Sometimes I wish the human brain was like a pantry. The way my mum arranges the pantry is, there’s cans and things (of food) and she keeps them organised by food type. She uses them little by little, and then restocks whatever needs restocking. If there’s some foodstuff we don’t like, she doesn’t buy it (unless it’s something like sardines, which is good for you >_> )

I wish my brain worked that way, to organise memories. I could keep the ones I like, and discard the ones I dislike. If there’s some memory I would be allergic to (the way my little brother is allergic to peanuts) I simply would forget it (as in, not re-stock it, the way my mum doesnt’ restock on peanut butter).

Life would be so much easier for me to deal with, I think, if I didn’t have so many memories that cause me…. that angst, and pain… you know, the kind that puts a really heavy weight on one’s chest, and causes knots in one’s throat.

It’s weird, cause the memories that cause me this “pain” really flip me out. Instead of the usual listener, I become a really really whiny bitch. Like this weekend, while chatting with a couple friends, one friend brought up a situation he’s in with a girl, and is confused about. It reminded me so much of the way the person who hurt me used to tell me about his friends, that it completely ruined my day. Mind you, the friend didn’t ruin my day. Rather, the memory I associated him with, ruined my day. Now that only the pain and guilt of having potentially injured a friend’s feelings (by not being there for him, when he has been there for me so much) are left over, I realize how (for lack of a better word) much of an ungrateful ass I’ve been.

At the time though, I couldn’t really help it. The person who hurt me was such a central part of my life, that now that he’s gone, and my plans are shattered, and there’s nothing there to replace all the angst and grief and fear that he’s left me with, the only things I have to reflect on are that angst and grief and fear. Just thinking about it makes me dizzy.

Other than that, my weekend wasn’t so bad. I really ruined it for myself, as usual. Saturday was quite well (though I had something like mental constipation and I couldn’t concentrate on studying or on writing); but it was otherwise uneventful (which these days is a godsend).

I found out Sunday morning that my mum and siblings wanted to go to Mexico as soon as this next month. For some reason, the idea of my mother and father being away from each other really bothers me (to the point of tears), so I asked if it’d  be better for me to travel in place of my mother. It seemed like a good idea all around, so that’s what’ll be happening.

My siblings and I will be leaving on the 4th, if any tickets are available, and will be returning a week later.

This trip should give me a couple of things to plan out, I think. I’m hoping it’ll keep me busy enough to keep my mind off otherwise painful thoughts. I can’t say I’m excited, but I can certainly try harder to force all that pain to become energy I can use, instead of just letting it cripple me. After all, like a good friend said, we’re still young. Not everyone finds “true love” in their 20s these days, which is a good enough point. There’s still time, I shouldn’t be in any sort of rush. All I need is patience.

It really bugs me that this sort of angst should take up so much of my life. Have I really become like the people I would always criticise for needing the existence of a significant other to validate their own existence? Am I really just afraid of being alone, or… what?

Maybe all I need is to rationalise things a little more. Once I rationalise them, and realise why I’m acting the way I’m acting, I can go back to being happily numb ^.^

Another thing I think fueled my little episode, is my boss. Last Friday he took me aside and asked that I “stop the chitchat” and “leave the chitchat for after hours”. It really bugs me, as I spend 8 hours straight in the office. It’s a bit long to go 8 hours without talking about anything that isn’t work related. It’s sort of difficult to explain, how demanding he is. He’s in a “we’re in a recession” mentality, and is picking on people wherever he can. I’ve decided (once and for all) that after this whole vacation period (for we’re going as a family to Mexico in July) I’ll start looking for another job. I don’t mind earning a bit less. Of course the money’s very good, but to be forced to sit in one place, in one attitude, for 8 hours straight, is more than I can take for my $10.50/hr and 3% commission. It’s just… It’s really quite ridiculous.

But oh well. Have to deal with it for now. At least not forever

I’ve also decided that I may get a puppy, after this vacation period. Of course, the scooter I want to get comes first (I’ll need a way of transporting myself from home to my new job), but I think maybe having a puppy will ebb away at the loneliness I’ve been feeling. I’ve decided, also, on a Border Collie. They’re incredibly smart, and really friendly, very loyal, and they don’t eat much :3

Also! I had a weird dream last night. I had a dream that Martin signed onto IRC, and left right before I had a chance to say hi. I woke up feeling sad, and a bit silly, hehe.

To top it all off, I feel as if I’m getting a cold!

I’ll end this post with a silly fact I learned on QI, and have been flaunting all over the place:

In 1987 (the year of my birth) it was discovered that the Greeks made dildoes out of bread.

