Drive-in Saturday

This is what happens when I tell Julie about my day. I honestly feel she should illustrate my life always.

Gd Bargens

That's what they have in ikea.
Also look at these guys, they are ridiculously at peace.



Oh blog you are such a waste of space but I can't let you die. How else could I fill hours by typing and never posting? I'd have to like get a job or a hobby or a life. Or I could try to watch as many films as possible in order to break my eyes and never think and oh I'm done with this now. Can I pack up and start again? You won't miss me that much anyway because hey I may be amazing but I'm also pretty fucking mean.

There's nothing else to do

This week I did something I rarely do. I went out drinking two nights in a row. Oh wow look at me be the social butterfly. On the one hand I don't have hours to waste thinking. On the other I don't have hours to waste thinking. Anyway so tonight I was sober so I took pictures of things.


I call this one, things found in my jeans. Not pictured is the spare button to the skirt I am not wearing. It's a pretty great skirt though. It's a train ticket (not mine) on which I have scribbled either 3 paces out or space out, I step and smash into traffic. I'm sure it was relevant at the time I wrote it. The other is a paper airplane I demanded be made for some reason. I think I wanted to throw it at somebody. I never remember how to make them. And yes I'm reading Peter Pan. It's one of my all-time favourite books.



This was on a bathroom wall and I had enough wits about me to photograph it. One day I will photograph everything I read in public toilets and make some sort of art book. I call it my Second Year project. I mean what else would I do at uni? Learn? Pffft to that.

Bed now.

I waste time like nobody else can. If you want to see an example of unproductivity you have to come to my house and witness how I brutally murder the hours tween waking and midnight when I tend to lose sense. There's the opening of every curtain and the emptying of the dishwasher and the considering of potential breakfasts before deciding I cannot stomach anything at this time in the morning except an entire bowl of strawberries, or if it's a particularly awful day a cookie if one can be found in the back of my freezer (I am currently all out). Then I check blogs, forums and webcomics, all my notebooks in case I wrote anything interesting the night before and my emails. I search for jobs and literary magazines. I send off CVs that can be emailed and I don't send any pieces of writing but I think about it. I delete all my rejections. I dream about what I would do first should I ever find an acceptance. You know, who I would tell first and how I would do it. Automatically I dream of phoning the people who would care but then my brain kicks in and tells me it's rather early and what if people are too busy or they don't pick up or they do pick up and I forget how to speak. None of it matters because I have no acceptances yet.

Then I set myself a task. Yesterday I chose to write the tracklists onto all of my burned cds because I keep forgetting what songs are on what album. This led to thoughts about songs and how so many of them invoke men. Juneau is my ex-boyfriend's poloshirt I used to sleep in and his thick black hair. One-armed scissor was the boy a year younger than me in my music class that I was idly in love with, Wave upon wave upon wave is another one. I miss that class, I picked up a lot of music recommendations. Then there's I predict a riot and an old friend who spoke in hushed tones and got high and asked why I was with such an idiot. Debaser was a girl from Manchester who wrote me long winded letters and Black-eyed boy was a friend's cousin who decided I looked like Sharleen Spiteri. Some of the cds were burned from their own copies when we traded music with spit and chocolate and change for the bus and everyone had to share what we had. It was a constant conversion and my best friend never forgave me when I gave up my ticket to see Blue live and told her every band she adored was shit. Most of them were mere recommendations I followed up on and haven't listened to in years.

Today my concrete plans don't begin until later. Sunday night I found an ARG here about a site called Notes to Mary and I spent far too long this morning catching up. My task was to organise as much of mum's birthday while she's out but she'll probably be home soon. Yay for my ability to murder every hour and get nothing done.

Box of pearls

My dentist is adorable. When I last saw her she had a minifro and braces. Today she had neither and had fully swung from cute cute to hot cute. So naturally I wanted to impress her. What I've found is that there is no consistency between visits. I used to have this really lovely dentist who told me my teeth were perfect every six months. Then without being told she was replaced by an angry man, then an Irish woman who insisted I flossed and now this girl. Last time she warned of the evils of coca cola and above all the treacherous bru so I cut down a little. And I do mean a little. I drank more beer because spirits were mixed with fizzies and I didn't want my teeth to melt away. Today I walked in, forgot how old I was and made the receptionist glare at me with such indifferent malice, the dentist acknowledged my wisdom tooth and sent me back out. I didn't pay a thing and I gave my mum 50p for a big bottle of lemonade. Seriously it's great stuff and made with real lemons! so the bottle always proudly tells me.

