter our lives on a daily basis.
There are of course the obvious cultural differences but I'm adjusting. I know way too much about Premier league football. So much that I can now have an intelligible conversation. Nightmare realised.
Here's last night shocker. We were watching Katie and Peter: Stateside. I love that we both drop whatever we're doing and pile up on top of each other on the sofa and watch intently. We love them both so much! Chris wants to, and I quote 'shoot the shit' with Peter. But I digress, (they are that wonderful though!). So advert break I start flicking and see Dr. Regan doing this show for BBC2 about medicine, fountain of youth, that kind of stuff versus reality. And she's in a homeopathic shop looking at herbal remedies. Then someone in the shop says (and this is tricky to type out so you may have to say it out loud): 'home-e-op-athy'. It just really startled me as we say 'home-e-o-pathy'. And I thought, maybe that person is just daft and said it wrong and I got Chris to say it and shock/horror he says it the former way.
It's one of those words that you don't hear for about 3 years and don't think it varies depending on where you live, it's just homeopathy, but I was startled. And Chris defended his weird country by saying they shorten the middle of words and lengthen the first syllable. Best example being Controversy: the weirdos here say 'con'trov'o'sy'. At least that's what it sounds like in my head, where I say 'con'tro'ver'sy (you know, as in the way it's spelt...)
I think I've last my train of thought through semantics and syllables but I think our relationship is always going to be on a learning curve. One day he's going to say a word and my head will literally explode because it's too shocking. But it's also refreshing. And maybe that's the essence of people lusting after foreign accents; there's always something fresh to unveil about them, a new word, new phrase, new intonation.
Last night I had another shocking realisation of our difference. Yes he speaks funny. I've established that a long time ago when he said 'yogurt' for the first time and I couldn't help but laugh at how silly he sounded. And there are lots of words that I get Chris to repeat over and over again: lobster, turtle (when he says that I think my heart is going to explode because it's absolutely adorable. The sound of the word is personified as the cute). But all in all, I can't hear his accent any longer and he can't hear mine. Except when I say silly words and apparently when I talk to my sister on the phone I sound 'really Canadian'. Blah blah blah it doesn't enter our lives on a daily basis.
There are of course the obvious cultural differences but I'm adjusting. I know way too much about Premier league football. So much that I can now have an intelligible conversation. Nightmare realised.
Here's last night shocker. We were watching Katie and Peter: Stateside. I love that we both drop whatever we're doing and pile up on top of each other on the sofa and watch intently. We love them both so much! Chris wants to, and I quote 'shoot the shit' with Peter. But I digress, (they are that wonderful though!). So advert break I start flicking and see Dr. Regan doing this show for BBC2 about medicine, fountain of youth, that kind of stuff versus reality. And she's in a homeopathic shop looking at herbal remedies. Then someone in the shop says (and this is tricky to type out so you may have to say it out loud): 'home-e-op-athy'. It just really startled me as we say 'home-e-o-pathy'. And I thought, maybe that person is just daft and said it wrong and I got Chris to say it and shock/horror he says it the former way.
It's one of those words that you don't hear for about 3 years and don't think it varies depending on where you live, it's just homeopathy, but I was startled. And Chris defended his weird country by saying they shorten the middle of words and lengthen the first syllable. Best example being Controversy: the weirdos here say 'con'trov'o'sy'. At least that's what it sounds like in my head, where I say 'con'tro'ver'sy (you know, as in the way it's spelt...)
I think I've last my train of thought through semantics and syllables but I think our relationship is always going to be on a learning curve. One day he's going to say a word and my head will literally explode because it's too shocking. But it's also refreshing. And maybe that's the essence of people lusting after foreign accents; there's always something fresh to unveil about them, a new word, new phrase, new intonation.
Monday 20 April 2009
automatique
My pledge: this week starts some new behaviour!
I've been at odds with myself over the past couple of months. I'm thinking blog isn't the best platform to discuss it because it's insanely self-indulgent but yesterday, Chris and I went to Brick Lane and we couldn't stop judging and thus calling people twats. Be it there are loads of twats that go there, and virtually everyone dresses the same, and don't even get me started on dredlocks right now. But wait, that's deviating from the plan. It was right around Commercial st., where we decided to go the long way round because we couldn't handle walking through the crowds yet again. But there, passing a Banksy, Chris went off how he likes the concept of Banksy, but doesn't think it works with middle class white people buying photographs of his art and hanging it up in their living room. My rebuttal being I'm sure he is very pleased because that means he gets paid. Then Chris and I had our usual Purists conversation blah blah blah. We're now on Shoreditch high st. complaining about the tat that people sell on the sidewalks. And about people meandering and looking around. So we sneak down Bethnal Green road where there are zero people, but there are plenty of potholes.
