tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50417580396907905102024-03-14T00:32:17.861-07:00Courage At The Tea Partythe world is one giant tea party. take heart.A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-42049821592549215612012-01-30T03:35:00.000-08:002012-01-30T07:23:31.923-08:00Christina Aguilera's Period.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7NNyX0NpIUQ/TyaNv5_IGWI/AAAAAAAAAJU/CVXM2BxnDcg/s1600/chrs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7NNyX0NpIUQ/TyaNv5_IGWI/AAAAAAAAAJU/CVXM2BxnDcg/s320/chrs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703401832270272866" /></a><br />You've probably heard about this by now. If not here are the simple facts:<div><br /></div><div>1. Christina Aguilera was giving a tribute at Etta James' funeral</div><div>2. Something ran down her leg which she tried to wipe away</div><div>3. It looks like it could be period blood, though it could be something else like wet fake tan streaks.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to stick with the option which has caused the most comment because it is the more culturally taboo choice of explanation. I don't need to tell you what that is. If that is what happened, what are the first words that spring to mind? Disgusting? Careless? Sickening? Highly embarrassing? If so, at least for the first three words, it isn't Christina that is any of those three things.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've seen comments like she should have been more prepared, how could she let that happen and on one particularly repulsive blog which you can see <a href="http://celebs.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474981071830">here</a>, it questions whether she was high or in possession of her faculties. And so I got annoyed. I got annoyed that people I consider to be at least a little intelligent decided that what may or may not have happened was something to be poked fun at, labelled as repulsive and as an object of ridicule and deep shame. And then I realised...if that had happened to any woman in a public place, the same kind of reaction would have happened whether out loud or in heads.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a normally functioning woman I have periods. And sometimes, they aren't very reliable in their behaviour. Myself and most of the women and girls I know can recall a time when they have leaked or had a mishap, and have even witnessed some. Even to admit or say that is something that is deemed highly embarrassing.When did it become such an awful, shameful thing? Something that if seen, whether that be through tampons falling out of a bag all the way through to a leak, is one of the most embarrassing things that can happen to a woman?</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the thing. Women have periods. Every month in fact. Get over it. Sometimes, though they usually go unnoticed or unmentioned to our peers, especially our male peers, they get noticed. Get over it. It's not something to giggle about as if a naughty word has been said or looked upon in utter disgust...it's a normal part of what it is to be a woman and be able to bear children, men especially, but women too - who should really understand. In the 480 or so periods that we have in our lives we shouldn't have to be constantly worrying about whether someone will see or guess that we are bleeding and if we see someone else we shouldn't be shocked.</div><div><br /></div><div>We shouldn't have to feel like if a mishap were to happen we would feel mortified and unable to show our faces. I'm not saying periods are pretty. In fact I can't say I love mine like some women can...they can be pretty awful. Tampons fail. Pads leak. Periods can start unexpectedly and become irregular. You may see a bit of menstrual blood once in your life, gentlemen, or someone else's, ladies. Deal with it. Periods are nothing to be ashamed and no-one should be made to feel cripplingly ashamed by a mishap or an indicator that they are, in fact, 'on'. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back to Christina and the alleged blood drips down her leg. For her at least, some things are bigger than a period that is-shock horror- slightly visible. She carried on. She did what she had to do. Obviously no women wants her period to drip down her leg in the view of millions of people, but she sang instead of cowering away. Yes she wiped her leg, but if you were so very disgusted by what happened would you want it on the floor and/or in her shoe too? She didn't dirty the carpet with a massive volume of blood, and it could easily have been wiped away by a tissue when she had access to one. Two tiny drops of blood and today's culture recoils in disgust and ridicule. Oh dear.</div><div><br /></div><div>Read this too: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menstrual_taboo">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menstrual_taboo</a> </div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-56991913040895081642011-12-12T11:21:00.000-08:002011-12-12T11:24:44.935-08:00Stand<p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">This was written in September last year. It's more true now, so I'm posting it again.</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to stand.</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">To replace reaction with action</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">To move without trigger, my fuse already lit</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to stop knowing things</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And start knowing something</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">My present likes the drifting</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">But my future creaks and rots</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to stand</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to make absurd, ridiculous promises</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And keep them</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And make you amazing, like I should be</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to feel what you feel</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And take up arms for it</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Your Protector</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to stand</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to tell you I'm worth more than what you see</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to tell myself I'm worth more than what I see</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to tell you you're worth more than what I see</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to know most things have more value than I could ever imagine</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Stop sampling imitations of real things</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And eat them whole</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And then lick the sugar off my lips</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And then bake them in my oven</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And give them away, anonymously</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">In little scarlet parcels</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I want to dance on the wind, not drift on the breeze</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Be amazing enough that you want all of me</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Be beautiful enough that I want all of you</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "></p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">But what I want and what I do are so separate</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">That all I can do is sit down</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And think about how separate they are</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">And so I'm sitting on my dreams, carried by the ebb and flow of familiarity</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Thinking the aimless wandering is who I am, what I need, what you need</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">That I'm finding myself,</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">When really, I'm getting even more lost</p><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">When really, I just need to stand.