Unrequesting Opinions

you know it people!

2006-01-08T01:12:00.000+02:00

The short thing, with the probably the best beer in the world can in her hand, known to roomates as Niels the Sudanese Elf ever since weraing a cap wich left my ears-inspired by the Notre Dame garguilles, sticking out. Can you see it, the short thing I mean, not the church? yeah, i can see me too. And man, do i really take after Bridget Jones. I drink half a beer and am capable of the some of the most ridiculous, lame and damn right basketcase actions the planet has seen, all in the name of man (the opposite sex that is. do elves have opposite sexes? because, depipte all the tolkien-based movies and the christmas-based movies, the elves still seem to me like a community that multiplies through old-fashioned spores, while on a break from building old-fashioned, wooden... choo choo trains.)
So, in order to regain my dignity after once again being proved that Earth to Elf, let it rest, the whole thing is dead, burnt to ashes and spread in the wind in the most unromantic darnright fanlike way, and there's no point, yo Bridget, in asking "hey , how've you been" if the other person is not in the least interested in how You've been! In case you aren't psychic, there;s no way you have understood what I'm on about here: i tryed to get hold of an ex, a classic move when drunk since 1815.In order to regain my dignity,I was saying, I call the dude who from now on until he realises he doesn't need this, will be known as the Boyfriend, and more or less meowingly requested signs of affection and to be considered normal by at least one person on this planet, that is he. Now, considering that I don't even like cats that much and considering that the schoolmate also known as the Boyfriend, has thought of me as this really reserved, icy, quiet (oh boy!) person I think I have really gone over the top this time, by behaving all girly girlie and non(e) intellectual. I blew my cover, and am seriously afraid that Niels, my alter ego will show up any minute.
Yes, it's all ramble here and I'm sure you haven't understood anything. I read some of the diary entries from my very first blog : probablyme.diaryland.com. They were all good, at least to me, because I managed to get so much stuff out of my system simply by writing it down and adding the occasional ornament. That blog was such a no-frills blog, and I hated the design at the time and the limits of diaryland. But, dude, starting to write and knowing that there's no way that more than one person will bea reading that blog was so liberating. So, I'm back to just good old rambling, not trying to make sense to anyone else but myself, or tolerating myself when sense just doesn't happen. The good part is that I get long entries. (Getting to see my profoundness dear reader, I bet.)
Where was I? I had another long sentence coming my way and it just vanished, probably under the mound of chocolate wrappings on my desk.Right..I'm going back to Cluj tomorrow. Hollidays are over. I have a 5-hour-long train ride in the company of Chris, also known as Dopey, also known as Hannibal lately, where I am Clarice who gets scared by a shriek in the dead of the night while suposedly listening to jingle bells played in reverse. And then they made fun of me on Skype, Chris and Octavian-another former classmates, while I was unsuccessfully trying to impress them by meowing and trying to explain how I was this short of not being able to remove my fingernails with my fingers still attached to them, from the wooden back of my desk chair, while niels inside was pulling his hair, screaming and banging his head on my ribcage (hence the pounding in my chest, you maniacs..) Of course, you didn't get what this paragraph was all about either. Short story long, Chris will have an even longer ride on the train tomorrow than I am since he is sitting next to me and I am set on confiscating his earplugs, ear phones and the fingers stuck in his ears if I have to, for the sake of him experiencng how I can reach aeroplane decibles while "saying" the words "maniac, sick bastard" over and over again.
Ok..done rambling, after partially having gotten over the humiliation of knowing that there's at least one person on this planet that considers me a complete nutcase and thinking of getting a restriction order, while i try to explain that no...you got it all w..never mind. I'll go home and explain to the bf what it;s all about..guess i'm not done after all.
over.

let's get this fire started..or something

2005-12-31T19:33:00.000+02:00

I know I've been awful with updating this blog. The reasons for not writing changed with my moods, from believing I've got nothing to say to admitting I've been plain lazy.But sine my parents have exported themselves to my aunt's some 100 km away and I have allowed myself the luxury of smoking in my room (no! I don't wanna hear it! no lectures! quitting smoking-again, is on my new year's resolutions' list, ok?!). Also, | am willing to do anything (except vacuum clean) to not work on the three projects whose deadlines are approaching.Regional Policies of the European Union are not all they're cracked up to be, I tell you..We've been told to try not to re-invent the wheel in our research project, so instead I've concocted these windmills which even my asinine brain has been refusing to fight. I used to think the European Union is this artificial giant with clay feet. Nope, no feet there..The Eu, it's official, hasn't got a head, or a tail for that matter. And when it's going to collapse, it's not going to collapse because of dear old Romania and Bulgaria joining the club, it's going to collapse under the weight of 3.526.799.006 directives, regulations and resolutions.I bet Strasbourg, Bruxelles and Luxembourg are a paper-recycling paradise.And if one day Spanish and French tomato farmers join forces and decide they want to burn everything EU related in some public square, there'd be enough there to set the whole continent on fire. Allow me to reccommend the musical background for the happy event:Prodigy-Firestarter.
Also, I would like to take advantage of this occasion to tell you not to ever look for questia passwords on offer on dubious sites. It is wrong! and most importantly it will ensure a slow, painful death for your PC. But, to my defense I will say, SERIOUSLY, DO YOU FOLKS EXPECT ME TO PAY 22 BUCKS FOR ONE MONTH'S ACCESS TO THE WORLD'S LARGEST ONLINE LIBRARY?
I will have to pay, eventually, since I need to read the book of one stuffy euro-fan named William Wallace (whom I bet has never climbed a tree in his life, or worn a kilt), so I can get an idea of the theories on regionalisation. Because,apparently, the EU funds highways that will later be built by American companies named Bechtel (long fairytale, the kind of only the Romanian government can come up with..) according to some sort of intricate philosophy. I'd say I'm going to put up a "donate" button on the site, but when you live in a country that's being presented like some sort of social worker's paradise (not that it's not, to a certain extent) there's always the risk of people actually taking you up for it.
Yep...I haven't mentioned the hollidays yet. Am going to mention them now. I should. This year's Christmas has been the most unchristmasy Christmas ever. I haven't sung one Christmas carrol, haven't felt generous, haven't visited any orphanages or old people's homes, haven't gotten seriously dizzy on warm wine and haven't made any long distance calls to someone who couldn't care less. In fact, the only traditional things I have done this year were eating all the candy on the Christmas tree before Christmas (to the despair of my mom, who spent an hour arranging them according to classical rules of composition) and getting hysterical about the whole Christmas hysteria at home (to the despair of the same parent,who couldn't stand listening to me yelling "Hist-erry Christmas, yo ho ho!" around the house from the second hour on anymore).As for tonight, i am going to a party given by a former classmate. This year's pretty odd, since I have had about 4 options of where to spend New Year's night. One is pretty expenisve and in mixed company, the second is too far away and a bit too early boy, don't you think?, the third is at Misha's (my roomie's) place- a gathering that I might actually grace with my presence for a while tonight, but where I know I do not meet certain standards (another long fairytale sprinkled with personal issues) and Jo's party (the place I will be heading for in a few hours).
2005...so...what was 2005 all about? Well, it is certain that it was about more than 2004.It was about a broken door, a dirty floor, a hard bed that makes my body sore.About mood swings, same dirty old things, Cramming my mind, Personality slide.
I'm sorry to waste your time, This gal here just wants to rhyme.
brilliant, innit?
A few hours later
Ok..it's official..it's 7:24 pm, and after trying on outfits that varied from classical elegance, to rock slut, to so sexy i might attract a handsome pneumonia, I think i might just put on a pair of jeans and an old pullover , knot my hair with a comb and put on heavy make-up. How's that for eccentric? Actually, considering that where i am going some people consider dyeing your hair the same colour as your dress the acme of elegance on prom night...

happy new year to you folks and jorgen, try not to get the champagne cork stuck in your nose! hugs people!

not exactly sure (the giant panda maskott attack)

2005-12-03T15:43:00.000+02:00

Chain-letters have always puzzled me. I would sometimes find them in my mailbox,. I think I got them more often than my neighbours because I live in apartment no.13. They were left by superstitious little girls, who got them in their turn and made copies of the letter, which mostly contained examples of people who did what they were asked (distributed them on) and how their wishes came true, and of people who threw the letters away and died, suffered strokes, lost their children. It was interesting, when the whole blackmail was not completely chilling. From year to year, the text suffered changes, to the point where some parts became completely illogical. I remembered chain-letters, as I was copying the notes a classmate took from a book on political culture. I think she misunderstood many parts, and others I couldn't understand because of her impossible handwriting. Therefore, themargins of my notebook are full of intellectual adnotations such as "WTF?!","BULLSHIT", "IMPOSSIBLE" and "she has no idea..."On the other hand, this should serve me as a lesson to read my books on time. Anyway, by now, Ramona's (the classmate) contribution and mine to the theories on political culture might be significant...
I don't know exactly what i find so fascinating about chain-letters. Maybe it's the fact that it says in them that the text has gone around the world many times. Supposing this was exaggerated, i am sure it has done a lot of travelling still. Maybe that they rely on people's hopes and fears to continue to exist. Maybe that the letter-in fact exists on its own. Words with no master, no known author, the work of a lot of people(in fact), a concept so ancient , existing in the mailboxes of grim building-near-building Romanian neighbourhoods. Quite "harry potter", don't you think? Or maybe it's just the fact that I was genuinely afraid of them, as a kid, and in the same time curious of their story.
Or, the "green man". I would sometimes wake up in the small hours of the morning, because of the clinking-noise of bottles hitting eachother, somewhere outside. In my 5-year-old mind the sound was made by the green bottles drawn in a makeshift cart by a man in green clothes that was always sad. (An image that I am sure, Freud would link to my father;I prefer to think it was caused by a painting hanging in the hallway.)
There was this man, handing flyers..last week. To my shame, I took a look at his clothes, the papers in his hand, and the lack of expression with which he offered them, concluded he's not cool enough to help him do his job, and walked on. I had to pass by him again, a minute later(how long can it take to know that the cafe is first to the right?).Something in the attention he paid that he would not take out more than one leaflet from the batch,the kind blue look he gave passer-by's, something about his too old shoes and too old jeans...The leaflet was from a bloody language school, pretentiously named "Britannia". I think I stared as I walked, for the next 2 minutes, thinking that someone must have felt really generous and kind after giving the
simple-minded something to do. Unfortunatelly, when you are 19 you are no longer allowed to start crying about it not being fair.
I am perceiving a slight shift from pitty directed at self towards pitty directed at others, combined with a slight melancholy: Christmas must be approaching...

