Annoyance and Suffering, Jeeves and Wooster

I watched the entire Season Two of Jeeves and Wooster. How I love that show. I think I might have a slight crush of Stephen Fry...but alas...must it always be this way for me!?!?!

I really have very little left to say- or do I?

There is lots of negative energy in the house at the moment, however, it has lingered for quite some time. Everybody seems to be ticked off for whatever reason, ready to bite and argue, our auras are oozing anger and bitterness...at first I thought it was my fault (you know children, they always blame themselves...) but then I realized that it is not my fault, and that, after I tried to get to the root of of the problem and failed due to lack of cooperation, I decided to really not care. My mother is going away for two weeks to complete some course, taking our only car. I will have to walk everywhere...which isn't that bad I suppose. Father has been too busy trying to tie me to the house and the family...the realization that I have only 5 months or less left to live here and be under 24/7 watchful eye of my caring parental unit has left all feeling scared for their designated roles that have been cosily fulfilled for the past 17 and a half years. Unfortunately, the times they are a-changin'...

I sit often while The Jam's "That's Entertainment" plays, with my head leaning on my hand...thinking about how I could just pack a nice little bag of clothes and memories, get a one way ticket to somewhere better, maybe Los Angeles, go out there and finally face the world- take the first step to getting what I want. Ironic that I dream of this as I listen to that song...I really don't know why. It used to be Frankie's version of "New York, New York" but for some reason, I just want to go somewhere warm...somewhere less hostile (I don't know why I want to go to Los Angeles then....I am obviously very lost). But I have been too moulded into a person who fears any "irrational", spur of the moment decision...everything has to have a plan...when I know very well that life does not have a plan and that nothing happens for a reason. And sometimes, one must make an irreversible decision to achieve more than those who follow the stream. We shall see. Maybe next year. People who put things off...well...I won't say anything.

I want to go to St.Louis to see the Mr. on his birthday- my friend might be coming with me..either way I just want to go. Midwest though...Misery...(I know the right spelling). My parents are having a "huge freakout" about this. Although they won't admit it, they can't stand the idea of me leaving..they've always been very good at putting on an attitude of "liberal" parents who understand that their child will one day leave, go, come back at Christmas and call them with much dislike of the idea, just like they treat their parents. Last time I was growing independent they blamed it on drugs. Half of the time, I wasn't even doing drugs- I just wasn't at home. The moment I became a nun, everything went well. The moment I locked myself in my room and rarely left (can't complain about this notion however) they went "whew, she's ours now" and everything was back to normal. Now I am off to university, not very interested in learning anything...and this proclamation of independence cannot be removed.

Having said this- I will never be a parent. Girls who plan their children's names, boys who decide what games they will play their kids and what sports teams they will cheer for, make me sick. I never was one of those girls. Sex itself is a dirty act, from a non religious perspective. What is the big deal with exchanging bodily fluids and rubbing your body together? And in the words of a 7 year old- "ewwwwwww!". Not just that, but pregnant ladies are absolutely disgusting. They look like dung beetles.

Jayne Mansfield and Other Contemplations

People are talking about the coming of summer as if it's a threat. Melting off negligent fat, remembering all of the painful diets, beating themselves over food's domination in their lives. My god, we have all gone insane.

Today was rather nice. Rather, rather, nice...actually, what am I saying? I was grumpy, tired, sore from painkillers that wore off, not in a good mood (but then again, I can never be in a good-enough mood compared to people hopped up on Prozac with unnatural takes on life)..I went to school, literary sat for 6 hours...absorbed no knowledge whatsoever, walked home, contemplating life and taking Hamlet too seriously. I never did before. Somehow...to be or not to be...makes a little bit more sense now. I realized that I need to become much smarter than I am, and yet again, I am left without an answer on how to do it.

I thought about my vanity- for others, not for myself. And then I thought what would happen if suddenly, an angry rottweiler appeared out of nowhere, devoured my face, left me scarred for life. What would I have to offer then? I really don't want to know. Thank you, but no. I am too vain, Woody Allen type of vain...I am not perfect, but everybody I could possibly, hypothetically ever be involved with must be "perfect". Meh. Meh. Meh. As long as I have a choice..