I finally say that we both need to stop bitching because it's spiraling wildly out of control. Now that's one fundamental thing that has changed about me since I've moved here. I'm not sure if it's Chris, who always uses irony in virtually everything so when he's judging and getting with pissy with people, it's always mildly amusing and done with a certain flair. I mean people used to always piss me off but I was never so vocal, and I can't say that I've ever gone about 4 blocks out of the way to avoid them. Maybe it's just London on Sunday. Maybe this sort of cynicism has always been in my core and is only now bubbling to the surface.
Regardless, I twisted my ankle on a pot hole and really hurt the ball of my foot. That's about when we stopped complaining about people and focused our attention on the new Shoreditch station. It's mid way completed which got us talking about retro-futures and Futurism, being a Totalitarian which lead to other stuff, which was absolutely not whiny, nor ironic, probably not funny either.
Anyway, what is funny is that after all of that, I had a dream last night where I called someone a c-u-n-t face under my breath. Hilarious thing to remember from a dream but this week, I intend to be very open to my surroundings including the idiots that may enter and who may leave. I'm just staying local this week which leaves the chances of people pissing me off are very tiny.
I've been at odds with myself over the past couple of months. I'm thinking blog isn't the best platform to discuss it because it's insanely self-indulgent but yesterday, Chris and I went to Brick Lane and we couldn't stop judging and thus calling people twats. Be it there are loads of twats that go there, and virtually everyone dresses the same, and don't even get me started on dredlocks right now. But wait, that's deviating from the plan. It was right around Commercial st., where we decided to go the long way round because we couldn't handle walking through the crowds yet again. But there, passing a Banksy, Chris went off how he likes the concept of Banksy, but doesn't think it works with middle class white people buying photographs of his art and hanging it up in their living room. My rebuttal being I'm sure he is very pleased because that means he gets paid. Then Chris and I had our usual Purists conversation blah blah blah. We're now on Shoreditch high st. complaining about the tat that people sell on the sidewalks. And about people meandering and looking around. So we sneak down Bethnal Green road where there are zero people, but there are plenty of potholes.
I finally say that we both need to stop bitching because it's spiraling wildly out of control. Now that's one fundamental thing that has changed about me since I've moved here. I'm not sure if it's Chris, who always uses irony in virtually everything so when he's judging and getting with pissy with people, it's always mildly amusing and done with a certain flair. I mean people used to always piss me off but I was never so vocal, and I can't say that I've ever gone about 4 blocks out of the way to avoid them. Maybe it's just London on Sunday. Maybe this sort of cynicism has always been in my core and is only now bubbling to the surface.
Regardless, I twisted my ankle on a pot hole and really hurt the ball of my foot. That's about when we stopped complaining about people and focused our attention on the new Shoreditch station. It's mid way completed which got us talking about retro-futures and Futurism, being a Totalitarian which lead to other stuff, which was absolutely not whiny, nor ironic, probably not funny either.
Anyway, what is funny is that after all of that, I had a dream last night where I called someone a c-u-n-t face under my breath. Hilarious thing to remember from a dream but this week, I intend to be very open to my surroundings including the idiots that may enter and who may leave. I'm just staying local this week which leaves the chances of people pissing me off are very tiny.
Tuesday 14 April 2009
fail
I wasn't going to bring this up but I'm bored because my husband is watching Champions League football and there is no other escape for me right now.
And even though my Macbook and I are in a colossal fight, I need a mini-vent. But I did just catch myself making a Jew joke about a Liverpool player who's from Israel, who is also I'm sure observing Passover and therefore not eating anything leavened. I joked that he needs to put a little yeast on the ball. Dear Lord. What am I turning into?
It's all one big defense mechanism. Today for the first time in a long time, I lost something. I had written this amazing covering letter, but in a difficult/I guess creative format and I was using this online java editor thingy and when I had first started writing it keep going to the page back instead of deleting (backspace...grr!) so Chris suggested I work offline in a web archive thingy that you can do with Safari (I'll bet you can do it on a PC as well). I hate technology right now, which is of course ironic because I'm both typing and involving myself in the blogosphere. But I'm also critiquing it's shittiness.