Romania cellebrated National Day yesterday, something that brought me great joy, like every year: no school today. I caught a ride home, with the serious inention to spend my time studying and drawing up one of my three research projects. I got home, and lo and behold, there's my aprtment block. And some moron hung up a national flag...and the moron is my dad, because that's the fifth floor there, in deed. I had to stifle a tyrade a la Trainspotting about this here "country of wankers" and where it should put its national pride, as I took the flag out of the window. No one was home.
Despite the sickening enthusiasm my family knows to put in all the wrong causes, I still like being home.And having a whole room all to myself, and signaling my presence by leaving a trail of half-full glasses of Cola around the house, and books and clothes in a heap on the sofa.And having Internet access, and talking my dad into buying me the Moon, which he will do, because the Mother is not home.
I don't like Cluj that much anymore.Although, I always knew it was just a matter of time before I stop being cool and feeling cool to people around me, and become the uninteresting neurotic nerd I was in highschool. I'm just not cut out for socialising,I suppose...or being myself around more than one person at a time, for that matter. However, since I have always done things MY way, I am not going to start adapting now!
I don't necessarily like what I have to adapt to. I have this crazy idea that peace of mind is something I have to find by myself, and not in the compromises I would have to make to be popular(or god help me, have real friends!). (Such as not asking "wouldn't it be cool if Condi and Hillary competed for Presidency next American ellections?" ever again...or saying that Chrylser is evil.)

Entry completed!

-Alex thinks "We won't go until we get some" is a funny verse.

deerunk

2005-11-11T00:40:00.000+02:00

Larisa, a friend, and I, have finally started to get drunk. Despite purchasing the wine and the vodka, we have had to deal with some techincal difficulties.She uninstalled the driver for her soundcard, I couldn't re-install it (I am still a very-minor-geek, and am happy with this state of affairs), she went to my room to get Sime's laptop, she forgot the cable for it, I had to go get it, spent half an hour sweet-talking, threatening, swearing the guts out of the lock, which has it's "trick", a trick that only works when her Highness-the Lock, wants it to work. The excuse for this evening's drinking was that of a movie night. All our common friends have left home, because their colleges uphold the strike, so Larisa and I were left alone. Two lonely people joining solitutdes...Heart-breaking.
So I'm in her room, a dorm room which happens to have Internet access (and a tyrannical network administrator, that will prohibit access to sites such as newsweek.com). Cigarettes dipped in alcohol are drieing on the heater, while I wish for a real joint. Unfortunatelly, everyone we knew in the business is..out of business. Fortunatelly, the glass of wine I emptied since starting to write this has made me melancholy enough to be sincere.
I realised, and have been told, that my blog lacks sincerity. I'm not a good dissimulator in real life (unless in critical circumstances), so I guess I wanted to compensate that by covering up my bored-animal daily crap with something next to humor.And of course, I need to entertain, don't I? I do through my blog another thing I can't really do in real life.
I can't remember who said that if "you're not desperate at 20, when else will you afford to be?". I'm not desperate, but because I'm tipsy and melodramatic, I will say I'm disillusioned.
I went to PATRIR today. PATRIR stands for Peace, Action, Research Institute of Romania. They are holding a training on the U.N. and Conflict Management.I went inside and was greeted by all the posters requesting World Peace, and Fair Trade and quoting Mahatma Ghandi. " Be the change you want to see in others". In the Ghandi Library at the Institute, with its white Ikea armchairs and books on Burma, feminism, and the occasional reputed capitalists, like Stieglitz, I remembered a friend's cynical humming as a reply to my enthusiasm at joining an organisation that had simillar goals to PATRIR : "Hey, hey, I saved the world today.." The thin-lipped bitter smile that ceased to sing after my outraged frown, haunting me as I chose a book on Burma, and later-while filling in a Volunteer Accord...
I don't know why "Imagine" is not my favourite song anymore, I don't know why I labeled the polite, smiling people at PATRIR as hopeless idealists, I don't know why I need to search for the bad, the frustrated, the selfish in everyone I meet. It's just all here, a mass of bored, ugly, judgemental, incapable-of-ideals debris. I am what I see in others, Ghandi Sir.
I have my good days, I'm not so drunk as to stop admitting this. But, no amount of laughing, pages read, talking, wine ever makes me considerably better. It all makes me walk on, not think of any drastic measures- such as taking one's life, somehow hope that it will all go away one day. The plan usually involves some dude with above-average I.Q and hollow eyes. Therefore, it is doomed to fail. One of the few things I still know for sure is that you have to make it on your own. You have to be strong on your own, no one else will make you strong. I'm talking long term here, and not the impression you get while smoking an "after cigarette"....
I'm officially drunk. Larisa was just bragging that she got me drunk, after telling her to text back a guy who asked her out that we are too busy being lesbians, so she can't go. So long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adios.

2005-11-07T20:16:00.000+02:00

Today I am pissed off. Not in the pissed-off on the Orthodox Church for taking the liberty to "sanctify" our dorm rooms, without having been requested, without having asked for authorisations, while all the time assuming that the European-integration, inter-confssional tolerance and respect, loving (at least on European Comission papers)Romanians are all Eastern freakin Orthodox. So no, I will not again launch into a tirade in front of Jade-who is Catholic and is dealing with it calmly, nor storm out of the dorm, with my back turned to the chanting, incense-spreading priest, in a hysterical manifestation of agnosticism.Firtsly, because I have left the dorm already. (No Internet connection, yet...*). Secondly, because I ate too much junk food, my mouth is still full of left-over cancer-doormen additives.Can't talk without wanting to eat more. Thirdly, because my mom has been given another 24 hours to place a reasonable sum into my account ("distress bonus" included)! Or the jars with the preserves will be thrown out, unopened. Will not eat them, I'm warning you workaholic mother!
I'm also pissed at the entire Political Science College. How dare they not do what they preach? How dare they not obey their Union and ignore the strike? How dare they be satisfied with the sallaries they get? How dare they ruin my mini-vacation plans? How dare they admit people who love the sound of their own voice, who like to rephrase what the professor says in one sentence, with 5000 missused, half-studdered words, half of which aggregating to constitute imbecile speculations, worhty of a silly 10-year-old? How dare they allow the moron interrupt my relevant, worked-until-midnight-on-it, speech? With the usual bullshit? How dare they, I ask. But despair not, I (if I'didn't have to capitalise "I" in English, I'd still capitalise it) I am running for Head of Student Body. I will save you, students, from the tiranny of the ruling class (or the class rulers..not sure). That, or I will add another position that reflects my leadership skills, and my management talents to my CV, before mailing it to the University of Edinburgh, or any other University that is not built within the territory of this daily-adding-to-the-stink shithole! I'm pissed all right...and I love my tirades.
The "ad-minister" is making rounds, apparently to check if everything that was in the room before we came is in good state. WWII beds(4) -check, communist-era tables -check, falling curtain hanger-check, broken lock-check, unnecessary chairs (5)-check, disease carrying matersses (6)-check, shelves (5)-check. ROOM 72, DO YOU CALL THIS PIGPEN A ROOM? CLEAN IT UP, OR YOU WILL CLEAN IT UP IN FRONT OF ME! I'M SENDING THE CLEANING-LADY AT 3 O'CLOCK! I WILL COME BACK ON MONDAY! and wait...here comes the good part YOU FILTHY...I hate it when I'm too angry to even utter one words (in this case 4 words, that have been spinning in my head ever since she enterned:screw you, frigid bitch!) The room was messy, but for crying out loud, it was not filthy! And it was too early...what the *yawn* did she want? And Hitler downstairs, does not march into what is now my home complaining about the mess. Until it is not a danger to the health of others, it is OUR MESS! And our room! And our freakin right to intimacy.
Evidently, I haven't had the chance to fight with my sister in a long time. All this anger that's botteling up....

BACK TO PLEASANT VILLE
Room 72 likes to play Whist. I'm still thinking about what that guy who entered our room by accident, thought upon seeing four girls and 4 cigarettes round a table swearing eachother's guts out for a ruined game. Of course, you have to do this in a Moldavian accent. Moldavian is Romanian, but with Russian influences in how it's pronounced. Misha does it so welll she persuaded her classmates she comes from Moldavia. As a result of the very civillised language we have all leared to use, my manner of speaking (which was not very ladylike-in English, especially, from the beginning) has become worhty of the Tourette association. (I know they don't only swear, ok?!)
Well, I need to go.
-SuperCow a la rescante, you "homophobic redneck dicks"(RHCP)-