Here's my nightmare:

I have actually concluded that Jayne Mansfield frightens me...a lot. How many decades did she set back women. Look pretty for your husband, keep your vaginal tract neat- the rest will come naturally. What type of mentality is that? I am tired of being presented these fabrications of femininity as the aim of what I want to aspire to. The story is old...it seems that every day they advance further, and further, and further. I am being accused of not being a feminist just because I dislike women who willingly make themselves into marketable pieces of flesh. No chauvinistic man can tell you how to be, at least not today, and if you sink low enough that some low-life person dictates what you should do with your life, how you should be- then it's your own fault. At least in the Western culture, one of the few positives I can think of, is that women have the choice of saying "fuck you buddy!" and doing their own thing. I know this is arguable, but that's my experience so far. So what if you don't get whistled at by construction workers, so what if they make fun of your frizzy hair and books? If you truly don't care, and that is how you think you should be...give them the middle finger and move on. It's your own fault if you fail and mold yourself around what they want you to be like....

I was disgusted by a guy (I was going to say man, but that's not what he is) who looks like he could be about 11 (he is actually my age, 17-18) in my art class described how his prom weekend is going to be like: "I'm gonna be surrounded by all these hot bitches...and they'll all like take off their tops...-". I nearly burst out of my seat, smacked him in the face and told him not to speak until his genitals fully develop, which they never will. Then I thought of all of those poor girls who will present their bodies like a smorgasbord for this low self esteemer, who'll put their own integrity on the line.....

Done.

I will not wear a Fred Perry shirt...

Person of the day iiiiisss- Elia Kazan! How patronizing, I am sorry. I just want to be him badly. Anyhow, I really have nothing on Kazan to report other than the fact that unless you understand he is breathtakingly amazing and dead...well...yeah, then you still don't understand very much. Or something? Anything? I don't know where I was going with this...

I had a very nice talk with my mother regarding success versus fame- it was all triggered by an essay by Tennessee Williams that I came across. It really made me wonder if the two go together. Apparently, they do not. But then again, there are so many types of fame, and so many types of success. I'd much rather be successful at what I do and content with that fact, that be famous. I think I have been mistaking success with fame for way too long.

I just want to say that really did have a quite unique dream last night. It wasn't very pleasant, no...unique isn't always pleasant. I, through my dream, re-experienced a short-lived, suffocating, liaison that I had about a year and a half ago. Luckily, I cut the umbilical cord on that one before it was too late and all of my "self" had been completely trampled and sucked out me (now I fully embrace solitude, in all of its soothing tranquility). But in that dream, I was still in that non-reciprocal relation...I felt as though I could not breathe...and when I woke up..I was rather shaken. Talk about fear of "relationships"...my God...

This has all been triggered by a talk with a friend about how I should perhaps, maybe, stop being so reclusive, and maybe get a relationship...have a relationship. The problem is..actually...there are a couple of problems with that. Mainly, I am not just looking for just anyone. And that is what is mainly being offered. A bunch of random anybodies. As well as being terribly picky, I am also extraordinarily vain.

Not just that, but I generally prefer older men when it comes to having any sort of "relationship" (and I quote the word relationships because I really very much dislike the sound of it). My parents would not be too happy about that- not at all. I am hoping that next year, I might be extraordinarily moved by a poet, an artist, a man with experience and metaphysical powers that only come with age. But age really has nothing to do with it....people limit themselves with age, gender, race etc...no, not me. I am just looking for someone equally out of their mind as I. Actually, I am not looking...when you look for something, you can never find it.

Never keep up with the Joneses..drag them down to your level

I seem to have a rather tough time coming up with these titles. There is too much emphasis on the title...I bought into that however, and have no one but myself to blame.