</p>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-10313949159428411632011-03-02T13:48:00.000-08:002011-03-02T14:27:10.277-08:00Two Significant DiscoveriesToday, I made two significant discoveries.<div><br /></div><div>1. Sometimes I really, really hate shopping. In fact most of the time. But I don't realize until I'm there.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was talking to myself, almost delirious with frustration and pain on Oxford Street today. Looking around the forest of clothes, I realized I liked and wanted to wear nothing around me. It was all awful. And if on the off-chance it wasn't, it either was at second glance, or was only just ambling towards sort-of-okay. So it struck me. I don't actually like shopping. Sure, the nice clothes when they are actually found and it's satisfying, but the process is soul-numbing and peppered with tourist's elbows especially in Central London. The thing is, I get excited about going shopping, like I think it will be different from almost every single time I have developed a black mood whilst trudging out of American Apparel. It didn't even start well. I was taking some dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) back to a shop in Camden, as they had not fit. Now I HATE changing rooms. I just generally can't be arsed, especially in the winter months, to peel off the layers, so I didn't try them on when I purchased them, and when I did, they stayed put before my bum. So here I was, taking them back, asking for an exchange, blah. I still really want dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) so I get all available dungarees off the rail, and muster enough courage to try them on. Long story short, they did not fit. None of them. All 5. And they weren't even close. Anguish, fire and a blanket of despondence all entered my life together, holding hands. Another long story short, the shop didn't do refunds. So I traipsed around all the awful clothes contemplating how awful they were, mumbling to myself how awful they were, my face betraying how awful they were in the hope something would take my fancy. I settled for a massive recycled denim bag ( which was actually pretty nice, can't lie ) And an AWFUL ring, just to get it up to £30. I'm looking at the ring now. It wasn't worth a tenner. It's crap :(</div><div><br /></div><div>And it carried on that way for a while through Topshop, Zara, Mango and Bershka along with a multitude of Vintage Shops, my persona getting stormier, the day getting colder, and my spirit getting droopier. I was thirsty too that didn't help, so I went to Starbucks which I thought was above Next, but was actually above New Look, adding to my urge to start the tears. I began to wonder as my mind idle floated over the state of my afternoon how I has still managed to spend around £100. I hastily tried to pry my mind away and stop the imminent onslaught of further agony. And here Discover Two occured.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. All of the above doesn't matter, well it does a bit, but not in the Grand Scheme Of Things.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I was standing, impatiently waiting for my Mango and Passion Fruit Smoothie, heart weighty, eyelids weighty, I happened upon a Comments Book. You know, where people write their thoughts about how truly amazing the Latte and the service they just had were. Turned first page. Blank. Turned second page. Oh, Blank. Turned again, anticipating blank- but, ho! No! And this is what it read, paraphrased because I can't remember word for word.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >'<span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>Hi! Thank you so much for the coffee here! We have just been evacuated from Cairo, where we weren't able to get stuff like this recently!</i></span>'</span></div><div><br /></div><div>And that was it. Boom. And I felt a little bit like a dick.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>xxx</div><div><br /></div><div>(I am going to change my shopping strategy though) </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-13331354565875877202011-02-10T13:51:00.000-08:002011-02-10T13:54:33.697-08:00Oyster Card<p class="MsoNormal">I have oyster-card neurosis. For those of you non-Londoners who may jump to the logical conclusion that I have problems related to a card that acquires points when you purchase shelled sea-food, your conclusion is incorrect. The Oyster Card is a nifty piece of plastic that allows you to travel around the capital and its outskirts at a lower rate and with the clever pro that you can simply top it up pay-as-you-go or buy season tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have a student one, gets me a third off season tickets. Happy days. But back to my problem. A problem shared is a problem halved.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I always think I will lose it, like it has a mind of its own and will surreptiously creep away from me as I glance over the Evening Standard, so I take many measures to make sure it can never be <i>lost</i>. I am so very, very paranoid about it that sometimes, I hold the card tightly in my hand, glancing down at it every few minutes just to check it hasn’t morphed into my student ID or another card of some variety. If it is in my pockets I frantically re-assess its whereabouts from time to time along my journey, and when finally get my fingers round it, mind and body in nervous turmoil, all my fears disappear and the world is bright and okay again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I feel a pang of sheer distilled fear when I am nearing my stop on the tube, if the card is not in the first place I look I assume I could have <i>lost</i> it and start a near cavity search. And so sometimes I keep it in my glove (which I like, because when going through barriers or getting on a bus, it makes me feel like I have the Force), that way my hand can always feel the hard, reassuring smoothness of the plastic and I don’t have to have a heart attack every time I move.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So some soul answer this. Why have I, of all people, lost it for the third time this year? Why, as the heavy weight of realization quickly settled in my stomach and the rain smiled as it ruined my suede shoes did it not just appear after my rigorous system of checking my person, so I could be free of the awful sick feeling that had arrived. Why me? After my nerves are already tied in all kinds of knots, why does the world have to hit me hard of the nose with the one thing I spend hours trying to prevent?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sods Law, Sods Law. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ll get over it. I guess I have to be more careful…</p>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-27663377731515875022011-02-05T04:15:00.000-08:002011-02-05T04:23:18.790-08:00I have another BlogAs of today, I have another Blog.<div><br /></div><div><br /><div><a href="http://tearsoverspiltmilk.blogspot.com/">http://tearsoverspiltmilk.blogspot.com/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>It's like a creative outlet I guess, whereas this is just an outlook on the world I inhabit. Well, actually so is tearsoverspiltmilk. I should have thought about what I was going to type before I typed this, really. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, um, tearsoverspiltmilk is also an outlook on the world and all the spheres that word encompasses, just in a different sense to courageattheteaparty...More poemsy, artsy, prosey? Just go look if you want, there's a post up already.</div><div><br /></div><div>x</div><div><br /></div></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-1854480603453794292011-01-20T05:46:00.000-08:002011-01-20T06:23:46.246-08:00Like a G6I'm going to post this on the Facebook later. I think that when one feels like a G6 it is worthy for the blog also though. Even if the G-like feeling was momentary and not everlasting.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwPTOAJWOEzp3jiqQVxVchWOvzRsbFlgF4s_dyvFc-1EfemICp17c9apOPfUxFTRmpNGiKQNi29NYIqaip6Kg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-5103961229344329542011-01-17T15:17:00.000-08:002011-01-20T04:08:30.531-08:00Hand Cream.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Today, it was statistically the most depressing day of the year and the weather lived up to that. I should have gone to the library, but didn't. And lost my oyster for 3 hours. I had to go to work because I couldn't get cover, when I could have been at the theatre, salsa dancing or at the Barbican Cinema. The tube was severely delayed on all three lines I had the choice of using. So I was late for the shift I did't want to be at anyway. Sad times meant a sad face. Then I used this cream that said on the tube that it 'smelled life a fragrant flower garden after it has rained'. It <i>actually</i> did. All the nasties of my day got cancelled out. It really is the small things.</span></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-32336908506994446412011-01-11T15:30:00.000-08:002011-01-11T15:45:36.627-08:00Happy Belated New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TSzrg13KW5I/AAAAAAAAAEw/scaFuGPH_FE/s1600/resolutions.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 291px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TSzrg13KW5I/AAAAAAAAAEw/scaFuGPH_FE/s320/resolutions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561078589342505874" /></a><br />I'm not making/I didn't make a New Year's resolution. Why do that when you can make a New Day resolution? I literally just though of that while hoping something would come to me for this Blog. <div><br /></div><div>A lot easier to stick by, so you feel better about yourself if you do last the day without that fag or not eating a whole page of chocolate digestives. Exciting too, you can set a new challenge for yourself every day. And by the end of there year you won't have one big fat fail of a failed resolution and the concealed dread of making another big fat fail, you'll have 365 successes under your belt (or the best part of 365) and ready to add more small goals to your tally.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am actually busting with pride at this very good idea, I can't lie. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow, my New Day's Resolution is going to be...to leave on time. Maybe the next day it should be exercising modesty haha. What's yours?</div><div><br /></div><div>Go get 'em tigers.</div><div><br /></div><div>xxx</div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-32805972773750722122010-12-27T16:55:00.000-08:002010-12-27T16:57:01.871-08:00Crush<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TRk1v-D6RfI/AAAAAAAAADQ/IBAUY0WGZqE/s1600/tumblr_lc1i4ecYqW1qemsjao1_400.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TRk1v-D6RfI/AAAAAAAAADQ/IBAUY0WGZqE/s320/tumblr_lc1i4ecYqW1qemsjao1_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555530713567741426" /></a>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-84178278721397507422010-12-26T17:22:00.000-08:002010-12-26T18:21:40.979-08:00He's just not that into you...or maybe he is.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's Boxing Day. Well, not really any more, it's 1:59 am, the day after Boxing Day. We're in that limbo bit between Xmas and New Year where no-one really knows quite what's going on or who they are. Probably something to do with all that stuffing and gravy and Turkey and....yeah, anyway. As I am also in this odd limbo between Jesus' birthday celebrations and the pointless New Years Resolutions, I thought I might as well wrench a few words from myself about something I have always known deep down. And so have you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Do not listen to books that tell you how love and life work. Don't do it. It got me nowhere. It got you nowhere in the long run. We have just as much confusion and 'orribleness as we did before, we just think we don't. It just makes you think that every life and love situation can be inserted into a formula, and a neat and tidy answer will be shinily waiting for you to apply and fix it. Well, it doesn't work like that. I've even written stuff (hopefully buried deep under somewhat decent material) that makes me look like a right plonker, making my own rules based on books like He's Just Not That Into You and various other literature in the same vein. Embarrassed Central Station. I apologise.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The problem is, we all want to be in control. We don't want to be hurt. And we want everyone to know we are in control of a given situation, particularly in a relationship. We don't talk about things, we skirt around issues, because if it gets talked about, someone's gonna have to tell the whole truth and perhaps reveal their vulnerability. And it ain't gonna be us. So we apply rules and almost mathematical equations, not just simple guiders, to try to plough through what we think are insurmountable messes. Messes that we cannot possibly just overcome by having a little think or perhaps messes we won't overcome straight away, and we cannot accept that fact.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >We've been hurt before, or we haven't, and we can't deal with the prospect of not knowing what the next day/week/month may bring, and it frustrates us. The thing is, we don't know anyway, even with a million and one step-by-step analysing books and informative TV shows. We assume we do, and we assume that Mrs. PhD Dmin MA Blah Blahs knows every minute detail of everyone's life in the whole wide world and can fit it all into her big big template, churn a few cogs and a nice tidy outcome is what we all gon get.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sound's a tad silly now, doesn't it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >How about this:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Take the time to know people. I mean really know them. A book can't tell you about your friend of 15 years, your child, your mother, or anyone you've taken the time out to get to know properly any more than a doctor can tell you what's wrong without giving you the once over.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Don't worry when you're not in control of people, or when you don't have the power/upper hand over people. Who cares if they think you like them too much. Either you do or you don't. If you do, ah well, sussed. Worse things happen at sea. If you don't, well you don't, who cares what they think, you know what the deal is. They can get over themselves, and their massive head. Even when you think you're in control of things, it's usually an illusion induced by all the tosh you read or have been told. And even if it's not, a big gust of wind can come and change all that lovely controlledness. So just go with the flow.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >If you can laugh at yourself, you can keep laughing through most stuff that comes your way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sure these books and films and magazines etc are right sometimes, and maybe a lot of the time, but then again, if you think about it, so are you. You just have to use that noggin, or your trusty gut, whichever you deem best.