An update...finally

2005-10-30T16:47:00.000+02:00

I blog mentally all the time.On the bus, while washing my socks in the dorm bathroom-by hand evidently, during English classes held by an incompetent who gave someone in charge the impression that because English is his first language he can teach it to college students, without stooping to kindergarten-level language, and without taking into account attendance when grading (you...you...can I help it if you're boring?!). I sometimes come up during the mental blogging process with nice phrases, metaphors full of feeling, stories that aim for the heart. They go down the drain of forgetfullness- the small black hole that has become the centre of my existence and the sole responsable for my inability to ever button my shirt right, or find my left sock. Instead, every time I make the time to blog from an Internet cafe, I come up with my usual string of incoherent, deliberately made funny idiocies. Fortunatelly, they all get erased the moment I push the "Publish" button. We have a love/much hate relationship, Internet Cafes and I. Due to technical difficulties of this sort, I haven't been posting lately.
Also, now mental blogging no longer requires automatic transcription. To be less pompous, I no longer need to banish thoughts forever from my head, into a written-form that obliges me to express things as clearly as possible, before letting everything slide down the aforementioned drain and on the Internet... Nope, pompousness is inherent to my being, and becomes manifest after a generous dose of that caffeinated fizzy drink that "how's my hair" Beckham wants me to buy. I tryed.
Living with four other girls in a room that is not much larger than my room at home, is forcing me to learn to be sociable (again). I'm still a big TWIT (for f's sake! i wrote twat at first...) most of the time, because I don't have the patience to get involved in a power struggle with any of four girls with a lot of personality. I find it 's a time-saving, brain-sparing policy to be polite, to the point where you are considered naive and easy-to-dominate. Actually, I think it makes for good living to be as understanding as possible. It's a matter of group-dynamics: someone has to be the coniciliatory one in a group. I'm not exactly the best person for the job,for I will throw my tantrums every now and then, but someone has to do it. And ok, I'm scared shitless of having to fight with one of my roomies. Because I'm not the sweet type that is forgiven after a day or two, and I do tend to fight by saying exactly what bothers me, harsh things, and not just screaming. And angry arguments are harder to forgive. And I won't apologise if I know I was right, and I'm reserved as it is with people...i get icy if I fight with them. So, I'd rather be overly-polite and do dishes even if it's somebody else's turn. They have to be done, dirty dishes just irritate me and make me prepair arguments for a possible fight so...off I go to the sink.
I think I made my roomates sound like a bunch of domineering slobs, when in fact they are such nice girls. They make me feel like I belong..sorta.(Can you imagine me saying this while looking down and tugging at my jeans, while shifting my weight from one foot to another?) I live with Misha, Jade, Sime and Tana. Ok, these are not exactly their real names, but I suppose they are easier to remember than some Romanian names, and it's only fair not to give out their real names, since I haven't asked their permission to write about them. Misha likes to "mommy" me around, which is nice, because she takes care of me, and tells people about my grades in school, and hugs me and things like these. I do look like a feeble kid next to her, she's 1, 78 . The kind of 1,78 that gets "scanned" by some guy (dudes, you are so obvious!) every third step.Of course, she did make me tail her while she jogged to the trainstation, while I kept muttering "You are fit but...*pause to breathe* ...my gosh don't you just know it" and carried on hopping downhill. She called me a "Little wimp! You can't even run!" and dismissed taxies as a "nonsense" with a wave of her hand. I was paying...How can she just refuse? Baaahah!
Jade studies Journalism in German.She's sweet. She braided colorful threads in my hair, and has all sorts of weird, girly practical skills like making soup. Souuup...Soup is always the first course here. Yet, because I live mostly on sandwiches and pizza from the caffeteria, soup has disappeared from my menu. Jade's soup though...Excellent. The kind you can serve on a frosted battle front. However, she is almost as reserved as I am with regard to some things, so I feel like I don't know her very well yet.
Sime...Sime mimed a wheelchair down the stairs of the dorm, met the administator ("ad-minister"), hit an imaginary break and went up the stairs in the same eterial wheelchair whle yelling "Shimmmey" (south-park reference), in the screams of the perpetually angry administer. Sime generally has a very dry humour, and unpredictable reactions. Unpredictable to me that is...but then, the whole world in nothing but a chaotic bunch of somethings to yours trully, so she's ok.Sime likes her good curse words, daily dose of hip hop, and to tell me I am incredibly naive, or things like I should smile more. She is one of those very good side/bad side people. I've nothing to complain for, since of the bad side I've only caught glimpses.
Tana doesn't come from Satmar, like the rest of us. She comes from this village, up in the mountains. She is nice, although probably not as "adjusted" as the rest of us. I think she is sometimes misjudged. Being rather weird myself and knowing what it's like to not fit in, I try to make her feel welcomed. She reminds me of a cousin, I can't really be skeptical about her. And I'm a tad neurotic myself (ok, I'm darn right neurotic), I understand her stories about boyfriends and relatives. I'm sure the girls will do so too, soon enough.
These are the roomies. I like them. I'm sleepy. Less to follow

Shimmmey!(don't ask..)

2005-10-22T20:27:00.000+03:00

I've written a long post. now it's gone. I hate internet cafes. My stomache aches. For the rest, I'm happy...no, really!

raining

2005-10-13T17:56:00.000+03:00

My blog was reviewed at italktoomuch.com. The review wasn't exactly positive, to be diplomatic. I'm posting it here, because I need to clarify some things. This is what she wrote:
"Unrequesting Opinions? I love the snazzy little “I’m 18 and in college thus brilliant” titles these youngsters come up with these days.
Trying to stumble through this, not sure if it’s the drugs or just the scattered all over the place thoughts.
Very few things come to mind.
The few times you mention “rednecks” what exactly are you referring to? Did you know that the term “redneck” is a racist term?
Since “convincing myself that we are not our cultures, nor are we our incomes” is her main hobby.
Please don’t run off to school and become one of those children who actually think being a college student is grown up but still believe everything their flaming liberal teachers tell them without even trying to get a second opinion and spend way too much time in Starbucks paying $8 for something you can make in your room for .50 cents.
Miss Brightside - turn off “The Killers” and make the most out of your parents money"
1) I didn't know "rednecks" was racist.I Won't use it in the future. I thought it referred to ignorant people, the ones with the distinctive accent.I still don't think it reffers to a race specifically, so..um..I think she meant "discriminative". I still won't use it again..
2)We don't have Strbucks in Romania.And 8 dollars here..that's a small fortune. Especially for a student.Ok, maybe not a small fortune..but, I wouldn't be caught dead paying so much for coffee.
3) We do make coffee in our room.Good coffee.
4) The parents' money are sent for my daily expenses. I'm so "brilliant" I don't have to pay for college.

Everyone's entitled to an opinion, though.When I submitted the site for a review, I had just changed the design, and was actually hoping for some feedback on that.Ok, I'll admitt. It did anger me...Why doesn't she like me?..

Anyway, remeber me toilet emergency from last time?(If not, scroll down...) I payed and asked for the toilet. The lady from the CyberCafe told me it was the first on the left. She handed me a doorknob. So, I take the doorknob,not knowing whether to take the whole situation seriously or just hide me nose in my blouse and chuckle. I found the door and was amazed at the ingenuity.I had to insert the doorknob in the door so I could open it. (As the toilet was outside the cafe, that was quite practical, and dind't require the extra expense of a key; the door could not be opened without the well..it wasn't a knob, not round, more like a handle). I opened it, and had to close it with the same handle. I didn't enter a bathroom(it was a bathroom, it had a thub, a green one). I entered the epitomy of Eastern Europe interiors. Flowery carpets, faded framed reproductions of "the last supper" and some painting by Romanian painters,massive, shiny furniture and an old fridge covered in Mickey Mouse stickers and those round labels that can be found on bananas. Unfortunatelly, my camera was in the dorm, I had to leave without any proof that some people are stuck sometime between 1988 and 1989.
I have to leave. Jade-one of my roomies has been more than insistenlty asked for a drink bt a moron.(is this racist? sorry..:P)
-miss Brightside-hah!-

2005-10-10T11:39:00.000+03:00

I need to find a toilet. Also, I'm sleepy. And Cluj is a very cold town( and I want a scolarship at the Univeristy of Edinburgh, way up there with the winds...). I won't be writing much, so you can all let out a sigh of relief.
I haven't yet had the chance to get seriously drunk, but my birthday is this Sunday (damn, I know I should have made a wishlist on Amazon..) and I'm planning a serious intoxication for then. If only I didn't have classes from 8 o'clock on Mondays it would be perfect.
Right..school..that's why I'm here, apparently.I haven't had many classes so far, because at half of them the teachers decided not to show up, and just mailed us the syllabuses for their courses, which is more than ok with me. My classmates are ok, mostly. For now, we just hang out in bulk, so I can't say I actually made friends among them. I did draw attention to myself today, due to my compulsion to do the YMCA dance whenever I see construction workers. Since they've been struck with a renovation mania here, in Cluj (pronounced something like Kluje), my arms hurt and there's this African American yelling "Young man!" in my head. No rebuilding going on inside my skull however. So, reinvention's out. I'm starting to consider electroshock therapy. According to some doctor on Discovery Channel, it "resets" your brain. Reset is cool, unless you have a toddler around who likes to push the button of your computer, many, many times a day. I shall never babysit again.
I'm condiering applying for a job as editor for a children's magazine.Becuase I need money. And a toilet.
Bye.

looking for a clear use for freedom. Haven't lost hope yet.

2005-10-02T01:07:00.000+03:00

I won't be posting from my room, in my parent's fifth floor apartment anymore. I'm leaving for college tomorrow. I won't be posting from my dorm room either, since there's no Internet access at the Dachau Hilton, room 72. (There's also no way I will be able to live there until my four roommates and I disinfect the place, no furniture that hasn't a part missing, no beds that won't trick you into sitting on them and then sinking with you to the ancient floor and no benevolence from the administration to let us get rid of some of the furniture and buy something new out of our own pockets.)
I spent too much time today peering into the depth of a backpack that has sworn to defeat my body's ability to maintain ballance and not tilt back.Can't say I found anything interesting. There's also no room left and I've got another 30 kilos of various types of crap to stuff somewhere. I think I just came up with something. It involves the rectum of the Minister of Education.
Unlike you, rednecks, who have enjoyed a "Farewell party", I had a "Saionara party".That's how cool the Japenese girl who attended it is. Unlike you, rednecks, who have had a big fight with your mother before going to college, I have enjoyed today yet another act of the the mother-daughter tragedy , in which I am accused (yet again) of bankrupting the family and presented with carefully, painstakingly gathered recordings of my bad deeds . And she doesn't even know half of it. So, as I was being lectured on the advantages of folding clothes in a certain mother-approved way, I zoned out by contemplating the possibility of denouncing myself, just for the sake of an apoplectic reaction. Yes, I'm a bad kid...now, please let me be ungreatful and not take sides with the adult. I've heard it all already. Also, no pittying, I have my share of the blame. Do enjoy the tale of a family that's more dysfunctional than yours.Allow me to exemplify, by transcribing what is probably the funniest moment of my parents' 20 years of marriage, which led to this dialogue between me and my sister:"Yo...I think they just made a joke." "Nooh..." "yeah!" "Do you think we're dieing?...":
Father:-I paid the bills today.
Mother:-You did? where did you get the money?'
Father(wounded in his pension-receiver's pride):I've become a gigolo for the women in the building, dear.
Mother( after a pause): Oh...For a moment I thought you sold my new refridgerator.
[Silence]
Two teenage girls choking with laughter in the hallway.
Anyway, tomorrow I'm leaving, and in the next two weeks I will probbaly be too busy re-inventing myself, being drunk and climbing the too many steps of the park where my dorm is built.I won't be posting for a while, unless I get very angry and fill the Internet with pictures of my "abandoned -warehouse look" room, in two days. Here I go. Wish me calm.
-Exit Chapter11-

drunken life-lessons wannabe

2005-09-26T00:26:00.000+03:00

I hope the person from whose email I'm copy&past-ing this won't mind:
">Feeling used is for
> the girls who dream of marriage since they were in
> diapers.
Dream on little sister, dream on. K."