*hides*

WARNING: THIS BLOG ENTRY IS A RANT. You have been warned…..

Okay, so here’s what on my mind. First, Dark Knight was AWESOME. I’ll not give away anything, cause I’m not great at critiquing movies, but Heath Ledger was amazing. His death and performance stuck a deep chord with me, some of you may know why, and others may not, oh well deal with it.

Also, ther relationship between my coworker and her….. something….. *gives up* I don’t even know what to call him. He doesnt *act* like a boyfriend, cause he’s always being a dick, but he doesn’t act like an enemy, cause he’s her baby’s father (funny for j00: http://www.friendsoffoamy.com/index.php?id=343) and he loves his kid, but he treats her like TRASH. Recently it’s become more and more obvious (well to me at least) that my suspicion that he got her pregnant (now I’m not saying she wasn’t responsible for being the idiot who opened her legs for him, it’s her fault too, yes, I know, shush nao) for her.. LEGAL PAPERS!!! See, he’s an illegal immigrant, and she recently got her citizenship, and as soon as he heard she was pregnant he kept trying to push her into getting married, but he never really proposed romantically (not that that’s a must in order to show one’s love, it’s just odd when it’s not done) and he doesn’t take her out, doesn’t romance her, she actually told me they’d not had any intercourse since she got pregnant, which was the first and only time they’ve had intercourse! Not that it’s necessary for two people in a relationship to have intercourse in order to be happy, but it… adds up. He is obviously ashamed of her physical appearance. He doesn’t like to be seen with her in public, and when they are in public, he walks ahead of her, and leaves her and whoever is with her, behind to chat. It’s…. just not very nice.

Well, lately, he’s been getting on my nerves. He’s been acting very pompous, like he owns the warehouse. He walks away while one’s still talking to him. He walks around giving around orders to people he doesn’t need to interact with. To put it simply, his attitude is annoying.

What else… damn. After my conversation with orudge on the whole “measurements” issue (not like that) I totally forgot what else I was going to rant about.

Oh well, saves you time

*helpful Tenebrae is helpful*

*wiggle*

.

What a Flying GoneWacko Looks Like:

There was a Born_Acorn who fought to the death,

With his alter-Born_Acorn, to their last breath.

All through the day, and all through the night,

They did kick, and they did bite.

“That’s it!” said Born_Acorn

“These conversations are through!”

“Nuh-uh” said Born_Acorn,

As he threw some sheep poo.

“What would it take, for you to leave me be?”

Said Born_Acorn, deflecting fetid debris.

“A bucket!” said Born_Acorn, “Of Brussels Sprouts,

And I’ll refrain from throwing this net full of trouts!”

“Then let’s call a truce,” said one to the other,

“I’ll get you your bucket, from the great Earth Mother!”

And so they searched, far and wide,

Little did they know, the Earth Mother had died!

Discouraged, they were, as on they trudged,

When they came across one called Owen Rudge!

They asked and they pleaded “Where is the Earth Mother?”

But all Rudge did, was look from one to the other.

Now saddened by failure, they returned home,

And they met a Prof_Frink, under a geodesic dome.**

“Where is she,” they asked, with tears in their eyes,

He said, “Her heart was broken, and she’s in the skies.”

They looked at each other, enraged beyond recognition,

And both went off frantically, to look for ammunition.

To this day they stand, upon Mount Lovelorn,

Battling each other with large sacks of peppercorn.

**http://www.thedomecompany.co.uk/images/domes/10m/10m_guildhall_glow.jpg

Orudge, the SROTU, reminds me of… an Interpol agent. I have this fixed image in my mind of orudge grabbing someone’s arm, twisting it around to his victim’s back and slamming him against a wall, all inside an interrogation room (you know, one of those with the one-way-see mirror, and the metal table and chairs chained to the floor?).

Allow me to relate how I got to this image:

Orudge walks nonchalantly down a street in St. Andrews, Fife, Scotland. It’s a rather clear day, and the sound of waves can be heard nearby. Gulls and other sea-birds can be heard squawking in the distance, and the smell of salt-water is sweet in the air. It is almost sun-down, and orudge is heading back to his dorm.

As he makes his way towards his abode, his mobile rings. It’s a ring-tone he hasn’t heard in some time, and it startles him. He reaches into his left pocket, and retrieves his Samsung D600. With a sigh, he answers.

“Agent, we have a situation in your vicinity,” says a strict and anxious female voice.

“What is it now?” asks orudge impatiently. He preferred his previous operator, who seemed to have retired in the past month. The older woman had a softer, calmer, more composed voice.