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Annoyingly, it seems as if I am making my own little rule list thing here. Precisely what I'm writing against. But you know what I mean. You don't have to listen to me. But you know I'm right :).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Seasons Greetings by the way. If you have toiled and read this far, you have the benefit of knowing that I love you collectively. Have a good limbo time until New Years, by which time I hope I have something fitting to write up on this thing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Don't drink and drive, always wear good underwear you never know what detour that 86 bus might take.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >xxx</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-70664947219317740272010-11-02T01:09:00.000-07:002010-11-02T01:42:25.901-07:00I LOOK NICE TODAY<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >here it is. One of those sentences you will never hear a Brit say. I mean, it's rude right? Let someone else blow your trumpet and all that. Okay, fair enough, it's probably not cool to walk around proclaim this randomly and frequently, because that may be a little odd, but lets assume someone has payed you a compliment. Here's how it usually goes:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Friend/Person: Oh, you look really nice today</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You: Yeah but, my hair is a mess</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >OR</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Friend/Person: Oh, you look really nice today</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You: (Sheepish smile) Oh, thanks</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >OR</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Friend/Person: Oh, you look really nice today</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You: No I don't HAHAHAHHAHA</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Admittedly, the second one isn't too bad. The other two suck, and I know I'm a culprit sometimes. Because it's embarassing right? Even if you have spent quite a while that morning making yourself look fabulous, or if you glanced in the mirror and thought that this is actually a good day for you, how do you acknowledge it without looking like you have a head the size of a whale? It's a little uncomfortable.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, next time you receive a compliment ( you too Almaz) that you think is deserved, don't hide behind a sheepish smile. Say thank you with all the quiet confidence you can muster...you're beautiful today. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >In fact, do me a favour, I'll do it too. Even though I genuinely genuinely genuinely look a mess as I've just woken up. Lean out the window and shout to the world 'I LOOK FABULOUS TODAY BECAUSE I AM (strong word here optional) FABULOUS'. Can you do that for me? Shrug off your very british politeness, and go a bit, God forbid, USA on the world for a couple seconds. Whether you think you are fearfully and wonderfully made, or you just look kind alright today, go for it. 1, 2, 3...GO</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I just did it. Literally. Admittedly, it was out to the garden, but I still did it! Admittedly, I dropped down on my bed exceptionally quickly, but I still did it! And I know most of you won't, but it's a nice thought to do it, especially if you took a while to get ready this morning...whisper it if anything. And if and when you get compliment today, or ever, you'll remember this moment and feel all warm.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh you beautiful, beautiful people.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >xx</span></span></div><div><div><br /></div></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-65088572341940369122010-10-15T01:12:00.001-07:002010-10-15T01:14:00.635-07:00Life Is Good<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TLgNH4i2ghI/AAAAAAAAADE/dQrNNqHiIFs/s1600/101015-090111.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TLgNH4i2ghI/AAAAAAAAADE/dQrNNqHiIFs/s320/101015-090111.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528182971686093330" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; "><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">It's funny what music can do...namely Jason Mraz, plus his blog. I feel free today. I'm going to get up and drink a glass of water, or 3. I'm listening to the new beautiful Jason Mraz EP. I have a smile bigger than a really big thing going on. I'm going to eat things that are good for me. I'm going to sing some songs and write a bit just for me. I'm gonna do really small, nice things for people that mean something big for them. I just found my Uni card which I thought I lost. I'm meeting really awesome people at the moment. I'm catching up with really awesome people at the moment. So cheesily happy this morning, and the sun just peeped out. Deal Breaker. I might even sign up for Salsa or something, maybe. Oh Life is Good. </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "> </p><p style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; ">Thanks Jase. xxxxxx</p></span>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-25458326892377440722010-09-13T03:48:00.000-07:002010-09-15T00:52:16.642-07:00Read All About It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TI4MAkeoqeI/AAAAAAAAACE/Rr6yL6QHD_A/s1600/BW_Newspaper_Stack_0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/TI4MAkeoqeI/AAAAAAAAACE/Rr6yL6QHD_A/s320/BW_Newspaper_Stack_0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516359797507140066" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'd like to put something to you today. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">If no-one watched the news, listened to the radio or read the newspaper/glossies, (particularly the red-tops) or aimlessly surfed the web and social networking sites, we'd be much less afraid of life. You wouldn't think every single man over a certain age was a perv/pedo, they wouldn't be afraid of being branded one. You wouldn't be afraid of killer foxes jumping on your children while they sleep, you wouldn't think that immigration is the biggest problem in the UK at the moment. Hell, you might even think it was your's and my individual general selfishness or something out there like that. Sure, there's problems. But the hysterical mob mentality wouldn't exist, and the whipping up of bad blood wouldn't occur so frequently.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe you wouldn't think you had to be a certain shape to be beautiful, whether you're getting pummelled with indications that you need to lose weight, or that you need to be curvy. You'd make an informed decision for yourself if you wanted to change your body, whether it be be with vigorous movement and what you put in your tummy, or with a scalpel a syringe and a general anaesthetic, not a decision based on shiny pictures of airbrushed people who are really just like me and you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe we'd actually try and find things out about different cultures and countries instead of being fattened on excellently made programmes, spoon-feeding us the angle or slant that the producers had, whatever angle that may be. Why don't we work out our own stance before drinking in someone else's research, jumping on the back of their ideas without knowing enough to truly have our own informed opinion?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe we'd read stuff, like really read stuff, and we'd value knowledge so much more because we'd worked for it, we'd cultivated our brains with it, and it'd stick, not fade with the next wikipedia page.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe we'd talk to people. Audibly. So we can see the light reflected in their eyes and the pores in their skin. Perhaps the world would get a bit quieter if the tap tap tap of the keyboards stopped.