Despite thinking that sobriety will never return to my senses after last night's party,I just woke up. K., you won your battle...

It was supposed to be the "last party before college". I think it's safe to say that all those who fell for the title suffered from a deep misunderstanding of the concept of college life. We fooled some"Kinder"(13 to 15-year-olds) that this had sentimental value and was not just an opportunity for debauchery for the people who can currently get away with murder in front of their parents-becuase they are *smirk* leaving home.We felt mature afterwards.
This morning at the private after-party in A.'s kitchen, we agreed that the general atmosphere of the party was the result of two factors. One, the disproportion between the number of girls present and the number of boys present.(Well, of course it was the girls who were outnumbered...)Two, the recent death of the only psychiatrist in the small town of Carei, who has yet to be replaced.
Luckily, with the exception of a table, no one was injured. Although, if I could have had it my way and wouldn't have been busy crying alcohol tears at some point, someone at that party would now be dealing with a serious sexual identity problem, due to lack of organs essential to the process of defining oneself, Motherf-ing bastard! No, really, I'm fine, I sobered up in the meantime and realised I don't care very much.
Other than that, "the last of parties" was quite enjoyable.Although, when you're tripping to the bathroom as fast as you can, the last thing you want to hear from two different people on your way is "Two beers already, Alex?" well..ha.
My old friend Moron was there. Fortunatelly, he was too drunk not to be a decent person to the point of, can't believe I'm saying this, interesting. Now, I am ready to execute the Florence Nightingale that more or less hides in most girls. But,he had the mumps. And doctors told him he had leukemia and was going to die in two months if the treatments worked. The fucked-upness of someone who was as sure as someone on morphine can be for two weeks, that he is going to die becomes understandable.I slurred something about malpraxis. The doctors faked his papers when they finally moved him to the hospital for contagious patients.Technically, there was never such a diagnosis as leukemia. Country of all impossibilities.
Strangely enough, this Dutch/British/Travelling citizen of Europe, friend of A.'s, and by association my friend too-I suppose,likes it around here. "Jon" has this unstudied asymmetrical, yet geomteric haircut.Apparently, it is the creation of "this Asian masseuse.she has nice hands, and she tells me I have beautiful skin. Hey, she might be a lousy hairdresser, but I'm not the man to say no." Men...Although, talking to him was very nice, once I switched from understaning fast-spoken American English to fast-spoken British English.My slurred, drawled English must have been hilarious though. I've been told our group hasn't changed at all since we met,last year.Damn, we still reek of teen spirit! And, apparently, I still remind him of Daria(which is not so bad).
Enough for tonight.
-when Brightside is queen he will be first against the wall-

new entry

2005-09-19T00:24:00.000+03:00

I continue to spend my days doing various nothings, such as re-designing my blog or hanging photographs from the 60's on a string, in my room. Being a very (hyper)active person and straightforward workoholic, having no set task to perform brings out all kinds of dark or unclear thoughts, strange dreams and a generalised sense of...lack. I need to do something, go somewhere, accomplish the slightest thing. If I don't episodes like the one that occured this afternoon, in which I put a piece of cake on a plate, grabbed a knife and fork and, upon seeing that there weren't any chairs around the kitchen table, I moved in the living room, kneeled on the carpet and proceeded to tacticiously eat my cake with my knife and fork, hunched over the coffee table, under the puzzled eyes of my family. I was so overwhelmed by the disgust for my overall unproductiveness and the national football/soccer championship, that I did not realise the sheer idiocy of my behaviour until after cake-morsel 9. "Mum, what am I doing?..." My kindergarten-teacher mother nodded in that hopeless way of hers: "Playing pretend..? Should I heat you some stake, dear?"Then, my father looked away from his match and began to ennumerate the advantages of moving a chair from the dining room back into the kitchen, in an outraged manner worthy of George Constanza's father.

I do not intend to become the target of Sunday-jokes again, for a long time to be. So, I drew up a schedule! Apparently, there are quite a lot of things to be taken care of before leaving for college. I need to visit various types of doctors, fill out paperwork for a credit card, return books to libraries, return cd's and book to ex-boyfriend, finish reading "Global Civill Society 2004/5" so I can return it to WAVE, drop by WAVE, draw up my CV, re-do blog banner, burn all my music on CD's, destroy all evidence of illicit activity in my room, get a haircut, get my ID card back from my cousin's Bucharest apartment, visit cosmetologist*,prevent myself from becoming a Velvet Underground fanatic, meet some real people for a change. Therefore, tomorrow I'm walking the thin board to the dentist.

I'm downloading all the Daria episodes I can find. I was watching an episode, and thinking that-techincally, I'm done with highschool cliques, and highschool labels, highschool cool-chasing. I should stop relating to the cartoon-nerd whose little sister is the fashion club's president. It's weird how they don't make any Beavis & Butthead/ Daria cartoons about college students (although there is this Daria episode..). As if once you go to college you stop being the moron/dork/jock you were in highschool and shift to art film-watching, not discussing your sex-life because everybody has one or pretends to and bloom to such an extent as an individual that you stop fitting into a cartoonable typology. I vote for the upholding of high-school labels. Makes things a lo less confusing. The question is, however: "Would I vote or not vote for Angela Merkel if I were German?" or "If Condi ran for President would I vote or not vote for her, if I were American?" How far can my feminist beliefs go?
Autumn's coming. At last, I can walk through the cold with my hands tucked deeply in the pockets of a black overcoat. I like cold weather, smirking, hot tea , having to wear things that have long sleeves and ocasionally, stepping in puddles due to lack of attention. I still like the rain, even if I changed the template. And, I think all this comes from being such a nerd. School begins in autumn. Yes, I am one of those...I don't remeber one year when I was excited that school ended. And I guess my lack of enthusiasm for endings of any type (I can only watch the beginning of any Hollywood-made movie, unless forced), explains the "what's the big deal?!" attitude on graduating. Well, the classmates who have sobbed and were laughed at more or less discreetly by yours trully, are now avenged. I have a lot of emotions regarding going to college, okay?..

I think I managed to scrape a little more coherence in this entry. Ever since I moved to Blogger, I haven't been feeling comfortable with my entries. I think I was experiencing something similar to stage-fright. More people started reading this, and for some reason that made me think I have to write Pulitzer-worthy entries. The same way I can't deal with boredom, I cannot deal with (things I interptet as) pressure. Writing feels ok now, maybe because I haven't had many visitors the last few days and have lost all the blog battles I've been involved the last week. You people have no taste!

Good bye for now, cruel world,

-MissBrightside saw a red sock get caught on the bathroom door knob, stared at it and left it there-

*I need to have my eye-brows plucked profesionally, unless I want to look like Yeti or an unkempt Brooke Shields. It's always a weird feeling, knowing that if I open my eyes there will be this woman's face staring closely at me. I'm usually too busy mentally swearing at my genetic heritage to make conversation. (How do some women do it?) Last time, after she was done with my right eyebrow, she started inflicting pain on the other side. "The left-side aches more, doesn't it?" she asked from above me. I was too irritated by the sharp, short but repeating pain not to agree, although my eyes were equally teary."It's because that's the heart's side..."So there I was wondering if that was somekind of beauty-parlour myth, which would have been more than a little funny in an cultural-anthropoligst's universe, or an example of enhanced sensory perception on the left side of the body due to neurological causes, in which case I was going to have to do some research. Haven't gotten round to that though. I did find "before" and "after" pictures of women with labial hypertrophy who have undergone corrective surgery. I will refer to this type of images as "clinical porn" and do you all a favour by not linking them here.

Panorama Split

2005-09-16T01:08:00.000+03:00

Let me start by yawning. Yawn. Someone should have told me back when I ciuld still focus that creativity does not follow a pattern. My creative-side was lured in the forest by a house with a roof made of colouful bombons,and-judging by the postcard the rest of me received, it's having quite a good time, if a bit hard to digest.Does not plan to return soon.Until the part of me that can write something entertaining falls out of love with playing tennis with a teethless witch, mid-forest, you'll be left with the rest of me's attempts to shove a surrogate down your throats.

Usually, when I feel like a bog (with all the perfectly dead and conservated people inside, and the occasional "scientist" to make assumptions on my nature*) , I start hunting for something high in caffeine. I sit and drink whatever black thing I manage to find, hoping to find a sentence worthy of a mental-argumentation-just for laughs and, if I'm really optimistic, some coherent thoughts. My head aches too much for coffee now.
I went to (visit my high)school . Procured my brown plastic cup with the pee-water coffee, without which it wouldn't have felt like a morning in school .Stood in front of the teacher's hall, during the break. Waited for me to appear, running on the hall, bad hair, uniform-skirt over jeans, bunch of books to trip on in my hands, someone yelling "NERD!" behind me. Didn't show up.I think I stood myself up. ..
I have not a shadow of merchant spirit . Older students sell their textbooks to younger students. My classmates made really nice money, I made the equivalent of $2( coffee and a soda in an ok pub). Something I should have expected, after selling my books for half the price my classmates asked. Post-transaction marketing-tips from Claudia : "You look them straight in the eye, shamelessly, and name a price higher than the one you paid for the new textbook!"
Alex is a shmuck-part 2. A classmate asked if she could borrow my prom-dress. I felt too embarassed to say no. It's not about the dress (although, if she ruins it..) it's about helping the thief pick your pockets. "May I interest you in family pictures? A silk handkerchief... no?Coffee change, then?"

Semi-Introducing my Pet (see footnotes)
This paragraph was supposed to be called "The Blog-Thub Dilemma". I was typing away about some women's hobby of turning colourful, Cosmo-like drawings of their hobbies into blog headers, wondering if laptops float and estimating how long until the"Inspired Blogger"Bath Oil. I was ready to ask, rhetorically, if those women's regular bathing-habits make them feel special, hence the compulsion to turn their bathing selves into headers. Then, from behind a tree there was a loud cough, then a squeak: " Ahem.You are clearly unaware of the blog-thub dynamics. Furthermore, you have not the right to judge. Your rain-blog contributes to the well-functioning of the thub-blogs, as part of a blog-water supply system.The same way the Fart-Blog** contributes to blog-digestion- apparently." If you could just pass the stuff back to the Hamster*** behind the tree...