So there I am, contented and actually volunteering to go out and buy our daily bottle of Diet Coke, bounce in my step, the first time so insanely pleased with myself professionally. The job market in London is colder than a witch's teet right now. Lots has been brewing with me under the surface of this blog and finally something definitively came through and after 4 hours of sweat, laughter, genuine disbelief that I could write so many positive things about myself in a witty, delightful, playfully genuine way, conveying passion, creativity, intelligence, even open-mindedness, it all was deleted by one hit of the backspace button.
I kept hitting 'save as' then typed something else, hit backspace button, which ultimately took me to the blank page before, Then hit 'save as' without realising, work gone. Searched the entire computer, searched the web archives, searched page history. Called Chris, see if he knows how to find replaced documents. Doesn't. Search Mac forums which all state you need this program that already needed to be uploaded onto your computer.
Now here's the thing: I know I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I highly doubt that I'm the last so why isn't there some universal program that's already on everyone's computer that will save them from having a meltdown (I'm referring to the human beings here and not the machinery)?
After I pulled myself together, (I surprised myself by not crying, but saying the word fuck over and over again. Have I matured or what? I'm probably now incapable of crying out of frustration. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I cried, but that's neither here nor there) I started hand-writing everything that I had just typed. I like surprising myself with my photographic memory, and overall aptitude for remembering things I've written word for word (sometimes things I've said as well). And one thing I did say as I was bopping around outside, too big for my boots: "What I am writing is so great, it's so clever. I never say this about myself but it's really great!". Those words actually left my lips, and probably with further hyperbole. Serves me right I guess. I think I'm hitting my threshold on professional pain however. Tomorrow, I'll retype this stupid jerk out and send it over, and I swear to all that is allegedly holy, I better at least get a second interview (went for a chat last week). Yarg.
But I'm calm. I have collected myself. So it was just half-time and we switched over to Gok's Fashion Fix. One of his little projects was this woman trying on a houndstooth dress. Chris turned to me and said, 'that's houndstooth right?' and I replied yes. He said that he learned that from Windows '95, where Houndstooth was an option for a desktop background.
Computers. They have just redeemed themselves. Bastards.
And even though my Macbook and I are in a colossal fight, I need a mini-vent. But I did just catch myself making a Jew joke about a Liverpool player who's from Israel, who is also I'm sure observing Passover and therefore not eating anything leavened. I joked that he needs to put a little yeast on the ball. Dear Lord. What am I turning into?
It's all one big defense mechanism. Today for the first time in a long time, I lost something. I had written this amazing covering letter, but in a difficult/I guess creative format and I was using this online java editor thingy and when I had first started writing it keep going to the page back instead of deleting (backspace...grr!) so Chris suggested I work offline in a web archive thingy that you can do with Safari (I'll bet you can do it on a PC as well). I hate technology right now, which is of course ironic because I'm both typing and involving myself in the blogosphere. But I'm also critiquing it's shittiness.
So there I am, contented and actually volunteering to go out and buy our daily bottle of Diet Coke, bounce in my step, the first time so insanely pleased with myself professionally. The job market in London is colder than a witch's teet right now. Lots has been brewing with me under the surface of this blog and finally something definitively came through and after 4 hours of sweat, laughter, genuine disbelief that I could write so many positive things about myself in a witty, delightful, playfully genuine way, conveying passion, creativity, intelligence, even open-mindedness, it all was deleted by one hit of the backspace button.
I kept hitting 'save as' then typed something else, hit backspace button, which ultimately took me to the blank page before, Then hit 'save as' without realising, work gone. Searched the entire computer, searched the web archives, searched page history. Called Chris, see if he knows how to find replaced documents. Doesn't. Search Mac forums which all state you need this program that already needed to be uploaded onto your computer.
Now here's the thing: I know I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I highly doubt that I'm the last so why isn't there some universal program that's already on everyone's computer that will save them from having a meltdown (I'm referring to the human beings here and not the machinery)?
After I pulled myself together, (I surprised myself by not crying, but saying the word fuck over and over again. Have I matured or what? I'm probably now incapable of crying out of frustration. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I cried, but that's neither here nor there) I started hand-writing everything that I had just typed. I like surprising myself with my photographic memory, and overall aptitude for remembering things I've written word for word (sometimes things I've said as well). And one thing I did say as I was bopping around outside, too big for my boots: "What I am writing is so great, it's so clever. I never say this about myself but it's really great!". Those words actually left my lips, and probably with further hyperbole. Serves me right I guess. I think I'm hitting my threshold on professional pain however. Tomorrow, I'll retype this stupid jerk out and send it over, and I swear to all that is allegedly holy, I better at least get a second interview (went for a chat last week). Yarg.