Oh and she implied my future degree in history was worth nothing. Least I won't be poking around in people's mouths and killing myself though! She's too pretty to be mad at but damn I did not need that this morning.

Also I had the craziest dream about Julie hiding from school and great big swirls of teeth that were sharklike and creepy and there was someone trying to kill us and I woke up so angry but a minute before my alarm went off so I guess my brain was only trying to help.

22/6

I left myself a blank page. The last page of my fourth consecutive diary. I left it blank for some small piece of enlightenment later. On the second to last page (because I greatly dislike the word penultimate) I scrawled down a dream. Tight neat black lines of ink, I dimly remember pulling the covers over my head and turning on my ipod just to grab some light. My second to last entry begins on the third last page and I've dated it 11/5 but that should be a 6 seeing as how it follows from 9/6 and addresses the issues in this previous entry. I picked it up maybe twenty minutes ago with a flash of inspiration about the inside of my head. I had to get it out, out as fast as I could before I lost it. That feeling that picks me up and understands. It's a feeling I can only express in my own terrible handwriting. But this scrawl informs me that on the twenty first of the sixth I filled every last space of that white page. Exhausted I had pulled images about choking on the previous night's perfume and tripping on discarded ribbon and lace and how I need to get out of this place. My flash of inspiration would have followed on. I would have written about how I want to pack a bag and go. How that's all I've ever wanted to do. I wanted to write about how that's all I had ever tried to do whether I was writing silly little escapisms or running away or attempting to do something really and truly idiotic, the point is there is nothing that compares to the knot in my gut as I leave my city behind.

I always thought I'd be gone by now. I had so many plans to take a year out and really see the world but such notions involved money and maturity and dreams of meeting somebody truly amazing who'd hold my hand until I could ditch them halfway across Europe. I never really found anybody. I attract those who want to protect me or those who need protecting and all I want is a little equality. Equality and a ticket out of here. Nobody could hold my attention for longer than a month and those who tried to stick around had every little fault picked out of them until they became a shapeless mass like everybody else. There was a boy with a stupid name, a girl with an odd nose and a whole society that made me feel so useless. Back then I was drifting and now the asphalt (because it's a pretty word) clings to the heels of my boots and either way I need out. I want to lose myself in something foreign. I like to shut out everything and lose myself in the centre of town, on a bus or a crowded street or a bar. Anywhere really you just got to get your head right and suddenly nothing makes any sense and I can't understand anything and it's terrifying but so very satisfying.

I wanted to write all of this and a helluva lot more I can't share here because you might read it and then where's the fun in telling you a secret in the future? Instead I've filled another notebook with nonsense and all I can do is mark the dates on the front page, the 1st of March through to the 21st of June which must be the shortest slice of my life I chose to record yet, tie it shut with an elastic band and place it in my box with the others. Until I sacrifice another I have to make do with half-thoughts and hope nobody reads too much into anything if they can even be bothered to read such a rambling mess.

There are

thirteen Smiths on the fiction shelves in Borders.

Thirteen.

I need me a new name.

We were talking about names the other day, my family and I. I think it was Julie who was considering the tradition of passing on names and asked why Dad wasn't named after his mum's dad. I can't really remember how she came to that slightly contorted conclusion. Anyway point is if he had been named for his maternal grandfather, my father would be John Smith.

I mean I have nothing against my surname, it's easy to spell and pronounce and balances out my long first name so I can usually just about fit it on a line but damn it isn't very exciting.

More exciting I got the cutest top, and I mean the cutest top, and a skirt from my local designer charity shop. Got them both for a tenner I did which is fantastic considering the top was more than that originally on its own. I do love secondhand shopping. There are so many ugly things that I want to own and make pretty but I'm not that talented and often they are too expensive. I still long for them though. Terrible dresses haunt my sewing machine. One of my biggest regrets clothing wise was this huge tshirt with the Doors on it. It was too expensive so I had to leave it on a hanger but dammit I had a plan. There was this perfect design in my tshirt book and oh sometimes it's painful to think about.

Come on Balthazar, I refuse to let you die

My laptop is four years old. It's this cute, fat little iBook g4 on its second battery because of a recall involving some issue with spontaneous combustion and there is a great deal of sherbet lodged between the keys from back when I used to eat sherbet to keep me awake until 3am when msn was a magical place. I sort of knew the novelty had worn off when I finally found a use for some stickers I had lying around and adorned the apple. Then there's the crack. A sort of half-circle by my screen wider than the arc of my thumb and the N is fading but the down key went a long time ago. I can't keep it white anymore even when I can be bothered to clean it.

