Rabid monkeys with fancy tools

So the Irish guy got his eviction letter two weeks ago. He’s leaving in two weeks and he’s taking the German guy with him. Not only that, but the French guy is leaving as well. And what’s more, the French girl might be leaving too. What, am I some sort of repellant? Shall I shoot loony landlady now or shall I do it after supper?
Speaking of which, she came by earlier to have a word with the French girl about potential tenants (a Spanish couple, and they’ll be taking the room next to mine. o woe betide sleepless nights of hearing the bedpost knock-knock-a-knocking ‘gainst the wall) and the German guy told her to say what she came to say and leave. Very nasty.
After that, our little drama queen landlady had a fainting spell. She started to fall backwards and the French girl had to accompany her home. O why didn’t she just let her fall back and knock her head against something and get amnesia and then everyone can stay as they were.
She’s coming by again on Friday to check the house and rooms. Expect a big scene then.
This is blasphemy. This is madness. This is 6 Dunedin.
Sorry, the anticipation for 300 is too excrutiating.

5 reasons why I blog:

No. 1 : It’s one of the ways to pass time. Especially when it’s 4am and I just kyant sleep.

No. 2 : I can write down all those jumbled thoughts I have in my head. Sorta like organizing my brain.

No. 3 : So that everyone can read about my insanely interesting life.

No. 4 : So that I can attempt to be witty.

No. 5 : I can rant and rave and rant and rave and rant and rave and rant and rave.

There ya go. I’m not in the mood for writing today because I ran out of duty free cigarettes and a pack here costs 7 euros, which is RM35, which makes one stick RM1.75. Can buy two Ais Manis with that amount of money. So the solution is to roll my own cigarettes, and being a total noob they’re rather runny and they take a motherlode of time to roll. Oh the agony.

You know what? By nature, I am a very quiet, shy and antisocial person. I’m talking about life here in CoRk, mind you. Those who know me well have never seen the quiet me. Good god, am I clamming up? I don’t have much eloquence, and I rather like not talking sometimes. Unless I’m with close friends. I won’t shut up then. But really, I’m so terribly lazy to talk to people. You have to fake a laugh, feign interest, set up a facade and all that jazz. It tires me. I will socialize when I want to socialize. Once a week to the pub is enough. More, and I’d squirm and dig a hole and die. I’m quite envious of friendly people. How the hell do they do it? Is it their high?
Look, it’s my housemate’s birthday and she’s having some party downstairs. I really, really couldn’t be arsed to go down. I know that if I do, I’d just stand there looking like a right idiot. Give me some alcohol and I’d start talking like one too. God knows what words I spew when I’m drunk.

To me, the city is just average - too many people and too many goddamn suicidal cyclists trying to ram into you. It didn’t appeal to me very much. Save for one thing. And yes, you got it right cowboy. The only salvagable thing in Amsterdam for me is the plantlife.
It’s all a haze to me now, what happened during those four days. We went to the Van Gogh museum, which is fine if you’re really into art. We went to the sex museum, which was really just some pornographic photographs and funny paraphernilia. We went to the hash museum where they were growing cannabis ‘for the sake of education.’ Pffffft. Those damn trams - they really gotta pre-warn you about those. They’re sadistic bastards. And we went to a different coffee shop every time, for variety, you know.
Some pictures here. I gotta warn ya. I really look like shit in the photos.
http://juliatan.multiply.com/photos/album/1
Something rather embarrasing. The morning we arrived, gung-ho Tan decided to roll her own joint, and it was so strong that after half an hour of feeling like lead, she vomitted yesterday’s dinner up and slept for the rest of the day and night.
All in all, I don’t mind Amsterdam. I sure as hell wouldn’t go again if it wasn’t legal to do certain things. They’re smart. They know how to attract tourists.
Oh, and mushrooms are really horrid tasting (but they work so well, like medicine).

.. this song really, really appealed to me.

Life In Mono by Mono.