“We have new information on the location of an assassin working for Obhiamoo” says the woman.

Orudge stops in his tracks and blanches visibly. He had arrested the noted Ugandan arms-seller a year ago, on a trip to Brazil. It had only been chance that the man had been hiding in a dwelling near orudge’s father’s home, and that orudge had noticed and recognized the man despite his extensive plastic surgery. A DNA exam from a cigar Obhiamoo had discarded carelessly had confirmed his identity.

“Who is it?” asked orudge, and continued his nonchalant walk, regaining his composure. He hated these parts… when he didn’t know where the person was, but could feel his presence. But walking quicker would arouse suspicion. Orudge liked to keep the element of surprise whenever possible.

As the operator filled him in with details, orudge reached his dorm. He expertly extricated his MacBook from a jungle of cables, book, and dirty laundry, and turned it on. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he logged into the Interpol site and downloaded the file his operator had prepared for him. He sighed as he got to work, reading the asasin’s biography and personal details, including weaponry taste and special tactics abilities.

Hyronymus, as he was known in the criminal world, was a mystery. There was very little information, save for extensive detailing on his computer and cyber-world doings and crimes. Trained and dishonourably discharged by the U.S. Navy (Seal), he disappeared from the main-stream world after being sent on a mission by the CIA to Uganda, where it is reported he met with Obhiamoo.

Orudge sighed, it would have probably been best to accept the offer from Interpol to be put into protective custody in the United States. Apple wasn’t bad to work for anyway. But he had insisted on waiting until the summer, and now he had a professionally trained (and well-paid) assassin on his tail. Of course, it wasn’t too late to take up the offer if, that is, he could somehow avoid Hyronymous.

TO BE CONTINUED . . . .

GoneWacko reminds me of a vampire. Granted, the name itself (GoneWacko) is not a very vampiric name, but run with me on this one.

I saw GoneWacko’s picture on TT-Forums and I couldn’t help but think how good GoneWacko would look with long fangs. And then I wondered, what if GoneWacko was not really who he said he was?

As a vampire, GoneWacko would look rather stunning. I picture him wearing a fedora, with a cut peacock’s feather in it. He dresses in a black and green (the green to match the peacock feather) pinstripe suit, and has a cane, with a silver wolf’s head on the handle. In other words, he looks like a very white pimp with fangs.

GoneWacko walks the night streets, looking for prey. There are always hookers about, but GoneWacko is looking for some fresher blood. He could always try the jails nearby, but they’re too easy….

As he walks, he passes by an apartment building. Apartments. Those are always full of people to feed on. Without hesitation, and with a certain air of self-importance he walks into the building. At first he is greeted by a cop, sitting at a front desk. He smiles at the cop, who smiles back, tipping his cop hat. GoneWacko has one of those faces one seems to know from somewhere, and he often gets away with a simple smile, or nod.

As he walks up the stairs, he notices how well taken care of the place is. Of course, the carpet is a bit threadbare here and there, from use, but in all, it is clean, and, it seems, rather decent.

GoneWacko walks into the first hall, and waits for an elevator. When it arrives, there is a young man, dressed as a bellboy, with two dogs in tow. He looks harassed, as if uncomfortable handling the dogs. GoneWacko smiles and walks in. The dogs whimper, and go to a corner, as far away from GoneWacko as they can. They can tell he is bloodthirsty.

As the elevator closes, GoneWacko’s friendly smile turns into a greedy one; his eyes are full of lust for blood, and his lips curl back to reveal the now elongating bright white fangs as he walks towards the now terrified bellboy and the howling dogs. When the door closes, there is no sound to be heard.

~.~

GoneWacko steps out of the elevator, and onto the first floor of living quarters in the apartment. He twirls his cane as he walks nonchalantly down the hall, looking at all the doors. Suddenly he stops, for his cane has frozen, very close to a particularly clean door. With a sly smile he raps on the door smartly, three times.

There is a sound of moving bolts and locks opening, and finally the door opens just a crack to reveal a pair of blue feminine eyes.

“Yes?” asks a groggy young lady, dressed in a bath robe.

“Hi…” begins GoneWacko, and pushes his way gently through the door. Already his fangs are elongating, and the door closes behind him gently.

If we look down, to the gap between the floor and the door, the light from inside the apartment is casting strange shadows. There are two, one walking slowly towards the other. And then there is a thud against the door, and the two shadows melt into one, as a pair of shadow feet disappear and a soft scraping is heard against the wooden door. There is a whimper, and then complete silence. After a moment, a thud is audible, and GoneWacko opens the door again. This time, he comes out wiping the corners of his lips with a bright white handkerchief, which he stuffs back into his pants pocket.