But I love it. It fits on my lap and my chest and my knees and my pillow and the clear bit of my desk and in my bag. My second battery has died. It now lasts about half an hour before I need to recharge which is more annoying since my charger went on fire a couple of months back. I'm stuck using this short cable and permanently sat next to a plug. Even when I had the money to upgrade I didn't. I'm not sentimental about technological stuff but goddamn I can't give this one up. It makes writing rather bothersome though and my handwriting is getting worse the longer I'm away from uni.

We just gotta hope it can make it through another couple of years because a new computer is so not in my budget.

I woke up feeling cheerful!

I watched Dancer in the Dark today. I've wanted to watch it since it was on tv a while ago and I found out we own it on dvd. I figured how depressing can a film really be? And it has Bjork in it and she sings. It's a musical. A sad musical, yeah, and I knew the ending but I thought maybe I'd get a bit bleary eyed and choked up but I'm a tough girl. It can't be that bad.

Oh how naive of me! I can't tell you the last time I cried so hard. Well I can because I can remember it really clearly but I can't place a date on it and all I know is that I had just finished a book but I don't remember what book it could have been and I don't know why I was crying so hard but it was probably related to something else. But this film, my god. I didn't even realise I was so upset until I worked out that I couldn't hear what she was saying because it was me sniffling. And goddamn even knowing the ending I was still sitting there hoping it wouldn't happen.

Goddamn.

I'm going to have to sit here for hours finding something happy to stare at or I will never get to sleep tonight. Like look it's a scandalised otter.



I think it might work.

To think he could replace the missing elements in me

Yesterday I went out and when I got back all I could say was that I had successfully destroyed 6 hours. It's like something switched off and I'm just here. My mum gets on at me. I'm sick of hearing how I think too much. I can't control the quantity of my thoughts.

There's too many scenes in my head and I'm starting to wonder if I've got it in me to stretch it all out, write something bigger. I just start and wait for an end.

I had a dream I was pregnant. There were big headphones straddling my belly. I woke up wanting new headphones.

I'm getting headaches earlier in the day now. I stare up at the sky and wait for the damp grass just to swallow me whole. I sort of want everything to stop for a moment because there's something I forgot how to do. But it won't. So all I can do is keep on lying there with a pen in my hand and write the people I was too afraid to write about before and think about the things I've been dying to say.

And the sun keeps on shining and my hair gets a little longer each day and I wonder if I can afford to cut it all off yet.

My dad told me yesterday that he picked my middle name because he wanted to call me Marie but it sounded too tacky when other people said it. I have always wondered why.

Gold>Knowledge

I spent weeks listening to Doctor Jones talk at length about Skara Brae.

Today I paid about a fiver to watch the much more famous Doctor Jones talk very very briefly about Skara Brae.

Can we not find a different site to talk about?

That's all I can be bothered to say about the film.

Know how I got to write about Indiana Jones in my exam?

I totally fucking aced it. It's my very first university A for an exam.

Goddamn I wish I could have kept that paper. It was a work of journalistic gold.

Also I didn't fail anything, though my other archaeology exam in which I wrote "Soil analysis can help in archaeology because archaeologists can study soil" got me a C. So I finish my second first year with an A, 3 Bs and 2 Cs. Compared to my first first year where I scraped 3 Cs and a miraculous B I can now justify running away from English and French and settle on equally pointless subjects. I should point out that a C is a bleh to me. It's a pass but I'm never happy with one. We won't talk of the two Ds I received for essays last year because this year I got 4 As.

Do you know what this means? This means I didn't fail. This means I am a goddamn Queen of not studying ever. This means I worked out how to write bad essays and make them sound plausible. If that's not an achievement I don't know what is.

I am feeling ridiculously proud of my lazy self. All I need now is a job, a car, a flat and a publishing deal and BAM set for life.

Also the way the exams for Glasgow are presented is so very juvenile, it amuses me. There's the year and the diet and the subject title followed by the code, credits, grade and something called result description. C is described as GOOD, B VERY GOOD and A EXCELLENT. I mean this is one step away from a smiley face.