But I'm calm. I have collected myself. So it was just half-time and we switched over to Gok's Fashion Fix. One of his little projects was this woman trying on a houndstooth dress. Chris turned to me and said, 'that's houndstooth right?' and I replied yes. He said that he learned that from Windows '95, where Houndstooth was an option for a desktop background.
Computers. They have just redeemed themselves. Bastards.
Monday 13 April 2009
water
Do you ever get the feeling where you're so unimpressed with yourself for getting to the extent of laziness that you're currently squalorring in, however it just feels so good?
I can't begin to describe the matt of hair that's formed on my head. And how I've worn this t shirt for the past 2 1/2 days, (both asleep and awake). And I'm wrapped up in my blanket on the sofa and still debating shower vs. filth. In my defense, I don't smell. I've never been a smelly person. And the reason that I know this is because I don't have a sense of smell really...but please let me finish. Therefore the real reason I know is because I used to get my mother to smell me before I went to school, just to make sure. And my dwindling paranoia has been reconfirmed by boyfriends past, reinstating what I already know; I'm not smelly.
What I am is lazy. I don't know if it's free time, teenage angst revenge, boredom or maybe it's just Europe, but lately showering has become tedious. I'm an everyday shower kind of girl (evidence to the contrary above but I swear to you I do), but I'm starting to resent it. Ultimately I know it's just my long hair, that I've officially quit brushing, quit blow drying and just let curl and look tusseled. So my day now has to revolve around showering, then another 45 minutes that my hair needs to be wrapped in a terri-cloth turban, then another hour for it to be loose, air drying.
I'm also one of those bratty people who has a pool at my parents house and whenever friends came over who wanted to swim, I would insist on not. I just hate being dry, getting wet, drying off again. Which brings up a funny story that may only be so to Chris. I was watching the Little Mermaid a few months ago whilst Chris was idly listening/reading the paper. I asked him if he would like to live under the sea which prompted zero response except laughter as I sat debating to myself whether I would like or not. Ultimately I chose not because I would be wet all the time and my hair would get stringy.
I just peered out the window. I think this turned into some sort of subconscious reaction to the weather. It's tipping it down with rain.
I can't begin to describe the matt of hair that's formed on my head. And how I've worn this t shirt for the past 2 1/2 days, (both asleep and awake). And I'm wrapped up in my blanket on the sofa and still debating shower vs. filth. In my defense, I don't smell. I've never been a smelly person. And the reason that I know this is because I don't have a sense of smell really...but please let me finish. Therefore the real reason I know is because I used to get my mother to smell me before I went to school, just to make sure. And my dwindling paranoia has been reconfirmed by boyfriends past, reinstating what I already know; I'm not smelly.
What I am is lazy. I don't know if it's free time, teenage angst revenge, boredom or maybe it's just Europe, but lately showering has become tedious. I'm an everyday shower kind of girl (evidence to the contrary above but I swear to you I do), but I'm starting to resent it. Ultimately I know it's just my long hair, that I've officially quit brushing, quit blow drying and just let curl and look tusseled. So my day now has to revolve around showering, then another 45 minutes that my hair needs to be wrapped in a terri-cloth turban, then another hour for it to be loose, air drying.
I'm also one of those bratty people who has a pool at my parents house and whenever friends came over who wanted to swim, I would insist on not. I just hate being dry, getting wet, drying off again. Which brings up a funny story that may only be so to Chris. I was watching the Little Mermaid a few months ago whilst Chris was idly listening/reading the paper. I asked him if he would like to live under the sea which prompted zero response except laughter as I sat debating to myself whether I would like or not. Ultimately I chose not because I would be wet all the time and my hair would get stringy.
I just peered out the window. I think this turned into some sort of subconscious reaction to the weather. It's tipping it down with rain.
Monday 6 April 2009
I'm pausing from going out now
I am going to make this brief because I'm sneezing all over the place. Allergies.
Saturday night I experienced rage for the first time in a long time. Not that I am spectacularly stoic especially after a few glasses of wine but I do rarely express any symptoms of any emotion, in particular anger, in particular at people. Alas I was irrational. Sort of.
A huge group of us went to this evening called Shake, Rattle and Bowl which really tickled me. I love that in the centre of London, going bowling is a huge novelty. Not really so much in the real world. But yeah, it was quite fun, people were a bit chavy, some were heavily euro trash, but on a whole a motley crue of funny, friendly people.