Again and again, he goes up all 4 living quarter complexes.

When he gets to the top of the building, GoneWacko exits the elevator and steps out onto the rooftop. He goes to the edge of the roof, and looks down at the city. He is full, and the sun will soon be up. He must make sure to get back home before it does. As he turns, heading back to the elevator, he notices a small surveillance camera.

Wink for the camera, GoneWacko.

The apartment complex was called #tycoon. Lawl. >:3

Lewis reminds me of a CIA agent. I’ll tell you why.

How often do you find an amazingly sweet, sincere, down to earth, quirky and decent guy on the internet? NEVAR. Most of the guys I’ve met on the internet usually hide their professions, their family lives, their tastes and distastes, etc. But not Lewis. I have very rarely met a guy so sincere over the internet. Or… is he?

When I think of Lewis, I picture a taller than the average young man. Hi is in his early 30s, as he professes, and wears glasses. His brown hair, which sometimes grows to go near his eyes, or right under his eyebrows, is usually pretty well kept, unless he has been exchanging between headphones and baseball hats all day.

He gets up for work every morning, makes his coffee, as he should, etc. He carpools, like a good citizen, etc. Once he gets to work, he greets friends and coworkers etc. But once he steps into his office, it is a completely different world.

Lewis steps into his roomy office, and closes the door behind him. There is a window, at the other end, and a filing cabinet beside the window. The carpeting is good for attenuating sounds, and he steps over to his desk gingerly, after he makes sure he has locked the door. People respect Lewis’ closed door. He taps a small corner of his desk, andhe smiles as something begins to whrrrrrrrr

From the desk rises a small block. It is a tiny television. Ceefax seems to be broadcasting on it. But this is no ordinary Ceefax. It has a listing of the Top 10 Most Wanted criminals in the world. It has their case files, and any other information a CIA agent may ever need. He stis on the corner and brings out a Newton PDA, into which he registers any new information.

There is a gentle knock on the door, and Lewis looks up suddenly. No one ever knocks on his door this early. He frowns, and taps the TV on the top, making it whrrrrrrrrr once more, and go down. He goes to a corner of his office brings out a gold club from its bag. He then goes to the door, and opens it carefully. Standing there is a young intern, who looks a bit anxious. “Uh, Mr. McIntosh, some guy left this in my Inbox, but it’s sealed, and it has your name on it so…”

Lewis nods his thanks, and takes what is in the pimply intern’s hands. It is a black envelope. Lewis recognizes it immediately and slams the door shut, locked, and hurries to his desk, where he tears the envelope open. Inside is a short letter. It is from Headquarters! (Wherever that may be.)

He looks around his room frantically, and then up. He looks at the letter again, and then again, at the foam tiled cieling. He takes the closest chair, and steps up onto it. Even though he is tall, he can’t quite reach the cieling. He countrs the types. 3 from the south wall, then 1 to the west, then 4 south-east. He pushes that tile up. He can feel there is something heavy.

He hops off the chair as he removes the tile, and, lo and behold, it is a regular banker’s box. He takes off the top, and looks inside. There is a change of clothing, and a briefcase. He brings out the clothes and sorts it onto his table. There is a long tan trench coat, with a soft fleece inner lining, a ridiculously long, multicoloured scarf, a pair of khaki pants, a black t-shirt and a hunter green vest. It seems the powers that be trust him to pick his own socks, shoes and underwear.

Lewis proceeds to the briefcase, and opens it, knowing already that the code to open it is his ID number. Inside are a pair of keys, a stack of money, passport, driver’s license, and a couple other documents. Then he notices the envelope and realizes: He has a new assignment!

Immediately he brings out his phone. It rings only a second.

“Heather-” he begins, but he is caught off.

“I got one too,” she says, and she seems to smile as she hears his sigh of relief. “I’ll be waiting outside for you,” she says, and they say a quick goodbye.

Lewis changes quickly, and he laughs suddenly, noticing the car keys. They say SAAB!

He takes the stairs (which are usually empty) and exits through the rear of the building. There, near the trash bins, is a shinning new SAAB TURBO in a wonderful hunter green. He laughs as he sees the license plates.

The license plates say #tycoon. Lawl. >:3

Wallyweb is, I think, one of the most interesting of #tycooners. He remains aloof, never giving much personal information (except for every once in a while, when the ocassion calls for a smidgeon of personal info) and only in humorous ocassions does he offer any real insight of what he’s thinking. Wallyweb reminds me of… a gunslinger.