Had to do this
I was just ready to press the Publish Button when this happened. (I'm Alex..just so you know)

ebunakintewe50: hello sweet
Alex: hello
ebunakintewe50: how are you doing today
Alex: ok
ebunakintewe50: and where have you been all this while
Alex: here and there
Alex: at home mostly
Alex: you?
ebunakintewe50: ok
ebunakintewe50: always looking for you
ebunakintewe50: but been home always, tired and looking for the right choice of my life
Alex: oh
ebunakintewe50: yeah
Alex: and have you found it?
ebunakintewe50: so love did you miss me and hope you stil remember me
ebunakintewe50: umm no
ebunakintewe50: but i have a short memory of you
ebunakintewe50: you male or female
Alex: no...I remember you..but, last time we talked you were pretty upset I couldn't give you 50$ to bury your mom..
ebunakintewe50: ummm lol dat rather bad but am out of that now
ebunakintewe50: since, that have gone
ebunakintewe50: but we could start a new life now
Alex: ok...how can you call me "love" and crap if you don't know if I am male or female..
Alex: actually..never mind
ebunakintewe50: sure will know when i full see you fisical
ebunakintewe50: i know you are male, but you sound like female to me ?
Alex: I'm male?..
Alex: inetersting..
Alex: and I sound like female..
ebunakintewe50: yeah
Alex: you heard me talk?
ebunakintewe50: yeah mostly in your wrting
ebunakintewe50: but let forget about that
ebunakintewe50: do you have a pix you can send to me ?
Alex: do you like boys?
ebunakintewe50: boys yes
ebunakintewe50: how old are you plzz
Alex: 14
Alex: are you male?
ebunakintewe50: koool
ebunakintewe50: you ok
ebunakintewe50: but have you started working now
Alex: no..I go to school..
ebunakintewe50: no
ebunakintewe50: female very sexy lady
ebunakintewe50: ok
Alex: and how old are you?
ebunakintewe50: 20 here preety older than you but i dont mind
Alex: so..what do you have in mind?
ebunakintewe50: well anything t make you happy
ebunakintewe50: brb pok
ebunakintewe50: ok
ebunakintewe50: am here now
ebunakintewe50: do you have a girl friend
Alex: no..
Alex: do you want to be my girlfriend?
ebunakintewe50: and do you need a real woman in your life
ebunakintewe50: sure if you want me to
Alex: yes...very much..
ebunakintewe50: koool
ebunakintewe50: so where are you now
ebunakintewe50: i mean your country
ebunakintewe50: lol are you busy
BUZZ!!!
Alex: Ok, I will be frank with you..this has gone too far. I'm a girl, you are a very sick person, the last time we talked you told me you were male, and sent me to hell for not sending you money. I am not 14 and do not wish any 14-year-old boy to appear in front of you. You have made me laugh, but the joke is a sick one...
Alex: yes, busy explaining why I am happy that the Internet allows for so much anonimity....
ebunakintewe50: lol you really pulled my legs uhh
Alex: uhum...yeah..
ebunakintewe50: lol but we could be friend ok...

-MissMacabre can see the fireworks and listen to the radio-

* "Don't mind me saying..I spent most of the evening trying to annoy you, and I have succeeded. But... you look like someone who keeps a lot of stuff inside. And who is easily hurt by everything. You've been like that ever since I've known you...It's not worth giving a shit about anything" It seems I've fallen so low that I get advice from Moron-I-Clown-Around-So-I-Won't
-Have-To-Think. These are strange times I am living...

** Who do you vote for in a blog-battle that opposes the "Fart-Blog" and a blog called "My caca es su caca"? Tough decision...The Interantional Association for Digestion salutes these bloggers' interest for its cause.

*** Hamster was born a while a go, to keep me company in school. It is very much an artificial product, low in neurons, and high in silly ideas (such as composing an farewell-speech for someone who hasn't even topped himself yet****). Hamster's IQ is still a matter of debate, as it has failed to return for further testing. Its exact current location is not known. It is believed it has joined a hippie community, spends most of its time under hypnosis, smoking Gitane cigarettes.

**** "The world and "George" have enjoyed a relationship of mutual misunderstanding. I think they both felt they started off on the wrong foot and needed time away from each other. We should all try to regard his act not as a divorce, but as a reconcilliation. .He...*deep breath*...he will return once he has understood the world he loved so much.Until then, the world who loves him, should hurry his return...by understanding. I hope I'll have the honour of meeting you again" Sick joke, but I neeeded to do this. Part of my way of dealing with fears and sad people.

easy ways out are cheap

2005-09-11T20:00:00.000+03:00

I seem to want to update this only when I'm in a post-beer state. It might be because it's around that time that the beer-aura of things is starting to fade away, and I need to write about the beer-visions so that I can remember them. Who knows...You won't believe how many comments I've heard about how unlady-like it is to drink beer. My neighbour saw me yesterday with a can of beer in my hand, in the privacy of my own room and made the face she should have made if she had seen me lieing in my own vomit under a bridge. Although, I must say the best beer-incident occured on my prom night. Together with three other girls, I was heading from the hotel where the party was being held to the nearby park.I was trying very hard to open the can and blaming my high heels and dress for my incapacity, so I was too busy to notice an acquaintance of my parents' passing by. He saw me though...and still hasn't turned this into an anecdote for my parents. I can hear clocks ticking (and typewriters on bad Skype connections, for that matter, but that's irrelevant.)
It cracks me up...no one will say anything about the unladylike-ness of massive quantities of gin drinking, as long as there's a tall glass and an olive in the picture. Or wine..and in the case of wine, there doesn't even have to be a glass involved. Plastic cups are fine, as long as you strike a Krupp-family-member pose and maybe drink very slowly.However, when beer,good old blue-collar beer, appears in the picture it's as if you invoked the Discipline Committe of The Dance and Good Manners School for Young Ladies. On this occasion, I would like to make an appeal to all those concerned by the threat of a spinsterish future of worshipping Courtney Love in nights with fool moons, for beer-drinking girls (of legal beer-drinking age).
Gentle Ladies and Gentle Men,
I and many other girls would appreciate it if you made an effort to not associate beer with men. Be honest with yourselves, when you see a girl drinking beer you think not of the beer you yourselves have enjoyed just yesterday, but of filthy bars inhabited by sweaty beer-drinking truck drivers.
I insist that you be just to the segment of the population concerned (not truck drivers, but girls...although truck drivers must have to deal with their share of prejudice, such as the widespread assumption that they have a hygiene problem, carry TDS or drink on the job. ..Note to self:must write appeal for truck drivers' cause).
Beer is cheap, usually made in the E.U., not made in labour-camps, cleans kidneys, covers older spots on clothes with newer ones (if you try hard), improves digestion, makes people happy and may get you in touch with your long-gone aunt Ida.
Therefore, a negative attitude on this issue, only denotes prejudice, lack of faith in the female youth , and disregard for the practitioners of spiritsm. Support the beer!

When you have so many strange conversations that you can't deal with them, you being someone who can't deal very well with mildly unexpected things (but have no problem during major crises and somehow turn into this solely-reason-active person), you eventually turn to blogging about beer and other unrelated subjects....I'm confused.And that's all I can say about everything.

-Miss Brightside wants her own Speakers' Corner at the next Oktober Fest-

the other me did it

2005-09-07T00:31:00.000+03:00

Well...hello pink-eyed Alex. (In case you were wondering, Alexandra is my real name...) You're looking mighty fine tonight. Love the hiena-like smiling and the singing-along on Beatles songs. Were it not for the addicitve gene pool, you could do this more often...

Everything led to this. Staying in the kitchen at parties, picking a book to read in the quietest room in the house while people play truth or dare, drinking sour wine by myself for New Year, while people ...well, I'd rather not give descriptions. I'm currently at home, getting drunk on beer, alone. This, after having been ordered to "appear at the Beer Fountain in half an hour..."

But, the Beer Fountain is this slum I promised myself I will nver set foot in. My friends are hanging out with my neurotic, anger-management problem, former-classmate (me :"I'd go with you to the expo...it's just that..well..you creep me out! ok,bye! gotta run!"),Moron, and this guy who turned to me all of the sudden, at this party and said "I write, I compose, I speak English perfectly...you, what do You do?..Absolutely nothing, and you never will!"(he continued for about 10 minutes to insult me). That was one of the very few moments in my life when I was so shocked I couldn't retort. I simply stared ,nodded ,sometimes clapped my hands, wondering if he knows how lowly he is behaving and of a possible diagnosis.Yes, I thought he was a loser, yes, he probably knew what I thought. Yes, I avoided him, yet...I never insulted him. Of course after leaving the party, I found so many replies : "Oh yes..you also never wash, are in your 30s and still live with your parents, you write prose worthy of a 12-year-old, and speak the English of a Romanian construction-worker living in London...you forgot to mention these..admirable indeed" Neanderthal Boaster submitted this 80's rock-sounding track to a music festival and made the selection. He was on one of the national channels a few weeks ago. The last thing I wanted was to be a spectator of a victory march tonight.

[later..]

The mood-swings appeared, due to alcohol.The playlist that included Sting, Clapton, Radiohead and Brighteyes was selected. So there came the general feeling of loneliness, memories of screw-ups, "I want to..I want to be somebody else or I'll explode.." and blogging. But, I suppose I've been interrupted on time, with the price of someone's work time. (Viva la Skype!)
My mother just came into my room, ordering me to go to sleep. She sad my face was green. How she saw that in the darkness of my room will remain a msytery. I am supposed to go to sleep because I am a girl and how will I manage with a family if I don't remember to take the trash out or to check if there are clean clothes in my closet, and sleep until noon. I asked her to call me Michael...(after first thinking of asking her to pretend I have a penis.)

I might actually go to bed now. I take with me a deep hatred of people who don't have problems with socialising. And people who have never been depressed. And people with many friends. And myself, who will soon start telling the story of her life to strangers in bus-stations. Or people waiting in fast-food lines. And partially my mother, who is scared to the point of certainty that I will screw up, and not be next-to-famous in life. And you, you know who you are. And the guy who uploaded pictures of my 15-year-old sister from the files I left by mistake, among my share files.