I have been listening to mostly instrumentals, I want to type in sounds

I was going to write about Julie's prizegiving last night but to be honest it would have just been a rant about the utter farce that is that school so I can't be arsed. I was also going to write about how my best friend used to sing because her little brother was there getting prizes and he looks just so much like her but if I'd gone on about another girl it doesn't really help the "I'm not gay" side of things. I've fallen in love with maybe three people, two of whom were female, and it's never been a romantic thing. It's more of a fascination. A craving to really get inside their heads and understand them even if we weren't that close. It wasn't anything I ever wanted between the two of us but like I wanted to possess every habit and character flaw. It's kinda hard to explain.

So instead I bring you the story of yesterday afternoon when I walked Julie part of the way back to school because I wasn't doing anything else. On my way back I was approached by a boy many inches higher than me who tried to push a careful stack of pound coins and murmured "Gonnae git 10 Mayfair fer us" but I shook my head and brushed him off. Gotta say I was flattered since just the other week I'd been mistaken for a fifteen year old. This meant free train fare until my mum started laughing and told the guy I was nearly twenty but he got so confused I got a free ticket anyway. Anyway as soon as I was free of him he exploded but he didn't follow me so I didn't much care. But his friend. God I wish I had taken a photo. He had his jumper tied around his face and was pulling on the arms. When I passed him he suddenly leapt to my side and started asking why I wouldn't help them out and told me what a jake I was and various other things I couldn't hear from laughing. He was half my height and still pulling on his jumper. I felt like telling him I wasn't going to it because Mayfair stinks. My whole school smoked Mayfair and they were the only cigarettes I could actually smell on people while my dad was still smoking. I suppose it's nice to know nothing ever changes.

Things I learnt at prizegiving: My philosophy teacher got fat, my gender teacher still adores me, fourth years can be pretty damn hot, everybody is still just a carbon copy of everybody else and saxophones are awesome.

I didn't dream anything last night!

Thank fuck for that.

Tag I'm it

And I cannot ignore the orders of an internet meme!

And so 5 things you didn't know about me or maybe you did I can never remember what I actually say and what I just think really loudly.

1. I'm afraid of losing my ability to communicate. I sometimes stumble over my words or I can't get a sentence out even though there's nothing to be afraid of if I say it and I seriously worry that one day I will wake up and be completely incapable of speaking or writing or understanding. I have to practice conversations in my head to keep this from happening.

2. I am ridiculously vain. And better than you.

3. I have a birthmark on my left shoulder that a boyfriend once tried to scratch off and now it's all split. It's like a really annoying comfort.

4. I don't like hearing other people say my name and if they have to say it I can only stand to hear it in full. Any shortening, nickname or whatever makes feel me detached but too many people know me by Cat now that I can't be bothered trying to change this. I have never ever introduced myself by anything other than Catherine.

5. Both my grandpas died within a year of one another. I visited the first one, who I was in no way close to and had been ill since I'd been born practically, and it really affected me. He didn't even know who I was anymore but still it's something that really hit me. So when my Papa was admitted the next year I could not bring myself to see him even though I was really close to him and I never did visit him. This is my one and only regret in all of the stupid things I've done in my life. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye nor did I get to show him I cared. Funerals are empty.

I'm tagging Julie because she always has the best answers to memes. OMG PRESSURE YOU HAVE TO UPDATE NOW BITCH.

Pagan Poetry

I was sitting in a big couch. Those leather ones you sink into. He kept asking me what was wrong until I snapped and I told him everything. Absolutely everything. His response was a hug. I shrugged him off because it can't fix anything. And then I snapped. This is when I stopped playing first person and floated off to watch myself. I screamed a big Fuck You to everybody that crowded round to gawk at me. I wanted them to see me. It was a show. He chased after me and I told him his life was a lie and he was a bastard and I hit him so he hit me back. Fist through my face that I could really feel. There was a crunch and a gasp and I thought you never see women getting punched in the face. There are millions of films and scenes with men in fights and their nose disfigured but it's too horrible to show a woman in the same position. It's unseemly. Essentially you've ruined their looks and hey what's a girl with an ugly face? Desperate. So I laughed. "You fucking hit me." And the crowd told me I had to start over, this wasn't right. I shouldn't be laughing. A man had hit me. He should be killed. Instead he asked me to marry him since I was already wearing the dress. And I was. White corset with a huge skirt ballooning out from my hips like a hooker trapped in a meringue. Pavlova whore! I told him not to be silly. There was blood on the dress and I wasn't going to marry a man who hit me. He took me to the hospital and they asked if there had been any trauma to my face and I laughed so hard I woke up.