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">And I'm saying this while at a computer, with the radio on, with Twitter and Facebook running in the background, and I'm aware of the numerous benefits of the media. I'm also aware I am at the risk of sounding like a museli munching, sandal wearing do-gooder complaining in a clichéd way about the Big Bad Media perhaps superficially...but just think about it. Sometimes, take it all off and think with your mind, not with what's forcing it's way in there every day. Imagine the possibilties. Oh wait, you can't, they're endless.</span></span></div></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-71155539890436601052010-06-03T13:22:00.000-07:002010-09-15T00:53:12.327-07:00Charidy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Society/Pix/pictures/2009/4/24/1240588925882/Street-fundraiser-001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 276px;" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Society/Pix/pictures/2009/4/24/1240588925882/Street-fundraiser-001.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >There you are walking down the road and you see the flash of a luminous colour of some kind, and you know it's time to cross the road. Or time to put on your I-am-very-important-and-am-doing-very-important-things persona. You're suddenly late and your pace picks up to a pace that would shame road runner. Because we both know what a luminous colour coupled with a Cheshire cat smile means don't we? Fundraisers. Smiley, in-your-face, annoying fundraisers.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >If I were to ask the general public of the British Isles what the number one annoyance is on a shopping trip to central wherever, I could hazard a guess at charity fundraisers. Or maybe a close second behind those soul-shredding parking rules.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Why are they talking to you? Why are they disturbing your day? Why don't they get a PROPER JOB? Do they not realise you already give to your own chosen charities? Why is this bucket in your way? Why is this clipboard blocking my way to Superdrug?!?! They're just students wanting an extra buck from the commission. They're just weed-smoking, dreadlock-wielding, baggy-trousered tree-huggers. Life would be so much easier without them.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >But then again, a lot of stuff and people would die without them.</span></span></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-5775018207688991912010-05-17T02:03:00.000-07:002010-09-15T00:53:47.530-07:00Allow that.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S_EPVwE6V4I/AAAAAAAAAB0/Bj2bcA6Tn8w/s1600/Superman+on+couch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S_EPVwE6V4I/AAAAAAAAAB0/Bj2bcA6Tn8w/s320/Superman+on+couch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472171888589035394" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Not blogged for a while. Not even during the Election. Communication fail, and I take full responsibility my loves. I generally was in an 'allow that' mentality...</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Which brings me to the point. Today, this blog is just an extension of my already extensive thoughts. Imagine if, in many famous instances of world and solar-system events, someone had just said 'ALLOW' or 'ALLOW THAT'. For those not familiar with a bit of 21st century UK pseudo-gangster slang, this means that the said person who uttered this phrase decided that they couldn't be bothered or refused to do a certain task. As opposed to the traditional meaning of 'to allow' as in letting something happen. Still don't get it? </span></span><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=allow%20it"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >Urban Dictionary definition.</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > Now think of you favourite(or most hated) famous figures, and now imagine them saying 'allow that' while they are on the cusp of a world-changing event....</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Here's some I made earlier.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. Imagine if Power Rangers had said 'Allow that'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. Imagine if Frodo had said 'Allow that bruv I gotta pick some carrots in the shire'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >3. Imagine if Romeo was just like 'Allow Juliet innit'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >4. Imagine if Obi-Wan decided to allow it and become a bartender</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >5. Imagine if Hitler was just like 'you know what, allow this'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >6. Imagine if Doctor Who decided that his extensive time travel needed to be allowed</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >7. Imagine if Bella allowed Edward</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >8.Imagine if Michael Jackson ran away to the circus, therefore 'allowing' his budding music career.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >9. Imagine if Martin Luther King 'llowed it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >10. Imagine if The Devil decided that waging his war against The Good needed to be allowed</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >11. Imagine if Steve Jobs was just like 'Nahhhh allow this, I'ma make doorknobs'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >12. Imagine if Obama decided he was gonna shoot some hoops and allow the whole politics lark.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >13. Imagine if Osama Bin Laden allowed it and became a docile sheep herder instead</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >14. Imagine if Superman made the decision to allow. Jeeeeez.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >15. Imagine...if John Lennon allowed Imagining</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >etc etc etc etc etc</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I could go on and on and on...but I have to revise. I think we can learn 1 thing from this relatively pointless blog. If you wanna do something good...don't allow...if you wanna do something bad...ALLOW IT.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-81498713330598812642010-02-23T05:35:00.000-08:002010-09-15T00:55:05.005-07:00Stop TALKING!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S4PjX_l8ZWI/AAAAAAAAABs/WSbkABX9W6Q/s1600-h/argument1227837759.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S4PjX_l8ZWI/AAAAAAAAABs/WSbkABX9W6Q/s320/argument1227837759.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441442776140768610" border="0" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay, so here we are, in the thick of a heated word-joust on a controversial topic. Abortion. Euthanasia. Religion. Capitalism. War. Eastenders. And you are battling it out for your point of view (which is obviously, right. Clearly), armed to the hilt with quick quips, wordy monologues and sneaky counter-arguments. There is no way you are backing down, oh HELL no, it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings. Or dies. So it's motormouth central. Sentences clash loudly in the air like a scene in Star Wars. Interruption after interruption after interjection disguised with a 'polite' sorrytointerrupt or yougonoyougonogoaheadokay. You have the Answer! you have the Truth! You have the Solution! Everyone else should know about it. In fact you couldn't be more right.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Shut up.