-MikeBrightside wants to be a hero-

you have no idea how long I searched for a good title

2005-09-04T01:25:00.000+03:00

I'm a snob. I know it. And,of course, it's something I've been told many times. It's probably my refusal to hang out with certain people, or the way I blurt out comments, on exiting the pub where I eventually meet them, in the form of "Lovely tea party...God, why didn't you take me, when I begged you to?!..[insert disgusted mentioning of "unpardonable blunder" of disliked person]".

Part of my snobbish behaviour was attending a jazz concert last night. I listen to jazz every now and then, I've been to a couple of jazz concerts before this one. Like many others, I gave jazz a try because it is "chic" and not because it touched a chord in me, or -God forbid, because I understood it.

I spent a good hour yesterday getting ready for a concert which I knew was talking place in a summer garden, in a very informal atmosphere. However, I had to change outfits three times, do a last-minute purchase of white pantyhose (such an ugly word!), and put on a skirt . The night was almost a full-gang assembly. "Almost" because Nance* and Loic** are in Greece (in separate holliday resorts). All 10 of us ended up sitting on the pavement, in the first row we created, more up front than the mayor and other town-officials.

The first guest, played something probably a bit too complex for someone uninitiated to just be carried away. He also made rather inappropriate remarks regarding Hungarians, in a town where almost half the population is Hungarian and made a real effort to prove he is in deed senile, and what we all heard were not only rumours. My activity during his recital consisted of pretending to watch very intently, aranging my long skirt in a way that allowed me to sit as comfortable as possible on the pavement and wondering if the short-haired girl I caught a glimpse of was H-boy's girlfriend or his cousin's. Five-star snob rating...

Harry Tavitian is a familiar-sounding name in Romania. Some know it's related to jazz, or that it's an Armenian name. Few have actually listened to the owner of it. I paid attention from the point where that man calmy walked to his piano, or-something more than attention. Lou Reed's song came to my mind, this morning, when I was trying to figure out where the person from last night, the one who smiled too much, went: "For a while I was someone else/-Someone good".

Harry Tavitian(in the striped shirt) and the senile Johnny Raducanu

"The Romanian pianist has a style of his own, well defined in East European new jazz, through his incessant artistic experiences. His sound is a melting pot of Thelonious Monk, Mal Waldron, Cecil Taylor, Dollar Brand, folklore of the Balkans, contemporary chamber music, blues, old music. Also, his Armenian roots are obvious. His music has a strong ethnic character. The Romanian spiritual area, where he has developed is a synthesis between the cultural traditions of Orient and Occident. In this area archaic convictions are still preserved and Tavitian's music is full of myth." http://www.itcnet.ro/tavitian/

The first song he played was called "the Rain". It was improvisation on an old Armenian song. For the first time I could actually visualise what was being played. That theme, of methodical rain falling, melancholy, then joy , a storm, sun-while it's still raining...He played "Good night, Irene", and that somehow had the strange property of un-grinching me. By...um...Hercules (Gd was already mentioned a couple of times), I was dancing, and shaking my head in that weird jazz-lover way. My skirt was no longer bothering me, and lo and behold, H-Boy didn't bring Edelweis/Gerlinde/Lohengrin/Swansea/Wannabe..? (I'm terrible with names.) However, that didn't really matter. I knew how jazz worked, I was ready to jump around, throwing handfulls of dust at people, together with the redheaded toddler.

* Nance on massive emmigration in Britain: "You mean that island hasn't sunken yet?.."
** Loic: "He basically dumped me the next day. Yeah, I was sad, but then I realised that was my second longest relationship ever. Don't think I've completely stopped laughing since.."

But enough with the pseudo-poetic mumbo jumbo...
I've installed DC++ today. Who know the world of illegal downloading can be so much fun?...I'm currently downloading "Ghost in a Shell"; apparently it's some anime classic. Anime is scary from all points of view. From the perfect-cuteness of the characters to the cohorts of fans to its being the product of the knicker-smelling-hobby part of Japanese society.
I came upon a review for the second part of the film I'm taking/borrowing, after googling "waterproof books", in the hope that no one had an idea similar to mine while taking a bath. Wrong, of course. Click for the bestseller.(And I who thought of Aldous Huxley...).
Anyway, the movie's idea sounds interesting and it sounded complicated enough for me to tell my brain that "Listen dudette! It's good for you. Just shut up and swallow!" Getting to know my enemy(or one of the things that annoys me/scares the life out of me)...

On Monday, I'm going to visit my future residence, in the University town some 300 km from here. I'm going to meet the Dorm Room and find out who the three other (dumb, impolite, tresspassing, I bet) girls who will inhabit said space are. Joy!

-because jazz will always beat Katrina-
Miss Brightside's shoes matched her shirt

Now...that is basically horse snot!

2005-09-01T01:47:00.000+03:00

Throughout this post I shall be trying very hard to conceal my disappointed concerning the failure of my plans to attain world-domination through blogging. Due to an all time high dose of dignity, I shall also not be posting about my fits of despair when having to face the ugly truth, that my blog is..shh!..unpopular...

Instead, I will be writing about the life and times of an inefficient (and...shh! unpopular..) blogger. This "blogger" (who has never hoped to save democracy through the releasing of posts in the cyberworld. do be quiet about it, though!) has been shamelessly neglecting her non-governmental duties. Miss Brightsky-Daydream was instead preoccupied with adding bells, rattles, windmills and other useless (although not as tacky as she has seen on some other blogs) toys to her basically-drowned-in-melancholy website. Due to the nightmarish drop in popularity rates rain(the weather-phenomenon that is usually scared by an umbrella and little gilrls' creepy clay dolls) has had to face, we felt compelled to try to plant a sun, a daisy or at least a kitten next to the peewish-generating sprinkler(?) in the header. You are invited to believe that said sun/daisy/kitten has been confiscated by researchers attempting to turn dog biscuits into gas, or you can listen to all the false-precahers of the Web who claim that Miss Brightsky-Daydream is a mere dilletant when it comes to encoding and a sinful expert in the area of convoluted Transylvanian curses directed at such things as a" >br<".(what are you, anyway?Freak!)

Every now and then I will get an idea for a short story. Throughout the years I have attempted to write something about a sheep, a nimfo&compulsive liar girl I knew, an ex-boyfriend,the woman who read my cards and said I will marry a very good man but we will get divorce because I'm too bitchy(she ruins someone's life in the story), this guy whose poems I found on the net, and of course..about me, when my name was Anna...However, today I found the best title for a story.(By the way, if you leave a title, I'll write you a more or less crappy story. You don't have to take the story, although it would be yours, but it would be very helpful for my right, neglected half of the brain, if I had a starting point for something creative) .To cut the mish mash, I give you,...the Indiscreet Pantry! I still don't know if it's going to deal with the impossible love between a jar of pickles and a jar of old strawberry jam, or with the drama of the rotting potato-who rolled in a fit of heroism under a low shelf, never to be found again. However, I must share with you in the circumstances in which I came upon the name.
In my quest for popularity, I have made it a goal to surf member-sites of Blog Explosion, not pay attention, be bored and be annoyed by the same ten Blogger templates, all for the sake of earning me some visits. I came upon this site, a few hours ago, named:The Barlog. And I say to myself, what a funny thing. I take into account the bad English and I conclude that the owner in Romanian and the title a very "national" one: Barlog-the Denn. To make sure, I look through the links. The first three links were computer-game related. The fourth, I thought to be the perfect example of Romanian ingenuity and originality: Camara Indiscreta-the Indiscreet Pantry.

I laugh for a while, am proud for a while and then click on the link, thinking that something juicy (in a gossipy kind of way) must be waiting. Turns out that...Camara Indiscreta-Portuguese for "the Indiscreet Camera(photo camera!...a freakin photoblog!)"...I was genuinely proud, man! Damn Romance languages! They all look the same to me... Although this is where I live..apparently. Patriotic, malignant swelling in my chest, as mr. Andrew F. would say...
Good morning!

-Miss Brightside swears she has never desired to dry her underpantyes on someone's mother's cross or have Stalin resurected for the sole purpose of his copulating with the recipe-stealing neighbour-

Giant leaps are frogging in the air tonight

2005-08-29T00:52:00.000+03:00

I'm falling in love with BBC Radio 4. Video killed the radio star quite some time ago in what seemed like a normal, justified process. However, being served the images of the story hasn't got half the mistery and the charm of a radio-programme.
The memory of my grandmother's house wouldn't be complete without the early-morning sound of news and old hits on the National Radio and I think I spent an entire day trying understand why the jingle for a commercial sounded familiar, only to realise in the evening it was similar to the bit of music they would play before shows when I was little. I think I should also mention here the ancient " Levels of the Danube" programme. They still have it, although it is useless now. A woman announces in this nasal voice, in Romanian, French and Russian (no English, in 2005, that's how outdated the show is) the levels of the Danube at flowing by the most imporant Romanian localities set on its shores. Clamp your nose and try saying "Targu Magurele -vant-sanc, vant-sanc saontimetr". That's about how it sounded to me...
My parents once found me sitting on the stairs of my granparents' terrace , my hands holding my chin, listening mesmerized to radio-soap. Rain was pouring, I've been told, and my feet were wet. I can remember listening to the soap (about this woman cheating on her husband and following complications), but I didn't know it was raining, until they reminded me. (It is completely irrelevant, but getting spaced out also happened during Scooby Doo. I still wonder how the hell I could sit glued to the TV for hours, watching cartoons in which misteries were solved- I later found out, without understanding a word, back when Cartoon Network was still in English?)
I am currently listening to the story of the Scottish tutor to the last Emperor of China. The material is pieced together in order to suggest images, and not impose them.I like having the freedom to imagine, and I think children who aren't taught or given the opportunity to listen (or discover books) instead of being fed ready-made images, logos, pop-famous faces, are being squeezec into a crippiling, stifling box. (Is it just me or saying that you are going to send your three-year-old daughter to modelling school is wrong, and..macabre? Nothing against mothers out there...just..never mind) There's nothing wrong with Scooby Doo (I mean nothing a good speech therapist couldn't solve), or Pokemon..(although anything hello kitty-related is dumb), BUT there is something wrong with recognising Ronald McDonald instantly. (What if your child is secretly clownophobic, a quiet sufferer from Coulrophobia, to just mention one of the risks of knowning the face of the infamous grinner/Wendy and not that of Albert Einstein at the age of 10?)
The love letter to BBC Radio 4, nay, introductory paragraph of this post, was written for the sake of a comparison between my Secret and my Social Life. Yes, my secret life contains a good dose of dirty/insane little secrets, but no, that's not what separates it from the Social Life (which consists of a good deal of secret-sharing, commentig secrets and "You didn't!"'s). It's memories and calm thoughts I don't share anymore, due to the belief that no one in real life would have what to do with them (did -you- find a use?) and yes, that no one's worhty of them right now...
I sit on my chair, listening, slowly tieing knots in my hair.Now, this is a description no one would give of me. At the week-end I was called "permanently outraged Alex", and I was imitated during charades as gesturing widely and explaining something; no one had a problem guessing...I will always be more comfortable discussing politics, arguing for or against something, making remarks about the weather in desperate situation, than calmly, honestly express feelings. Not that i don't express feeling...it's just that they usually come out more negatively/acidly than I'd like them to.
How can you not boil at hearing narrow-minded opinions from people who Will say they're right, despite common sense, evidence and attempts to get said persons to stop biting your jugular arthera, because it will not lead to your accepting "non-opinions"? Also,Ed and Addie were enjoying eachother's company (cough) in A.'s room, after A. and I (me) suddely got thirsty and went for coffee. Enter room A.'s mother, who had just gotten home. A's mother declared the next day that she understands Ed, because he is a boy (mazzm...fazzmmm, muffled cursing) but that her opinion of kind, lovely Addie had changed completely. It was not on finding that out that smoke started coming out of my ears, nose and probably other orifices. Romanian parents are predictable. It was when Lolita, decided to exclaim in her usual "I am always right, and my popularity does not require me to think before I utter something!"(no, we do not like eachother much), that "I told you that she was going to say this?!"and "it's how it will always be!". How cute!And wrong...And,"I think every woman and every man has the moral right to kill if they are being cheated on." There are people I don't bother to try and explain stuff to anymore. (I am fully aware that I am not the navel of the world,or an eminence in moral and ethics...BUT..neither is an 8-year-old and he/she would know murder hs no justification..) I think I'm getting all worked up here.