Bones sinking like stones

I had an epiphany today. I think it was due to a lack of food and sleep and spending too long in a warm coffee shop talking too much but it was an epiphany nonetheless. I stood in the train station and I knew what the fuck I was doing.

But it was gone when I got off the train.

Having listened to two of Coldplay's new songs I have to say I'm cautiously optimistic about their new album although I wished they had chosen one name. Viva la Vida or Death and all his friends is so bloody pretentious. I don't mind long titles but pick one! Death and all his friends is a great album name! It's not like I was ever a huge Coldplay fan. I could listen to Don't Panic forever though. If I died with that song on I would not die unhappy. As long as that exists I cannot hate Coldplay. Plus Parachutes was one of those albums I owned like The Man Who or No Angel that I got in America and was a different colour to the UK version or Left of the Middle which I bought for a fiver the very first time I went to Fopp in Byres Road. Albums that became soundtracks and meant something to me and I wrote terrible, terrible little stories in my makeshift room in amongst all my little dramas.

Anyway I did not listen to X and Y because Fix You was awful. I mean how how is I will try to fix you romantic in any way. Fuck you Chris Martin I will fix myself. I dunno basically Fix You rubbed me up the wrong way and maybe I shouldn't project my own issues with men onto a band.

But I do like their single although I was pretty influenced by the video and that piano ending being so damn pretty and the itunes song is also pretty good so maybe it will not be bad? Yay for Brian Eno? We shall see.

Also I really, really fucking love Bjork.

Maybe not from the sources you are pouring into

I was baking cookies in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and I panicked because I don't like it when the doorbell rings and it's only me in the house and I have to deal with things. So I walked down the hall, jumping up to hit the door frame on my way out of the kitchen only it was much higher than I supposed and there was this netting thing, all red and yellow and far far too bright and I tangled my finger and broke it like whathisface did in primary. When I get to the door I have no idea who the guy standing there is but he's a friend and he brought cake like I'd told him to. I tried to lead him into the house but he decided he wanted to go through the garage but you can't because the door is broken and instead he walked through my house, out the back door through the back door of my garage and stood in there and complained about the mess. By the time I found him and got him out the back door had swung all the way open and became a puzzle I couldn't work out how to put back together. I thought I had it sorted and I went to lock it but there was a cobweb in the way and he decided this was a problem. He blew it away but it blew inward and got all tangled round my still all bent the wrong way finger and I was so pissed off at him because he was acting so smugly gentlemanlike. I locked it and the door fell down. We covered it with a sheet. Then he started tearing apart the cake he had brought because there was a ring inside and he was going to propose but then he realised what if I swallowed it or someone else got that slice and I remember falling down and laughing.

When I woke up my phone was flashing because some drunk idiot with a girlfriend had sent me the word "Yum". I have not responded.

Maybe not from the directions you are staring at

We were standing on a corner trying to work out where to go. Everybody was shouting and pulling in different directions when he came over and tapped my shoulder. "I've got a present for you." He pulled up a huge suitcase and started to open it when he paused. "You're probably gonna hate it." So now I was worried. It was this square penguin toy with a zip up the back. I stretched out my arms to hug it and he hugged me instead but the angles were wrong and we just sort of collided. I tried to open the back of the penguin but he freaked out so I had to stop. There were a whole lot of of weird things in the bag with the same square penguin thing on it and he murmured something like they were backup ones in case I hated it and anyway it wasn't the real present there was something else but this other girl pushed between us and started a conversation about her dad's birthday. I was fidgeting with a roll of ribbon when she started cutting up this plastic sheet to protect the present she was giving her dad (I couldn't see what it was). She spent ages cutting it and I was sure it looked too small but she wouldn't listen to me. Another girl came up behind me and started bitching about what an idiot she was and how everyone knew what her game was. He pulled my arm and tried to talk to me but the plastic flew out of the first girl's hand and sliced his face in two. My finger broke as I tried to hold him together and I woke up as Julie bumped into the end of my bed as she was getting dressed.

Emotional landscape

There was a girl in a yellow sundress. The kind I can't wear because I'm too short and my breasts are too big and my belly too round. Makes me look pregnant. She was in a yellow sundress and a blue toweled hoodie and she pushed past me in the street. It was getting cold and I had fifteen minutes to make it to the shop and buy what it was I needed. It was some sort of powder for a pudding. It wasn't necessary but it was ideal. "You better hurry up," said somebody. "The hookers are in and they buy up everything. They know the world is ending." I tried to run but I gave up. I was too tired. The whores were packing trolleys and baskets and their bras with everything on sight and the man on the till just rolled his eyes. Apocalypse nonsense. The girl was gasping on the floor and moaning as stiletto heels pushed her out of the way. I was the only one who seemed to notice her or care that she was clearly in pain. I carried her to a couch and brought her a drink of water. "You saved me," she smiled with big white teeth and I shrugged. They didn't have what I needed but one girl handed me a potato and they wished me luck.