Feeling rather deprived and somewhat sore, I chugged down about 600 calories worth of 7-11's Slurpee over the course of this weekend. My God. And then I marveled at the beauty that is "collector's" cup, right now they have Spiderman...and he moves when you move the cup. People who believe I am above Earthly amusements are in complete oblivion. One look at me standing in amazement in front of a stack of Spiderman collector's cups at the 7-11 would have sent them running off to find another messiah, another prophet..another me. As long as that security tape stays where it should, we should be a-ok. In fact, if they rewound that tape to about...2 years ago now, they would find a very different looking me, stumbling to that same Slurpee machine, experiencing both heaven and hell on a very nice, artistic psychedelic drug. However, those days are long gone, I am now a clean little whistle, and all I have are random flashbacks to hold on to...

My obsession with Quentin Crisp is a serious one. I might buy a signed copy of The Naked Civil Servant...on Ebay. However, the seller wants me to pay $20 for the book, and another $20 for shipping and "handling" (I never really understood how much "handling" is required for a package to be sent from one place to another...). It is not like $40 is too much...not for Quentin...but I really hate the feeling of paying an equal amount of money for both the book and the shipping. It feels weird. Maybe I am weird. Ugh, weird is such a silly word.

Instead of going to "school" tomorrow, I have decided to do something a little bit more productive (anything is more productive that going to an institution that resembles an insane asylum..), which is, take day off, lounge in the backyard, read some mandatory Tennessee Williams, sip on some Earl Grey...and learn Italian. Maybe I should learn French completely first...finish what I have started.

Speaking of Earl Grey... these past few days have been difficult. Due to the stitching of the empty space where my wisdom tooth sat, I have not been allowed to drink any tea. I think I took my addiction to tea and transformed into a Slurpee addiction- not very wise, seeing how tea only stains your teeth, but Slurpees equal hours worth of exercise. Can I make it? I hope so.

Are all Dentists Sadists?

You'd have to have an ounce of joy in finding other people's suffering... at least slightly pleasurable...otherwise there is no point in doing the job that you do, right? I wonder if that applies to dentists. Having said that, I had one of my wisdom teeth removed today- and I feel only slightly less, well...wise.





Currently, I am hopped up on some sort of painkillers...and have guzzled down almosta litre of Seven Eleven's Slushee- my best friend and long time companion in times like these. While watching 1964 Goldfinger (I have a sick obsession with Bond films, and although I watch them too much and too often, I always find myself hating the plot, unable to suspend my disbelief etc...it's peculiar why I even bother with these films...) I decided that I must do some important things in order to perhaps, be able to fit into the high society some day, and beat them at their own game. I am tired of the classic communist syndrome, I must be proactive. Here's a brief list:

• Learn to play golf.


• Learn to play tennist.


• Learn to ride (horses).


• Learn to operate guns (ok, this knowledge is pretty much universal...in the 21st century, however, I believe this desire was subconsicously inspired by the Bond film playing in the background...and Pussy Galore screaming "more, more, more!!!").


• Perfect my French.


• Buy/Sell stocks and shares.


• Learn about different types of wines (time to move on from teas).


• Learn proper etiquette.


• Learn to fly an aircraft (I should probably put this one off until I can manage to get my driver's license, and take a left hand turn without having my car totaled).

Seems like I have a plan for the summer. That makes me feel moderately well. Knowledge is key. It would be nice to know a lot of things. I don't have enough money for it, but, I suppose, knowledge cannot always be bought. Well, it can't be bought...but an opportunity for acquiring can be available if one has a certain amout of mula just sitting around.

If Morrissey could do it, so can I. My times as a stereotypical proletariat are over. Maaaaark my worddddd

Ice tea, without ice, please.