The stranger sang a theme
From someone else’s dream
The leaves began to fall
And no one spoke at all
But I can’t seem to recall
When you came along (me: how goddamed true)
Ingenue

Ingenue
I just don’t know what to do

The tree-lined avenue
Begins to fade from view
Drowning past regrets
In tea and cigarettes
But I can’t seem to forget
When you came along (me: you asshole tempering with my memory)
Ingenue

Ingenue
I just don’t know what to do

Ingenue
I just don’t know what to do

Ingenue
I just don’t know what to do

Ingenue
I just don’t know what to do (me: yeah I really don’t know what to fuckin’ do with you)

Ingenue (fade out)

….

So how did I celebrate my new year’s?
-Went for a movie. Hot Fuzz rocks my world. Yerp. Yerp. Nerp .. ?
-Froze my fingers off walking back from cinema.
-Housemate complained that I was hogging the bandwidth with my downloads.
-Got fed up. Stuffed myself with M&M’s (nutless, especially the brown ones) and cooked myself pasta. Ran out of chicken and tomatoes. Used garlic in the stead.
-Had a few beers to celebrate the lunar new year. Year of the pig, and as Chong says, let’s be pigs and sleep loads.
-Got bored. Nobody online. Everyone busy collecting ang pau. Not in anybody’s thoughts, I’m sure.
-Went downstairs to play Okami. Defeated Crimson Helm. Celebrated by having another beer and a rewarding smoke. Stars were beautiful but fuck it was cold.
-Came up and listened to Mono non-stop whilst I write this.

Time: 4.41am. Will people stop telling me to count sheep when I can’t sleep? It don’t work, alright?
Countdown: Two and a quarter days till Amsterdam. Mushrooms here I come. This year Julia will have a mind-blowing very psychadelic year.

End note: Told French guy that he was born in the year of the rooster. He didn’t quite understand, despite being able to comprehend Naruto subtitles. Told him year of the cock and he understood immediately.

Milk. I love milk. I want to drink buckets of it. Matter of fact, I want to swim in it, mouth open, drinking every stroke of the way.
Milk, O divine milk. If only my bowels didn’t disagree with you. If only I didn’t have to visit the seat of fecal gods every half hour after I’ve had two pints of you. If only . . .

It’s like clockwork (how apt) .. After four or more pints of beer, visit toilet the entire of next day. After two pints of milk, also visit toilet the entire of next day. O my indulgences, O cruel, cruel life.

Alright, since it’s V-day after all, I will spend the whole day listening to whatever love songs that I’ve got in my computer. Haven’t got much, so this means that a lot of songs will be repeated.
Why am I doing this? I just want to be part of the fray for once. I remember being young and dateless and wanting to go to Gurney Drive to spit on lovey-dovey couples. I’ve come to terms with that. Now I just feel like throwing sand in their eyes.
Jokes aside, I hope that you’ll have a good V-day (also known as Fucktart day). If you don’ts have a date, make a date with yourself. I will cook myself a good dinner, have myself a beer and snuggle up with Tess of the D’Urbervilles. That’s pleasure enough.
I suppose loneliness is pretty damn reliable - you just have to get acquainted with it, coddle it and rename it as solitude.
So Happy Fucktart Valentine’s Day y’all. Have a blast.

This whole student-teacher relationship thing from Notes of a Scandal ignited some old feelings and .. no better way to put it, fantasies (not really of the sexual kind, mind you. Jeez what is this world turning into?) I had just after I left Form Six. Well, you see, I’ve always had a weak spot for younger men (so virile, so absolutely virile), and there was this younger boy (boy - the term itself is so wrong) back in school I was diggin’ .. those whom I hung out with back in Form Six would probably know who I am talking about - if they remember, that is. He looked so cute .. so naughty-ish .. And in school uniform .. So absolutely undeniably wrong .. Owh ..
And the thought of going back to school to teach part time as a substitute or something of the sort so that I could .. well .. teach him some things actually crossed my mind. It bloody crossed my mind. You know .. schoolteachers .. there was this girl whom everybody dug (man that ass was really rockin’) and she was in Form Six, and she went back to school to teach a bit, and holy moly, that was one hotass wicked teacher. Seriously, coming from a more-or-less straight female, that girl was - why am I talking about her? Dammit. I digress. Schoolteachers. C’mon. It’s a common enough fantasy.
Damn my imagination. And hey before you start condemning me for being a paedophile, he was just a mere three years younger. Not that bad kua.
I never had the balls to talk to him. Just gushed like a fangirl. Gushed. When he walked passed me during assembly line, I’d just bloody gush. Like mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-ing till your lungs are empty.
But what if I had spoken to him? You know our boys. They’d laugh and tease and never let it die. Now, the boys have become young (legal) men. I really need to weed this guy out when I get back. Gah.
Dammit I need to get myself a hot (and older) Irish man to get rid of these sweaty boythoughts.

