Shrine in the Ether

Talk about being borked with a capital “B”… o.O

Honeymoon at work is over…not that fumbling around like a zombie grappling with foreign concepts like “blacking tapes’ and “dumping music” (which I still don’t know how to do efficiently btw…) for roughly a couple of weeks can even be remotely considered a honeymoon, but anyway…

Pressure is fast mounting with my life, which I already don’t have enough of, set to take the backseat, or maybe even the trunk…at least in the next couple of months with a live triathlon coverage in the offing and a new motor sports magazine in the works. I’m no stranger to pressure having worked in the TV/film/video industry since time immemorial…er, just 5 years actually but hey, that’s substantial… kinda… O.o Still, there’s no worse feeling than being practically an hour-old duckling thrown in the lake and basically just left to either wimp out or waddle…god, it’s like the first day of school all over again and well it’s effing rattling! It doesn’t matter how confident you are or how experienced you may be, there’s just no escaping the jitters. I usually thrive in competition but I worry that I may be losing my edge…I’m thrashing madly about right now waddling the best way I can and managing to just barely break the surface. Wheee! Fun.

And like as if starting a new job isn’t stressful enough, I just had to have a huge falling out with a really good friend which makes matters just the way uh-huh uh-huh I like it - oh-so-screwed-up! But heck, like that’s a big surprise. As with everything else in my life it seems, I have a knack for totally fucked timing. I’m feeling crappy as hell right now like that time I grabbed a litter of fuzzy kittens by the ruff, and stabbed them to death one by one with a splintery wooden soup ladle and a rusty old spork… x.x

Uh, well no, I’ve never done anything like that at all but I just assume that if I did, this is prolly how I would feel – totally wretched! It’s like someone drove a nail through my heart and set my soul on fire. I would certainly be running to a priest, a rabbi or even just a hobo pretending to be god’s messenger of peace and love if I don’t know for a fact that I don’t have a soul. I donated it to charity, how’s that for irony? You think that maybe I can get a tax exemption for that?

You'd know that you've lived on this effing island long enough when your standards, specifically with men, just incontrollably freefalls. Indeed, the average member of the male population in this godforsaken isle is hideous beyond words. I'm quite convinced that every single one of them has been genetically modified, with their Y chromosomes changed to M - a perfect ode to Monobloc, that tacky ugly plastic furniture in all their craptastic goodness. Both have about the same vapid personality after all. o.O

So screw good looks, wit, charm, intrigue or maturity. You'd just have to settle for anyone, anyone at all who can speak proper english at least 80 percent of the time. Nevermind if he's only got half a head attached to a part elephant, part fruitfly body. It just has to do.

Should you somehow find yourself falling for someone whose idea of fun is hacking random websites declaring that it's PWNT, it's not your fault. Yes, he basically gets off on those horribly stupid flash presentation shite but hey, you gotta admit that that one called "Miko Miko Nurse" is a hoot in all it's seizure-lixored glory. At least his first flash attempt had been about you, one that says he'd love you forever, stronger with each passing day and yes, it's prolly been lifted from one of 'em standard-issue greeting cards with their effing cliche verses and such swimming in a cesspool of sentimental clap-trap but whatever... Same goes for that song he wrote which says something about making love to you in the pouring rain... o.O Hey, it's geek-style romance and well, surely better than nothing.

You know you're fucked with a capital F though when he turns out to be much younger than you and hey y'all! He still lives with his mother! Whee! Life's great...NOT! >.<

Meh…the bane of the online journal…once you’ve acquired substantial readership, you can’t help but start fussing about the things you talk about for fear that the subjects in question would find out and make your life even more wretched than it already is. I’ve never really cared of course, at least not enough as to really hamper my blogging until now. Damn tech-savvy stalkers who can simply type in a few carefully selected search strings and easily find out everything about you from the name of the stinky boy in class who tried to kiss you when you were seven to the number of lurkers currently de-lurking on your forehead.

And of course, it doesn’t help that I’m a cam-whore who plasters my silly mug everywhere I could. Well, not exactly, but I do have a pic in my profile that will confirm to certain creepy crawlies that they are in fact, the miserable rat finks I’m referring to. O.o

So yeah, I’d love to rant about the asshat who showed me his ‘nakedness’ (his own words) against my will (yep, I’m scarred for life), the bastard who stopped talking to me the moment he realized I’m not interested in friendship with benefits and the racist fucktard who just sent my entire career careening down the drain, but I can’t so I won’t.

Don’t worry, I’m currently in the process of planning what will be their uh, ‘accidental demise’ but unfortunately, I can’t probably document even that for obvious reasons. o.o

Overheard in a Chatroom:

“You are nothing but a wadded up tissue in the asshairs of society!!!”

Seriously, someone give the guy an award for witty word-smithing. ;)