My walk home was broken by the constant ringing of my phone as message after message flashed up but I couldn't read it because I didn't have the right kind of phone. It was the yellow girl. She was in love with me. She was notorious in the area for dying until someone saved her. Then she would fall in love with me and my world would end. The potato told me this. Words carved into the skin. As I reached my front door my phone rang but it was someone else and he was trying to tell me something important. I think he wanted to see me or he wanted to give me something. Three girls, sisters from up the road one of which was an old friend of mine barged through. "The concert's starting in ten minutes! Did you make the pudding?" I asked the man on the phone to wait a moment and I searched through the cupboards and found jelly. I gave them this and the potato and a shoe and they gave me a cat in change. By the time I got back to my phone he had hung up and I had eight new messages from the girl. I locked my phone away and tried to go out but she was standing on the grass, her blue hoodie hanging off her shoulders and as soon as she saw me she stretched out her arms and whispered "boom."

"I fucking told you so!" cried a whore as I sat up in bed with a headache. I found my phone in my bedside cupboard and my pillow on the floor. Make of that what you will.

Guess what I'm watching right now

Basil the great mouse detective.

It is the greatest.

I told my mum to read Fight Club because she wanted to read a book while she watched Julie swim and she owns like no books. I know this because I stole one of them and she was so pissed off and was all I have no things stop stealing mine. Anyway this was her response to what she read so far.

"You told me to read a book about giant erections. I was sitting in the cafe with children and mothers and wholesome people reading about penises. What if somebody saw?"

She has not seen the film. She's gonna get to read the book and not know the twist. Now I've made myself angry because I had the film spoiled halfway through watching the goddamn thing.

Oh holy shit Vanishing Point is amazing.

Reasons why you should watch it and if I burn it I will lend it to you:

the car

which maybe you remember from this

Plus the guy looks like some sort of Han Solo in a Dodge Challenger. Also check out his sideburns:

Not pictured is the really pointless scene with a naked girl who rides around on a motorcycle and gets high because I'm not looking that up on google. And the ending! It is a good ending.

Gonna watch Bullitt once my mum leaves the house. She does not care as much as I do about muscle cars.

Julie uses my laptop a lot

to the point I have to be like "hey julie can I use the laptop that is mine and I shouldn't be asking to use" and she's all "you're using my table to eat your soup off of, you suck and nobody likes you."

So she's taken to opening a window everytime she hands my laptop back to me. It is her deviantart page showing this:



It is so hard to stay mad when faced with that.

I went to ikea and bought a lantern. Dad was like why would you do that. I have no answer. It was one of those moments where I decided I needed a lantern. Only what I actually needed was a lamp of the electronic kind.


I also bought some material. Some of it is here. Gonna make a shift dress!


These are some pictures on my phone I decided to share as I clear out my gallery because I am bored and I have no place else to put them really. Have a terrible picture of me with Julie's hair. I am in the middle of laughing because it tickled like crazy.


And have Joe with giant eyes.


And Rob trying to get to sleep.


And Smarties are insane colours these days because they have been ruined by removing the artificial sweeteners. I mean it's not like anybody's eating them to be healthy so why bother making them taste rubbish? Work in cookies though cause of the 400 odd grams of sugar.

I was right in the first place!

And so the drunken calls have begun.

Midnight I'm barely asleep, really just pretending because I promised my mum I'd get up this morning which I obviously have done so go me. Flashing lights make me feel dizzy behind my eyelids but I think "maybe I am just going insane."

That was my first thought.

My second was I'm sane, sober and fed. There is no explanation for disco shows in my head.

Maybe I have cancer.

Or maybe it's just drunks! He hangs up when I answer and sends me a text saying he's drunk. Or least it was a text trying to say this. And then, this is the best part. This is the reason I'm sharing because everybody gets drunken calls, I'm not special.

About twenty minutes later my phone flashes again and I'm faced with a text that runs thusly:

;-) cat

I watched Sunshine today. It is very pretty. I like Rose Byrne. Cillian Murphy is good even though he is kinda odd looking. But there were problems.