Rechts! (or links that demonstrate the ability of certain mebers of the species to spring over the fence of God's great garden)

Conceptualizing automated palletizing systems (An article that can also be used as a lenghty diction exercise. I dare you!)
Dealing with World Domination: Lessons from the Powerpuff Girls and Friends
Inflammatory airway disease, nasal discharge and respiratory infections in young British racehorses
Real stakeholder education? Lifelong learning in the Buffyverse

of which I quote:

"The article draws on the extensive range of academic BtVS* writing and on
relevant educational theory concerned with radical adult education,
lifelong and workplace learning to support its argument that the series presents institutional learning for adults as destructive and suspect in motivation.'

*BtVS-Buffy the Vampire Slayer, if you still had doubts

Do you think they meant librarians?..no, wait..interior designers

Also this made me think I was going to solve my future job-dilemma, but googling "professional bookcase-arranger", "profasionally-arranged books", "profesionalised book display", "professional book sorter", " expert book-caser" failed to provide me with more/any details...

Miss Brightside's super-sizingly delicious entry

I clearly don't know what I'm talking about

2005-08-26T17:54:00.000+03:00

New template. You were expecting it, didn't you? If any of you geeks has an idea how I can put an on/off button for the music, please leave a comment (containing that idea..which had better be good).
Seems I won't make it to vice-president for WAVE, the NGO extraordinaire I work for. I am behind in my work and have no intention of catching up during the week end. No, Hay Fest fell through...evidently. And it's Romanian weather rather than Romanian people that's preventing us from going. I am going to Carei, this town near by, for two days of utter debauchery and stories from the seaside trip (aka the boys are back from their two weeks of"manly" adventure on the shores of the Black Sea. Never drink water from the first mounatin creek you see. )
I just had the revelation that a string of platitudes just won't make a good blog. I must entertain the masses with the products of my creativity. Or, I could post a detailed description of my episodes of insanity. I could become a mother and tell the world about the baby's first hickups.(Isn't it weird how the really cool women, who are mothers but not only, are most offended by people bitching about mommy-blogs? There's nothing you can't write about in a good way, motherhood being priviledged because it's a special status. Women like FOFUSA and Smartypants, and their respective children are great. The annoying mommy-blogs are, for me, the journals kept by those women who can only define themselves with the aid of seamen and all the womb-related processes that follow, including the finite "bundle of joy". I think it's official...I am going to hell, and won't have any heirs to pass on my legacy of permanent discontentment.)
Shit...I'm going to miss my bus. Gotta split.

I.A.G Liechtenstein

2005-08-25T04:29:00.000+03:00

Relationships suck. My relationships. Considering I'm just sobering up after a night out with the girls and an abandoned attempt to provide someone's empty head with a beer bath, I might as well tell you.The truth, my friends, is that I am grinch. I am not the "Grinch who stole Valentine", for that is-ever since last year, Nance (the girl whose cheating husband I wouldn't want to be because ...dude, I swear to God she'll build a bomb out of a potato, cleaning powder and some wires from your Harley, make you blow up, and then calmly asses the damage). I am the grinch of Impossible Desires. (For further details on fields of activity and titles check with the International Association of Grinches, based in Liechtenstein, presided with pride by Madam Velvet Fist. ) I want people I can't have...I want the career I know very well is not for me, ever since I began to see the advantages of the war in Irak, and the advantages of protectionist agricultural policies, ever since ecologic disaster don't make me cry anymore. If you want to work in an NGO you need dedication. Scrubing my brain with disinfectant and a rough brush after realising that I could find arguments in favour of Dubya and not develop a weird rash that won't go away, is not enough. And I saw my face in the mirror while scrubbing, and I'm not a believer.
My relationship suck for much the same reasons. I lack faith in people. The people I may have to share a bed at some point, especially. I expect everything, I am no longer enraged by the behaviour of my close friends.
Apparently, I am still enraged by morons. We got stuck in the bathroom of a pub, because A. decided to keep the doorknob as a souvenir (which she later returned). And all I could do was lean on the door of the ladies room and laugh histerically that "Of all people...I don't wanna be stuck in a bath with YOU! You honestly suck as a human being!"...Moron eventually opened the door. But that was all the good he did last night.
Moron likes harassing me. Last night, I could see my hands shiverring with anger, as I was trying to play a stupid race game on my phone, I knew my face was red...and I snapped. The usual harsh, impolite remark that when used on normal people ends the argument. Screw your opinion about me, I have the last word here! But, with someone as fucked up as Moron, things don't work this way.Noooo.....another half hour of lewd comments and being mockingly called endearment terms. If he were stupid, I would have said he didn't know any better. However, Moron, despite being clever, prefers to have it the easy way. Act stupid, respect no one, and display a behaviour worthy of a 12-year-old(hair-pulling included). And then there's Puppy Dog, the girl who follows him everywhere and laughs and encourages all his idiocies, and who thinks she is my friend. (Dear Puppy Dog, I do not "dig" morons who would rather complain than use their potential. Furthermore, I feel too much pitty for you to ever even think of having anything to do with the target of your 5-year-old obsession. I wish you soon recovery and the ability to keep your unfounded remarks to yourself. The cretin you adore sometimes likes to listen to you, before laughing at you... alex)

I have to deal with Moron, while the guy I've been drooling over instead of watching teather plays for the past four years, is sitting next to me...and next to his perfect steady girlfriend. Bits of a conversation from last week that included his arguments for majoring in Medieval Philosophy were spinning in my head. People I can't have....My (lack of) relationships suck(s). I am entitled to be drunk and bitch about "bla" girlfriends, puppy dogs and the ever-enlarging category of Morons. No one is born a grinch. It's society's fault. I say we bomb civil/civillian society.

Hay Fest

2005-08-23T17:21:00.000+03:00

I've been at WAVE (an NGO/Resource Centre I work with during the summer). They had a problem with the electricity, so they didn't hear me ring the intercom. After 15 minutes of waiting in front of the door, in the sun, the idea of "serenading" the guy in the office to "please (move your goddamn skinny ass down here and open the goddamn door) open the door...there's um..a problem with the intercom. Sorry!" didn't appear as ridiculous. Then I realised that they couldn't hear me, because of the shield-glass windows and the busy street below. Damn the policeman who was there. If he hadn't been, someone would have looked out the window upon hearing there's this crazy person jumping on their car and that's why the alarm's on...

WAVE robbed me of my last chance of being a 100% punk. They also made sure I won't get much sleep in the following eight days. I came back home with a huge file I have to read and then do things like (wait, must check for accuracy) a "Stakeholder analysis for the Gordon Bethune- Continental Airlines", using the info in the file. It sounds more complicated than it is, and I am flattered and excited taht they gave me "important" work and not just stuff to type.
But, it's still a lot of work that requires constant attention. Theoratically, I have about 8 days to finish. In reality, if all goes well, I'm left with 3 days.

If all goes well, and people I phoned don't get all Romanian about it ("we need time", "we found out too late", "why not just..quit?") on Friday I will be on a plateau in the Apuseni Mountains at at "Hay Fest" (an event featuring such sports as "hay jumpig", and the best band line-up I've seen for a fest in years), drinking beer and signing petitions to save the area from Gold Corporation, this mining firm that will use cyanides to extract gold and eventually turn the area into a wasteland. If I finish my work by Thursday, maybe my boss-who knows I am doing HIS work, will be inspired enough to pay me this time . If he doesn't have a revelation, I suppose I'll just have to let him know very directly that he ought to pay the freakin minimum wage equivalent, I've been alluding to.

I'm off to have a strong coffee and provide a SWOT analysis for some crap.

Hay Fest - click and regret you're not going..um..coming.

"hello love!" "umm...which one?"

2005-08-22T18:30:00.000+03:00

Due to the absence of a Swedish bufet, I absolutely refuse to cut ribbons. However, meet the (old, moved from msn spaces) new weblog! Despite my best intentions and long-hours spent in the company of web-designing software, I still haven't managed to personalise the template. I will definitely change some things, because the atmosphere of the blog 's a bit too ..um..male. It reeks of ...musk cologne,ok?