Sister just left after spending the weekend in CoRk with me. I hope I didn’t bore her to death like how I did with Chong. Actually it was a good weekend for me. Went to the pub, where she got her ass pinched. Then went for a movie, Notes on a Scandal. What a disturbing movie. I have to say, top-notch acting from Judi Dench. She really sent shivers down my spine, made me wince a hell loada times and at one point I just wanted to puke. She plays this old schoolteacher who is a closet lesbian-in-denial who has obssesive compulsions. She developes feelings for a new female member of the staff who has an affair with a 15 year old boy, and uses that affair to pin said new teacher under her grimy thumb. It’s just amazing acting, really disturbing, a good movie but definitely not one I’d watch again. Just too freaky.
And as usual, my sister being my sister, she messaged Lau. I still don’t really know what exactly she messaged him about because she deleted his messages and the sent messages as well. I suppose that it’s her payback for me waking up late and not preparing lunch for her. Heh heh.
So anyways, Julia will take a one week breather, then proceed to Amsterdam, after which she will spend a month in hibernation before travelling again.
Hibernation. Bears. I want my big brown bear. //whines.

… tune in to 6 Dunedin. There’s always some.

Episode one: The Loony Landlady.

First month flew by fine. Everything was tip top. Fine housemates, fine house, fine room. Then last week, as my second month was just beginning to unfold, all the drama that had been contained for a month came gushing out like diarrhea. In comes the cuckoo landlady to inspect the house. Began complaining about everything and reigniting the beef she had with Irish housemate. Even checked his room, for crying out loud. They had a row, he shut the door in her face and she called him a little bastard (she now claims that she was calling her boot a little bastard because it wouldn’t zip up. how utterly convinient). That was on Monday.
Tuesday she disappeared.
Wednesday night she came by again to inspect his room again. And also to complain about the kitchen. Again. She said that she would come by on Friday to inspect all our rooms. So naturally we bitched about her. She’s just insane. I mean, c’mon, it’s our private spaces for chrissake. Which landlord comes by every other day of the week? It’s annoying! I’m not annoyed much but when they start having fights every other day it does get on my nerves one good because fights is one thing that I came here to be absolutely free of.
Thursday, which is today, she came by to have a talk with the French girl, and French girl gave her a piece of her mind (which wasn’t enough, apparently).
Then just now, she came by again (barged in, more like) and there was a big fight between her, Irish guy and German guy. Threatened to evict Irish guy (apparently for the umpteenth time), German guy threatened to move out, she threatened to forfeit the deposit, threatened to evict all of us (even me, and what did I do?), said that we must all live under her rule (at this point German guy called her a little dictator) and yeah just a loada threats flying around. And she left crying. Cool.
She’s coming again tomorrow to inspect the rooms. Jeez, I mean, what happened to privacy? I thought that it was a big thing here!
Then her husband, the nice mediator, came by and said that he will try to explain things to our Little Dictator, talk things out and stuff. Cool. I hope he triumphs.
And after that, French girl began talking to me about her problems. Said that German guy just told her that when he first met her, he thought that she was stupid. Bah. So what. People think that I’m stupid too (stupid, senseless, bimbotic, slacker, and so forth) but who gives a damn about what they think? Even if I am stupid, it’s who I am, so go fly a kite and I hope you fall off your high horse one day and break your back and have to eat from a straw. If they think it, it’s their misfortune and not mine. Or hers. I’m not very good at giving pep talks. But I think that the best mantra for her would be when someone points his finger at you, three fingers are pointing back at himself. And also, it takes a bigger one to know one.
Oh the drama. And my sister’s arriving in approximately four hours. She can share my dramatic life! It’s all so extremely trivial and immatured and secondary school-ish that I feel so incredibly old.
I swear if they fight again tomorrow I will just start shouting obscenities in two languages and a few dialects.
Stay tuned for episode two.