Why is that mostly overweight people get Diet Coke? How ironic is that? But what is even funnier is something that happened a couple of days ago. Here is my recollection of it, and if you could read the title, well, it slightly gave it away...but stick around for moderately amusing commentary:

Some man (I am guessing he was a man, but you never know these days..) came in and asked for "An Ice tea with no ice", so I, having a false assumption that most people have a sense of humor or at least can detect a witty remark, said "So you mean, you'll have tea, right?" and he looked at me and said "No..I want ice tea. Without ice". And I said "How ironic, sir, don't you think? Ice tea, without ice." He didn't seem too happy, kind of looked around and said "I want my ice tea"...so I walked over to the pop machine, gave him a nice big gob of snot, charged him $10 and felt sorry for him...no I didn't. I chuckled to myself, gave him his "ice tea with no ice" and watched him wobble to his auditorium, going to see "300" alone, probably jacking off in the back row to all the hot Spartans and their perfectly chiseled bodies. Nothing wrong with that, I'd contemplate doing the same if I were a middle-aged, balding, overweight, grumpy, sedate man suppressing his true sexuality...stooping to the level of ordering "Ice Tea Without Ice" and making a big deal of it.

There. That's my recollection. It happened. Don't you believe?

Things to do in Denver when you're half-deceased

What better way to start a daily update than to say "Everything is a mess, nothing is right, kill me, kill me, kill me...please don't miss the jugular...it's right here...". But of course, to say that...well...to say that I'd have to be in a rather big rut. I will not say I am lethargic; no, I am more on the livid side of the spectrum. Yes, I have crossed that thin, thin line.

People in my proximity are generally unbearable, and I am truly hoping that there is a place where there are some people who have an ounce of redeeming qualities left in them. Heaven, hell, in-between...-somewhere.

You might or might not know that I work at a movie theatre, AMC theatres, the breast and brightest (yes, I did say breast. Why? Why not?). I just got my first paycheck today: $150 for 20 hours. 20 hours!!! 20 hours of my time...20 hours that I spent smiling (a very demanding, difficult task for me) talking in a high-pitched voice to mask my unhappiness about many many things...20 hours of serving utterly defective people (who else would pay $11.40 for a bag of popcorn and a large drink???)..20 hours of serving people hot dogs...even though I think that carnivorous activities should be punishable by law and "up there" with child molestation and first degree murder.........20 hours of my time!

I demand a raise...and this is why....when I become the first woman to ever win an Oscar, they will be hanging pictures of me and showing the cash register where I worked at...young film enthusiasts will be licking the glass display in which my name tag sits neatly on a piece of blue velvet fabric.. Imagine the money it will bring them? Imagine the press and the "yeah I knew her she was an odd character, awfully cheerful on the outside, but quite puzzling on the inside" interviews....I can't wait to see all of those people who don't care if I live or die, pretending we were best friends on the Biography channel special about the life and time of_______(I need to come up with a good, strong name...so that people can say "I knew her as simply- Milica"). Yeah. I'll laugh...and crash my Mercedes while getting drunk on Earl Grey tea....

..but until then, slave away simpleton...slave away, until you have absolutely no desire to do anything productive/constructive/positive! Until the idea that $7.50 an hour is all you will get is instilled in your brain- then the capitalists have succeeded, and you will be flushed away to the fringes of the society.

My God. What a pessimist. And all of this at 17. I can't even imagine what she will be like when she's 20. 30. 40? I won't go on. Decades are so easy to skip...they're like pieces of popcorn. Ugh. Popcorn. Gross.

The Virginity Lost

Here I am scribbling my thoughts for the very first time. The trend of blogging has caught up with me. Who am I, what do I do, what is my purpose? I can't tell, but what I can tell right now is that I am probably Monica Vitti...or Jeane Moreau...or maybe both. I am tragicomical, I am a character right out of Kafka's own ramblings. I am Woody Allen. I am Morrissey. I am Steinbeck and Kazan. I am Plato. I am Pandora. I am Jean Marais.

They all pulse through my veins, eventually reaching my heart, my brain.

Today was rather dull, and as long as it stays that way, all shall be well. My plan for the future-make a lot of money,
cheat people into thinking I have depth
get a transvestite to play keyboards for my band
figure out what I am to do with my hair
move to Los Angeles, then sit on Sunset Blvd and weep.

It's all perfect. All makes perfect sense.
I smell like Laszlo's dead sea mud soap. It's a good thing.
And it's a very, very good night.