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yes you. </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Shut up</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >. In the words of Fergie, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >shut up, just shut up, shut up</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >. Put a cork in it. Why are you talking? You should realize in is not particularly intelligent to storm in all guns blazing. Why? In case you hadn't noticed, everyone else thinks they are just as right as you, my love. They think their arguments are better than yours. They think you're talking poo. So the more you talk, the more 'poo' they think they are getting bombarded with. And nobody likes to be showered in poo-poo, even if you think yours really smells like roses.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Try this for size. Listen to what they have to say. Sure. their point of view is highly tedious but lets be clear on one thing. Your point of view sounds exactly as silly from where they're standing. Close your too-eager mouth and prick up your ears. Try to see things from their point of view-you may disagree whole-heartedly, but try to figure out why they might hold these preposterous views that may even offend you. Think about why it offends yo. See how far you can agree with what they are saying. Don't interrupt. Don't interject. When you finally do speak, tell them what you agree on. And then say very little. There is no point trying to convince them of your infallible point of view. Say what you need to say in as little words as possible-if they want to know more they'll ask. You'll look alot more intelligent and well-balanced this way, think about it. And after lending an ear, you will be. Do do us all a favour and </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >shut up</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >. That includes you Almaz.</span></span>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-86238503072356828642010-02-16T02:37:00.000-08:002010-09-15T00:59:45.578-07:00Well...this is awkward<span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S3p2E_-WJ2I/AAAAAAAAABk/ac14uGaWfgM/s1600-h/awkward_silence.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 146px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S3p2E_-WJ2I/AAAAAAAAABk/ac14uGaWfgM/s320/awkward_silence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438789328267781986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >That, there above you ^^^^, is an Awkward Silence. ( </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awkward_silence"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wikipedia</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >, </span></span><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=awkward+silence"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >Urban Dictionary</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > ). And in our beautiful Britain, in all its apparent invisibility yet utter density, it is as common as an emo in eyeliner. </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >On average, someone living in this country will experience 2 of these a day, which adds up to 730 times a year!</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >* Crikey.<br /><br />People just don't like silence when in company with each other. It sticks to the skin, make you squirm and what's more you can't shake its effects even once said silence is frantically filled. (BAD IDEA TO TRY TO FILL IT AS I WILL STRESS OVER AND OVER AGAIN)<br /><br />Like when you see an accquaintance from a while back (you know, the ones you would refer to as your 'friend' back in school, when really you only spoke five times for the whole seven years?).You exchange niceties, howareyouwhatareyoudoningatthemomentOhhhthatsniceYeahI'm okayjustatuniit'sgoingreallywellthanks. And then there it is, in all it soundless glory. And all you can say is bettergetgoingyeahnicetoseeyou. Awkwaarrrddd.<br /><br />Or perhaps when you get picked on in class, or lecture. Oh, [insert name] what are your thoughts on this?, that kinda thing. Your face grows hot, you rack your brain thinking of a viable get-out clause, but to no avail. You could hear an atom drop. There it is again.<br /><br />You drop a clanger. The atmosphere turns practically minus-decibels.<br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Terrible date. Silence you'd need a chainsaw to hack through.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Bad joke.No sound.<br /><br /><br />So, I suggest we, as British Subjects of the Crown (or otherwise, but you live here) EMBRACE the silence. There's nothing wrong with it! You don't have to fill it! Bask in it, I mean, it's only silence, right? I know, I know, it's not very nice when you've run out of things to say, but I tell you the truth, it is worse to try to break the vice-hold with an equally(if not moreso) cringe-worthy cough, throat-clearance or quip.<br /><br /><br /><br />Next time you are confronted by a barrage of nothingness when you tell a bad joke or try to force a conversation with someone you don't know very well, just shut up. Smile. Yeah, it will take a while to get over the cringe-factor, but you'll get there time after time. It takes adjusting. Just.Don't.Try.To.Fill.It.<br /><br /><br /><br />And just one more thing. DON'T GO ROUND CREATING THEM! These are the surefire ways of doing just that:<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Asking someone something if you don't really care what the answer is, you just want to look pleasant. </span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Starting conversations just to be polite</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Being too fakely overenthusiastic when approaching a mundane conversation-it only amplifies the silence when it inevitable appears.</span></span></li></ul><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >Silences will appear though. But learn to love them, they don't have to be a threat to your comfort. Learn to be comfortable with other human beings without having to be doing or saying something...And as stressed before Don't.Try.To.Fill.Them. It will only make it worse. I promise.Trust me on this one.<br /><br />*made up statistic.</span></span><br /></span></span></span><br /></span></span>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-84318893032694965212010-02-14T01:09:00.000-08:002010-09-15T00:57:33.508-07:00Valentines Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S3e_miRQVOI/AAAAAAAAAAo/OBE6YHa_qss/s1600-h/happy_valentines_day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 265px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S3e_miRQVOI/AAAAAAAAAAo/OBE6YHa_qss/s320/happy_valentines_day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438025743828276450" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Valentines Day.<br /><br />Oh </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">shut up</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> you filthy naysayers! 'It's all too commercial, it's not </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">real</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> love, it's just a money maker for companies, it's more trouble than it's worth, I show love every day of the year blah blah boring blah'.<br /><br />It's all been heard before. It's as boring as watching a sponge dry in the rainforest. I put it to you that Valentines Day is what you make it. And what could be wrong about a day designated to love, as an example to how every day should be?<br /><br />I bet you kill-joys don't even know the reason for the expression of love and all things close. Well here it is. Paraphrased by yours truly.<br /><br />It's 270 AD, and the matrimonial bond has been absolutely outlawed by old Claudius II, the then emperor of Rome, because he reckoned married men made crap soldiers. Boooo. He also outlawed Christianity, and while some of y'all may think that this was actually quite a good idea, he did it because he wanted to be worshipped as the one supreme God. Great. 270AD Rome sounds like a great place to live. Then our hero, Valentine turns up. And in my mind, he looks a bit like Dr. Valentine from Holby City. Goooood times.