When I think of Wallyweb, I get the image of a tall man in a (probably leather) The Matrix style long coat, with great shinning silver buckles across the waist and smaller ones across the chest. Atop his head is a cowboy hat, black, to match his coat. His boots look heavy, and they too are made of black leather, with large silver buckles on the sides. Although heavy, his boots make no noise on the brightly lit stone pavement of the street as he heads towards a small dingy looking shop on the other side.

Wallyweb looks around himself before he knocks, making sure to keep his hat low over his forehead, shielding his face from the bright moon and lamplight. Something in the door slides to the side, and two black eyes can be seen peeping out into the darkness. The eyes seem to recognize Wallyweb, and, after the sound of some heavy bolts moving is heard, the door opens only enough for Wallyweb to slip through. The door closes with a heavy thud behind him.

It takes less than a second for Wallyweb to accustom his eyes to the bright firelight inside. It is a furnace, for smelting. Beside the furnace is a large fat man in a greasy and dirty white shirt and light brown trousers.

“You’re here about a pair of revolvers?” asks the fat man with a growling voice as he bends over to get something off the floor. It is a hammer, and he goes to an anvil and begins hammering away at something.

Wallyweb only nods, and for the first time we notice something around his waist, under the leather coat, resting on his hips. It is a pair of belt holsters. But they’re empty!

There is something akin to anxiety about Wallyweb, but he keeps his composure. Only his posture, a bit tense and rigid, betrays any form of emotion, and the blacksmith (the fat guy) grins.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a cheerfully gruff laugh. “Your guns are fine, come over here,” he says, waving him over.

Wallyweb stepped over carefully, and looked over the fat man’s shoulder. A smile spread across his face and he raised his hat to get a better look. In front of him, and in a crystal casing, laying atop a luxurious satin pillow, lit by the light of four candles, lay two revolvers.

“The design was difficult,” said the fat man proudly. “But I managed to keep the revolvers themselves intact. Didn’t take a single piece out of them,” he said, his chest swelling with pride.

Wallyweb steps around the blacksmith, and reaches inside the crystal case. He picks up a revolver and feels the design etched in white gold into the side. Very intricate, it gives him shivers, and he picks up the other one.

Without a word, he brings out a heavy money bag and pushes it into the man’s hands, who looks little more than flabbergasted as Wallyweb simply opens the door and walks out into the dark street, making sure to close the door behind him silently.

Out in the street he brings out a gun, and begins filling it with ammunition. He smiles as the white gold shines in the moonlight.

The name etched into the revolvers was #tycoon. Lawl. >:3

Lobster reminds me of a Viking. He reminds me of a very tall and buff Norse warrior with a great big horned helmet, which has a gold-gilded nose piece coming down. (MY GRILL LET ME SHOW YOU IT LAWL)

Lobster is just hopping off his Viking Trireme ship-thing and stepping onto a sandy and pebbly beach. It is before sunrise, but there is some light filtering in through the dense fog, which is being moved this way and that by a cool sea wind. Lobster looks around, surveying what little is visible of the land.

He turns back to look at his ship. It is a grand and large ship, with shining oars sticking out from the sides, the sail blowing gently in the wind. He looks back at the land. He think it will be difficult to find wood like the type his trireme needs. Regardless, he sends out a scouting party. Meanwhile, Lobster sets up a perimeter, and a bonfire. His soldiers need nootrishun.

After hunting down some game, the scouts come back, reporting the different types of wood found in the small forest. Lobster nods as he jots this down. He was right, there is no such wood as he needs for the final piece of his ship. Disappointed, he calls everyone to pack up.

Lobster and his men sail for days in search of another island. He stands at the front of his row of men, who are busy at the ores. He looks around his ship, proud of how far he has come from the misery of his past. Lobster’s hair shines brightly in the sun, as he pulls of his helm. Suddenly there is a cry of land, and he rushes to the side. Verily, there it is, a group of rocks jutting out in the bright blue sea. He commands his ship be directed that way, and it is done.

There is a great commotion as they prepare to dock. There is hidden coral and rocks jutting out of the water. Lobster decides to have his men dock far from the shore, and take a small boat out to the land. AHA! Already Lobster can see the trees he has been searching for.

He brings out a small roll from inside his heavy bear fur jacket and unrolls it. Inside is a very intricate design. In the middle is a woman, with a… lobster tail instead of legs. Her breasts seemed to be very firmly clenched on by a lobster, whose tail seemed to end at her navel.

“Those trees are perfect,” he said to himself, and immediately set his men out to cut them down and work them into the design he would affix into his majestic ship.

The name at the bottom of the design was #tycoon. Lawl. >:3