Biggest problem was that they went the whole no big relationships to make it feel all claustrophobic and serious we are going to die way. In some respects I liked it. But I had no clue as to who half of the cast were. I had to go Cillian, Rose, that guy who's in something I don't know what and Michelle Yeoh and is that the captain oh no it's not I have no idea anymore so it is hard to care when they are in trouble. There was also a scene when flashes of photographs came up and I thought my eyes had broken but then I thought maybe it is fancy cinematography. I did care to some extent in general and the ending was moving but not in any way that stayed with me once the film finished. So Kirsty the third continues to have good taste in movies. Hurray for redheads.

It's like all those thoughts in my head need to be shouted very loudly when I am under the influence of alcohol.

Oh my god why didn't anybody shut me up?

Oh no it wasn't sex he wanted! How vain of me to suppose such a thing!

It was to help him write his college report because I am smart!

Fucking hell I'm fifteen years old again telling people the wrong answers to their homework and then they have the fucking cheek to suggest teaching as a career since I'm so helpful.

I am going insane. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to watch Steve McQueen drive a Mustang around San Francisco. My mustang. And Vanishing Point is showing on Sky later this week although there's no stunt woman tied to the hood so it's not quite as awesome but that car. It's the biggest reason why I can't be bothered learning to drive. There are no cars these days I can get excited about. They're all too round and ugly and bleh. I want a car that is personally responsible for a new hole in the sky. I want long long stretches of road and a goddamn beautiful car to charge down it. I need me a rich man. Then I can grow up and be a professional hypocrite, best life plan ever. You know it hurts to watch Pimp my Ride with all those beat up gorgeous cars ruined with stupid paint jobs and tv screen in every surface. I've watched The Princess Diaries several times because she drives this:



Oh I am only online because I can't decide if my character should die or not and I'm so close to finishing and I can't make up my mind and gah. I'm leaning towards no because dying is so obvious.

Oh! and job interview went like this if you were curious

I had to spend twenty minutes yesterday listening to a bunch of sixteen year old talk about their favourite film. That was my interview. Stand up and say my name and what my favourite film was. Once you'd done that you could go. They'll call me if I got the job. Some of these kids were terrified. Then there was the girl who was sixteen and from st brides and omg loved johnny depp because he is so sexi (it was misspelt in my head, you can just hear it) and she was gonna say pirates of the caribbean but she was gonna say blow. Blow is an 18. A sixteen year old deppophile told the manager of the cinema that her favourite film is rated 2 years older than she is. I found this highly amusing. Then there was the 16 year old who favourite film was the lord of the rings trilogy 'but really the two towers cuz it's non stop action'. Also it had (obviously) elijah wood, orlando bloom ummmmmmmm ian mckellan all the legends, you know. I listened as the people behind me wondered if they could say Harry Potter because they knew the books were supposed to be better but she hadn't read them. I had the ending to two films spoiled for me to the extent I had the urge to get up and just list the endings to as many films with twists as I could. Instead I went with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind very aware my title was longer than anyone elses and saying 'it's a Michel Gondry film' means nothing to these people. But whatever at least my English made sense and I didn't act like this was the hardest thing to do ever. It was the most pointless thing I've had to do for something I desperately need that as soon as I left the centre I had a fit of hysterical laughter and then nearly did a very bad thing. Somehow I managed to get on a bus instead.

I've got this thing I consider my only art of fucking people over

Have I talked about the guy who offered me vip tickets to t in the park if I slept with him in the tent? I'm pretty sure I did. Anyway this guy is a lovely guy really but I turned down his offer of a date once because I hadn't realised the other guy who asked first was the most boring fuck I've ever met. After that he seemed content on continuously asking me to sleep with him, huffing if I wasn't in the mood to humour him and then claiming he wasn't being serious if I got annoyed at him. It was fun for a little while but I get bored easily and he didn't get me a lot of the time and he called me mad. I will never understand why people think I like to hear that. Kirsty's terrible for it. She's all 'I love you cause you're insane and you're happy that way'. Score. But I got a kick out of it because a girl I hated had been in love with him for years. Haha to her I thought.

Anyway then one day he was annoying me far too much, making me seem like some sort of evil manipulative girl who was leading him on. I should point out that I was leading him on but I wasn't being evil about it. I thought I'd been quite open about that. If someone doesn't make a definite move then all I do is lead them on. I'm never so interested that I make the first move, I haven't been in a long while anyway. He gave up after a while.