<br /><br />He was the Bishop of Interramna, and he thought the decrees of Rome were wrong, plain wrong. He put it forward that everyone should be able to be free with their love-of God and to marry. So what to do? I hear you whisper in impatient anticipation. He performed the most romantic covert operation the other side of Romeo and Juliet. He secretly married couples, risking life and limb, for love.<br /><br />The thing is, it turned out it wasn't as covert as he would have liked. He was caught and brought before old Claudius. Claudius saw something in our hero, and tried to persuade him to renounce his Christianity and worship the Roman Gods i.e Him. Well, this didn't work out as such, and Valentine did not budge. Now the Emporer could have just killed him, right? Hung him, maybe. Cut off his head. Sad, but relatively humane. No, no, nope. Valentine gets sentenced to a gruesome 3 part execution. Beating, stoning, then decapitation. Valentine died on February 14th, 270 A.D.<br /><br />While languishing in his dank dark prison cell in Rome awaiting his imminent death, poor Valentine fell in love with the jailers daughter, the blind Asterius. Apparently, during Valentine's stay, her sight was restored. But that isn't the touching bit for me. Valentine, before he went to his gruesome death sent her a last, farewell note, and ended it '</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">From your Valentine</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">'<br /><br />Ahhhhh. They need to make a film out of that.<br /><br />So, when you see crude cards, explicitly outllining acts of copulation, or see blatent money-grabbing tactics from your local Tesco, think about what Valentines day is really about. It's what you make it, not what someone else makes it. So don't complain about the commercialism and the mainstream filth, and use this as an excuse for your love protest, don't turn up your nose in a decidedly snobby fashion. Even if you feel you must celebrate on another day if the atmosphere sickens you too much, do it. And if you don't have a valentine, look for people who need love as they don't seem to be getting any. Give St. Valentine something more to be proud of, give him more meaning in his death. And hey, you might just </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">enjoy</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> it. </span></span></span>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-61081509725857389682010-01-19T05:46:00.000-08:002010-09-15T00:58:58.965-07:00The Battle Of the Cringe on the 14.43 to Waterloo.<div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >So, there I was, sitting quietly, minding my own business ( as is customary on an English train ) , when the flute I was carrying dropped to the floor. Now this would be absolutlely fine in normal circumstances. Mildly embarassing perhaps, but not soul-destroying. I thought that maybe I could just pick it up, smile awkwardly at mock-concerened fellow passengers and be on my way to Waterloo. </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >WRONG</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Man:(in a slippery, overtly concerened tone, Western African accent) Are you...Okay?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Terror strikes me like a big, heavy, metal pole. I dont immediatly look up, as I am so crestenfallen. I know what this means. It means the onset of an ongoing saga of Cringe. I need to end this. And I need to end this now</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me: (in a short, coldly cooperative tone) Yup.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And that should have been the end of it, or I hoped it would be. I hoped that this would somehow prevent my comfortableness being systematically destroyed. I was wrong, again.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I open my book and stare at the pages as if they had the meaning of life and the universe etched across them in gold leafed calligraphy, eyes as round as saucers, a look of concentration so fierce only a foolish dunce would disturb me. But I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head like a sniper's dot. And in my periphial vision, I can deduce that this repellent man is thinking of another way to form contact.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Man</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >:(with a carefully crafted 'I-have-rehearsed-this-in-my-head' tone) Do you know..where Woking is?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />WHAT. He could have at least come up with a better conversation point than that little gem, like perhaps the state of the economy in Luxemborg or opium production in Afghanistan. I look up at my opponent in this Battle of the Cringe. His beady eues peer at me and his slug-like lips twich repuslively. I know where this is going. And I am pathetically powerless.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Me:(in a robotic, purposefully unattractive manner) We. are.on.a.train.that.stops.in.Woking.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />I snap my head back frantically, and bury my nose further into the spine of my book. I contrort my body into the most closed body language I can fathom and press muself firmly against the window, the furthest I can get away from this horrible little man. He leans over the gangway awkwardly, still staring at me, still thinking of things to say ( I can hear the cogs turn in his head), oblivious to my hints. I want to cry.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Man: Do you live Portsmouth?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Me: No</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*AWKWARD SILENCE*</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Man:Where do you live?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: East London</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Man:(Dangerous raise in excitement to his voice) So do I!<br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >My brain screams in anguish. This thing could not possibly go further, or more quickly downhill if it has a 28 tonne tugboat tied to it and said hill was a cliff. I take to practically ingesting the poor Charlie Brooker book.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Man: My name is Olaf</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: (nods slowly, every movement of head is enhanced tenfold and slowed down to bullet-time)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*SILENCE*</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I sit there in silence. Maybe he had finally got the hint that I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a toilet brush than carry on talking to His Creepyness.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Time slows down drenched in stodgy Cringe. Neither of us move, suddenly paralysed by the thick atmosphere. I indulge in an inner smile, sure that finally, victory is mine.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Olaf: What is your name?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*FAIL*</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me: </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(Visibly crushed</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >) Almaz :(</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*SILENCE*<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I whip out my phone and start tweeting furiously in a way that suggests 'I now must not be disturbed under any circumtances on pain of death but driving this phone into your temple.' Then all of a sudden, an unfortunately familiar voice breaks the silence of my cringeful excruciation.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Olaf-the-complete-dimwit: </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Can I take you out to dinner</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Huh? Cringe Central and the 14.43 to Waterloo!! Is this guy SERIOUS?Oh my days, oh my life. But deep down, I knew this was where we would end up, right in this very spot. I just could not bring myself to believe it. I can feel the collective click of ears pricking up all over the carriage.