We had moved locations a few times and I believe this to be after I had consumed a better portion of a bottle of white when I realised that my blazer was missing. Things do become a bit hazy here but I do remember searching throughout the entire venue, in particular where we were sitting and I know that I had it beside me when we were sitting down. So Chris helped me check everywhere, he decided it was gone. I decided to get really, really pissed off. I went off of this massive rant about always being the person who "vouched for humanity" but ultimately people are shit. Cringe worthy now but I guess I went off the deep end. So many of my friends have had their coats stolen on nights out. Sometimes a bit of it was their fault (if you just put it down somewhere, really just anywhere) another friend was once sitting on her brand new Vivienne Westwood jacket and someone took it from right underneath her. How disgusting is that?
Anyway, the real reason I'm so annoyed is that I only have only 3 pairs of black socks and stupidly, had stashed a pair in my blazer pocket in case were going bowling.
Saturday night I experienced rage for the first time in a long time. Not that I am spectacularly stoic especially after a few glasses of wine but I do rarely express any symptoms of any emotion, in particular anger, in particular at people. Alas I was irrational. Sort of.
A huge group of us went to this evening called Shake, Rattle and Bowl which really tickled me. I love that in the centre of London, going bowling is a huge novelty. Not really so much in the real world. But yeah, it was quite fun, people were a bit chavy, some were heavily euro trash, but on a whole a motley crue of funny, friendly people.
We had moved locations a few times and I believe this to be after I had consumed a better portion of a bottle of white when I realised that my blazer was missing. Things do become a bit hazy here but I do remember searching throughout the entire venue, in particular where we were sitting and I know that I had it beside me when we were sitting down. So Chris helped me check everywhere, he decided it was gone. I decided to get really, really pissed off. I went off of this massive rant about always being the person who "vouched for humanity" but ultimately people are shit. Cringe worthy now but I guess I went off the deep end. So many of my friends have had their coats stolen on nights out. Sometimes a bit of it was their fault (if you just put it down somewhere, really just anywhere) another friend was once sitting on her brand new Vivienne Westwood jacket and someone took it from right underneath her. How disgusting is that?
Anyway, the real reason I'm so annoyed is that I only have only 3 pairs of black socks and stupidly, had stashed a pair in my blazer pocket in case were going bowling.
Friday 3 April 2009
me want food
All I really have to say for myself is I am quite excited for this evening. It doesn't involve being fueled on white wine and running around as if my head has been cut off. Tonight, and I intend to stick to my guns, Chris and I are staying. We're ordering Chinese because I keep reading Tre's blog and she keeps talking about 400 spring rolls, which has become my new unattainable fantasy. Unattainable up until tonight.
Chris came up with this expression that fits really well: "You know when I get something in my head I have to eat it,". He loves chocolatey treats like biscuits and kit kats, oh and chocolate covered donuts. I'm much more of a crunchy food craver. I mean I have been picturing myself biting into a spring roll since last Friday. I can hear, smell, taste, and feel the spring roll actually entering my mouth and being chomped down on. And I get like that with chips too. But chips are so easy to come by, my little spring roll friends aren't. Also, I can feel the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and me eating duck chow mein (see above for the variety of sensations that I have).
Now I realise that I am not describing all these sensations with elegance but that's because I'm now so hungry and it's only 12.32pm and I have to wait another 7 hours before my fantasy has been fulfilled. Me, diving into a golden sea of 400 spring rolls and basically eating my way out.
Just picturing that surreal mental image in my head. Don't think it's pervy. I'm just really hungry.
Chris came up with this expression that fits really well: "You know when I get something in my head I have to eat it,". He loves chocolatey treats like biscuits and kit kats, oh and chocolate covered donuts. I'm much more of a crunchy food craver. I mean I have been picturing myself biting into a spring roll since last Friday. I can hear, smell, taste, and feel the spring roll actually entering my mouth and being chomped down on. And I get like that with chips too. But chips are so easy to come by, my little spring roll friends aren't. Also, I can feel the wooden chopsticks in my fingers and me eating duck chow mein (see above for the variety of sensations that I have).
Now I realise that I am not describing all these sensations with elegance but that's because I'm now so hungry and it's only 12.32pm and I have to wait another 7 hours before my fantasy has been fulfilled. Me, diving into a golden sea of 400 spring rolls and basically eating my way out.
Just picturing that surreal mental image in my head. Don't think it's pervy. I'm just really hungry.
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