So the point is the other day he came online and I was so surprised I went online myself to see if it was a mistake. Then he started talking to me about some band. Every alarm is going off in my head since his name proclaims his love for some other girl and we were never friends. If this ends up as yet another guy who thinks I'd be a fun little aside to a relationship I swear I'm leaving society for good. However, I just explained symbiotic relationships to him by using Venom as an example because I'm too tired to go into dictionary mode. Geekiness may prevail where sheer indifference failed.

"Boobs!" cried Julie. "They get the job done!"

I stayed up last night and watched Factotum, though I'll have to rewatch most of it because I was writing and you know that way when you get caught up doing something and you realise the tv's been on for hours and you barely noticed a damn thing. I've probably caused the death of a fair few polar bears that way. Anyway I remember the first half hour pretty well and the problem with it is the source material. It's Bukowski. Reading Bukowski isn't so much depressing as deadening. Nothing I've read of his has shocked me but I sort of figured everyone's a cunt and crazy to boot so I'm more surprised when people are nice. Desensitisation!

It's deadening though reading page after page of such a loser and watching him is just sad. There were good bits though like when he and this girl tried cars until they found one that was unlocked so they could steal cigarettes. Or he talks about how when he doubts his ability to write he reads other writers and feels better. I always feel worse when I do that. It's like look at all these terrible writers lining shelves of terrible bookshops and they're better than I am because they finished something and they had the guts to sell themselves and terrible people will buy them. It's the selling myself I'm concerned about which is not the best thing to think about going into a job interview. I can fake it though if I really try and by god I'm gonna try my ass off.

I started reading Women by Bukowski ages ago and then misplaced the book. I think it's under my bed, haven't checked. It's about when he's become successful and he goes on an awful lot of how he tried to be better at sex. Reading books by old men about how to satisfy young women is odd to say the least. I suppose you'd think it would be more disgusting but I always get this smug feeling. Haha I can satisfy women and you can't. Sucks to be you. Anyway I haven't read Women in months and months but there's this scene when he's staying in the female dorm of a college he was invited to do a reading at and he gets drunk one night and wanders up and down the halls knocking on every door shouting that he's this big time author and didn't anybody wanna fuck him. Nobody opens up and he goes back to bed and laughs and drinks some more. I dunno why but it's stuck in my head.

So I haven't really slept but it's not the spider's fault

Thursday night Julie had crazy sleep-spasms. She was all Rrrehh and flipping her arms and legs around and freaking me the hell out. She was just sleeping apparently. Friday I didn't eat enough because I couldn't be bothered. I get like that every so often. Like I eat too much one day and nothing the next. Doesn't balance out but I'm easily distracted and some days eating is such a chore. So the alcohol wasn't a good idea even though I didn't have much and again Julie was like all rrreh I am sleeping and I was not. I was too not-asleep to go find a new place to sleep since it's not like we lack beds. I was a bit zombied so I thought I'll watch some of the films I haven't got round to watching that I can just stare at that. That's a sensible plan!

Oh my god is The Beach a fucking terrible film. The only redeeming quality (apart from the reasonably attractive French girl I suppose) was this scene:


I also watched Clerks 2 after waiting fucking forever to see it since nobody would go see it with me when it came out and then two of my rubbish friends went with another crowd and whined about how shit it was. I always find the problem with a lot of Kevin Smith's stuff is while some of it is enjoyable I always feel like I'm just wasting time watching. Doesn't really matter though because I'll watch Rosario Dawson doing anything. I mean I watched Alexander though that was originally for Angelina Jolie but at least I expect a lot of her films to be awful. Clerks 2 was alright but really I could have stared into space for the same amount of time and I would feel just about the same.

I've got Sunshine recorded after another Kirsty who must be about the third I've known went on and on about how it was amazing. I sort of trust her judgement since she does Film Studies and we talk New Wave and Robert Rodriguez instead of listening in lectures. Plus she's a pretty redhead who loves owls.

Let's have another of these because it cracked me up. Oh Leonardo you have such an odd face. It is not attractive, it is odd.


I might be getting into Edinburgh Film Festival films for free! My list consists of Dylan Moran in A Film With Me In It and a romance in a porn store called Good Dick and a bunch of French New Wave films so I'm really hoping I can actually go. I've got a form for tickets to the opening night but it's Keira Knightley's new film and while she'll be there and I've heard it's not a bad film it's a big meh to me. Sienna Miller annoys me.