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(so very firmly, a look of disbelief scrawled onto my face by my scrambling brain) No.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Olaf-the-birdbrain: </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Why?</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />No-frickin'-way.</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Me: I don't want to<br />Olaf-the-fisheyed-fool: Why?<br />Me: Just don't<br />Olaf-the-detestable-little-man: Why?<br />Me:(more and more aghast) I don't want to see...anyone!<br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />*SILENCE*<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Now I am AN-GER-Y. How DARE he? I turn back to my book, blood boiling hotly, superman style lasers burning through the 'gold gilded book of the meaning of life anf the universe'. I tweet even more furiously. How DARE this CRETIN make me cringe, so? I giggle manically in my head. He is responsible for my imminent insanity, I am sure of it and he will pay. I snap my head up only just avoiding paralysis.<br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Olaf-the-twit: </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can come to your house and pick you up if this is the problem.</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(practically roaring/spluttering hysterically, utter manic confusiong racking my little frame) I ASSURE YOU THAT IS NOT THE PROBLEM!!!</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*SILENCE*</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Olaf-the-absolute-dirk: Can I have your number?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Lost the will to laugh. Lost the will to love. Lost the will to live.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me: (Like a world-weary sea captain who has lost all h is crew and can only sigh due to utter dejection)NOOooo</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Olaf: Facebook</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: Don't have it</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Olaf: Email</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Me: No</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Olaf-two-brain-cell: Why?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Me: Because they are mine to keep.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Olaf-the-idiot actually look annoyed with ME. All ican do is languish sullenly, waves of cringe walking over me like the waters of the Lake Distict. Why me, God? Why me. But wait! Olaf is not leaning over the aisle like a fool! Has my ordeal ceased at alst? I begin to read my book again, actually able to enjoy it without little eyes crawing all over me. 5 minutes pass. Ten. OUT OF THE WOODS!!!! Bur wait. Actually, wait.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Olaf: I feel bad now. I feel bad now.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Unbelievable.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />Me: Don't feel bad, you tried.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br />I crack a smile. It really is over. The storm is over. The Cringe subsides. The battle is won, And the next thing I know we are stopping at beautiful, glorious Woking.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And though I still have my battle scars, dealt but the mighty hands of Olaf, directly administering Cringe. I wear them proudly. And women out there-I know you do too ;)</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></div></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><br /></span></span><br /></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-68572744249382396102010-01-10T06:51:00.000-08:002010-01-10T06:57:41.019-08:00Music<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="myspace.com/courageattheteaparty"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 172px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S0nqew4QNnI/AAAAAAAAAAg/kM9NydFsZzI/s200/2q810m0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425125040382293618" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">this is de myspace</span></span>, <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">rigghhht </span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/myspace.com/courageattheteaparty"><span style="font-weight: bold;">HERE</span></a><br /></div>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5041758039690790510.post-70345572563421549632010-01-10T06:08:00.000-08:002010-01-10T06:50:26.438-08:00Mission Transmission.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S0nokpa_fSI/AAAAAAAAAAY/rQQgC3A6kbE/s1600-h/bloggggg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_POckcsOy0Jg/S0nokpa_fSI/AAAAAAAAAAY/rQQgC3A6kbE/s200/bloggggg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425122942436474146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Hi. My name is Almaz Messenger. I am 19. I live in a not-so-leafy suburb of London. Well, I suppose it's alot more leafy than alot of places on the big wid e world.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But as this is my first post on this blog, and i have to get it out there short after I've written my last full stop, I'm guessing you already know that stuff.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So, I've recently started a new music project, named Courage at the Teaparty. Yes, I know it sounds incredibly pretentious in an especially trying-to-be-The-Quirk way, but I promise you whole-heartedly, there is a reason for it. I'm used to acousticy stuff so to go even semi-electro is a shock to the system. But first and foremost I just want to make good music.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In short, it means being who you are though popular culture tries to influence you otherwise. Tea parties were places wher you had to put on airs and graces to fit in, or seem a certain way, or deemed acceptable socially. So, to have courage in this instance would be to have the bravery to break free of the norms and be who or what you were born to be.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">A friend called Georgie once revealed a great truth to me about life and the way we live it. We pretend all the time. Life consists of consecutive instances of pretending, or faking it. For example, we are out 'having a good time' with some people. But the thing is, we look like we are having a good time, so does everyone else, but if we really thought about it we would rather be at home, snuggled on the sofa, watching back to backs of 90210. And if someone asks us if we had a good time it was apparently, and automatically 'immense'. Or we talk to a friend on Facebook (or your preffered networking site) who we haven't seen in ages, asking them about 21 questions about their life and times, but if we stop and thought, we don't really care, ecause when they have replied and asked the questions back, we just can't be arsed to reply. The list goes on and on and on.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In this blog, I hope to also give my view on life and daily happenings and hopefully I can look back on this and see how I have changed. I also will be letting y'all know about the musical developments of Courage at the Tea Party and other projects, especially with a boy named Felix :).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And right now, I ain't about to chat 'bout no snow!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Love ( makes the world go round) x</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">oh and Happy New year.</span></span>A. Messengerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05226086907557342932noreply@blogger.com0