(May I suggest banning guys who smell nice, from elevators that have to be used by teenage girls who haven't had sex in a long time? Such a measure is benefficial for both sexes, as it would lead to a less tense inter-gender interaction and safer elevators for everyone. It is true that it would rob the children of Sudan, dead puppies and deceased relatives of one of their rare moments of rememberance. It would also result in a lot less minutes spent by the average teenage girl, admiring elevator-ceillings. But, it should be kept in mind that, besides an improvement in male-female contact, mental purity levels for targeted female population will rise to unprecedented levels, a goal mothers , the Catholic church and neo-conservatives have been striving to achieve for a period ranging from 10 centrueis to a few decades. So, despite the shortcommings , and despite the lack of popularity such a measure will have to face , legislation banning nice-smelling hunks in elevators should be granted priority Thank you! ) Now that is what I call good fun..(more on my dorkiness later on)

As for the getting pissed off at even the concept of "encoding" and not getting anything done, you have to understand my a-girly condition. I am a convinced non-girly girl. It would have been relatively easy (it turned out after three hours of cursing Dreamweaver) to change the color from blue to pink, replace straight lines with curlicules, link to the Maroon 5 website, post picures of kittens and tell, while cutting a ribbon, how "uber-happy" I am with the job I did on personalising the template. I'd rather not do anything if it means completely missing the point of things. This template was intended to be non-girly, and was inspired by the Bauhaus school. I want to make it a little less austere, and yes, less...male, but without trampling the original idea of the guy who put work into this and without turning it into an ode to feminism(although I am tempted). I left things unchanged, because I couldn't find a better alternative. I have a few ideas, which may or may not look good. Leave a comment, by the way, if you like the design, what you would change, if you would change anything. Chances are slim that I will take what you say very seriously, but you could try...

What to tell you about my life right now? I've been thinking about this guy I don't usually think about, more often ,lately, than I'd ever admitt. H-Boy and I can't really manage to be just friends. H-Boy's at the age when he fucks around simply because he can. Nothing I wasn't aware of from the beginning, and a situation to which my only objection is that we haven't seen in eachother in quite a long time...My hormones, you see, are not very happy with that. Anyway, it seems that A., Nance, Addie and Bobby (friends in Med School, as from this autums) will be living in dorms in the same neghbourhood as my dorm. H-Boy and Drew (aka F-Boy) rented an apartment near by and I think the most suitable house-gift would be an open/close sign, with the slogan "joint the brothel" also written on it. Smells like fun. Most of these people live in this town near by, and we had fallen out (my fault!). I was there this weekend. As usual, it was very nice. I have to run somewhere and don't have the time to give these people and Carei (the town) a proper introduction. What I can say about them is that they made me regret saying that people around me have nothing to teach me.

I'm going to a former classmate's house to watch a movie. I am so popular lately, that I was entrusted the task of renting the film. I don't suppose they remeber me running with the video of "One flew over a cukoo's nest" in my hand, dropping it, and then watching it roll on the pavement for a couple of metres. I watched movies in Carei yesterday too. Actually, we tryed, but Addie's puter is very suspicious of new CD's and won't have anything to do with them unless you play a familiar movie from the harddrive first. And then there's Addie herself, who has a compulsion for pressing space every thirty seconds and saying "I don't agree", "What an idiot" or "Look at those lips. MMM..." or my all time favourite "It's not blonde ...it's light brown. And my eyes are green,ok?!"

On dorkiness
sister: I'm looking for this transparent thing. Have you seen it?
me, laughing to the point of suffocation: Noooo...
sister:Wha..? Oh! Gooooddd! You are Such a dork!

miss brightside agrees, but adds cool to the sentence

All apollogies

2005-08-20T00:08:00.000+03:00

Be patient, please. I will get this working..eventually...

Scum

2005-08-17T15:57:00.000+03:00

I've been told not to add entries in the evening. Apparently,the snakes in your head (hello Medusa!) are active around that time and Push you to committ ridiculous actions , a theory for which I can bring quite a lot of examples. Examples: blogging crap, calling people you don't really like , googling "dream organisation" and "what did Jane say", wanting to talk to old crush etc etc (Feel free to submit your own!)
1:22 PM- snake-free time. Leonard Cohen's wicked! Rullz! And this ends my speech for tonight, thank you very much and don't forget to compliment my tux...

I had a nice evening yesterday,talked to real (Dutch) people, was interested in what they had to say, Ophelia (a classmate I had a drink with - actually, not "drink" because we drank pepsi and hot chocolate) was therapeutic. She is si enthusiastic about college, and that my dorm will be in the same neighbourhood as her flat, school ... Compared to her, I'm still very dishoriented. I actually dreamt of people from highschool; we were supposed to meet in what they said was the hall of my highschool ;it was cold and there was this very thick, white fog everywhere. I felt uncomfortable among them, of course

Gone hunting for something interesting to write about. Maybe I'll pick a fight with my sister...

She withdrew into a gutter and had no esteem

2005-08-16T15:54:00.000+03:00

My entries have become more and more sporadical. Truth is , I've been feeling like there's no story to tell. I've got nothing for you, people who bother to read this. My life right now is, more or less, the life of the guy of whom I thought was doing it all to himself. Not sure I like the lesson I have to learn; quick judgements and swift verdicts were always so easy for my conscience to digest. Turns out it was junk food.

I am turning into a hermit, whilst developing an almost intimate relationship with something that has a lot of buttons and no belly. I have a life that involves the use of a minimum number of real people, and a huge number of usernames and passwords. I don't suppose you'd like me to transform login names into a poem..

Of course, I could write about a humanitarian crisis, there's enough material to fill a large library, but that would have the moral value of a life-lesson taught by Richard Nixon. I have no idea what's going on with me, so I cannot try to provide arguments for action in the name of a cause. "I'm paraplegic, but here,shonny, I'll teach you how to walk..." Considering that I decided at some point in the past that my life will have something to do with all the people we'd rather not think about before we go to sleep,I have a serious problem. Involuntarily, I turn inward, but the last thing a humanitarian organisation needs is a self-absorbed, asocial slob.

The loneliness is the result of my own acts, I think...It's either that or I'd have to place the blame on everyone else.Old habit... Yet she could have told me he had a new girlfriend. There's still a thick cord preventing me from calling to congratulate him or ask him out or some other far-fetched gesture. Things must have really gotten cold if she dindn't offer the latest gossip in the first minute of our conversation, and for fuck's sake she knew I'd be happy for him ...

good night

2005-08-08T15:48:00.000+03:00

I understand that regular updates are among the pillars of a popular blog. Being the popularity slut I am,here you go...an update! I envy people who have this subject they stick to, in every update. If I weren't so lazy,in fact, I'd be out there finding myself a conspiracy . "Miss Brightside's Unrequested Opinions or The hidden reasons behind the Pope's assasination of Adolf Hitler" / "Speculations on the alien life form that lives inside Courtney Love's body"/ " Who killed the suicide bomber?" etc etc But, it rained all day and the planets are in cohoots with my mother,because I think I'm actually going to cook something for myself, instead of Lara Crofting my way through the evil schemes of The Association for the Manufacturing of Garden Gnomes.And it's not omelete.Something must have moved off its orbit and it's influencing me negatively. It's turning me into Donna Reed..the horror! Donna Reed, carrying an umbrella for the sole purpose of not wetting her nylon stockings.

Hungry bunny hops away.

p.s: if anyone has filmed a video inside Hagia Sophia,in Istanbul, during their last holliday,and would like to send it to me, so I won't have to use a walkthrough...oh great one, me and your seven other favourite wives, will worship you eternally!

Annual conference of imaginary friends

2005-07-10T02:40:00.000+03:00

It's almost two hours since I decided I want to update my blog.Of course, between decision and actual action there's a long road to walk in the twisted dimension I come from.I've had two rather weird days, or as my Mind would describe it, two glorious days of battle between Sanity and the evil legions of Emperor Anxiety.The hens did not predict the results of the battle accurately, they were to depressed to eat.
Exams are over. My life without guilt feels foggy: cool atmosphere,smooth contours of everything, combined with the irritation of not knowing exactly where you are or if you're heading the right way, and constant bumping into people. Before the exams, I couldn't stop feeling bad for the time spent surfing the web. I made lists of "To do when all hell's over", while repeating in my head that "this is the last minute I waste, this is it".For twisted me guilt led to enthusiasm, because all was going to end soon and then I would be able to do all the things i wasted time thinking about.(I think I have a problem with coherence right now..) I don't feel like an indy-movie marathon, I'm too bored to do further research on one of the most famous dwarfs known to mankind, Charles Manson, don't want to know just yet how the stockmarket works(but I will, in about half an hour, I'm sure...it's been bugging me forever), and I pretend my eyes hurt too much to read the book only I and three other people posses, through the kindness of its author.
Don't get me wrong, my exams went great. Over the years I've learned to asses my performance quite objectively, and I feel satisfied. I did well, and expect my results to reflect that.But, I don't get to find out until Monday and who knows, I may be then posting an entry consisting of 100 "I AM AN UNDERFED CONCEITED STUPID COW" sentences. School is ok, but lately that does not compensate loneliness. Kind readers,what you knew all along is true, I am a lonely weirdo.I am lonely because I don't really have friends.I am a weirdo, because there's nothing I do wrong, and there's nothing people have against me. I just don't have close friends*.Anyone care to take me out for coffee and hear me feel sorry for myself?Limited time only, I'm positive everything will be ok one I move to Bucharest. Major changes are good for me.
Make sure you memorise this entry.It will probably be deleted soon. I don't like to keep evidence of my too often moments spent in the gutter.There's good stuff I plan for this blog, including a relocation. Trust me, I am as annoyed by that volvo commercial as you are.
*Well, there's this one person whom I will never be able to thank enough, miss enough or remeber enough...You know who you are...:)

Anyone for tennis?

2005-07-05T02:40:00.000+03:00

Well, I finally got into exam mood.I went through the whole Graduation ceremony without much stress (maybe slightly mooshy at times,but no major incidents such as crying my guts out), I went through 3 exam stages, and slept like a baby the nights before, so...it was high-time I got panicked. The kind of scary panic, the kind of panic that is a bad omen, a premonition, something that basically screams Brain Freeze. Tomorrow is my history exam, and, ladies and gents, I am having a hard time controlling myself not to rock in my chair, clap my hands and repeat while crying "No, no exam. Alex doesn't know. No, no, no!" and swallowing my tears between hiccups.
I have studied. I went over each lesson at least three times. I can't remeber one bloody thing.Nothing. Other than that, everything's fine.We've got a new car. It is blue.
To my fans, that would be you Jorgen: I will get back into the habit of writing very long entries, as soon as my exams are over. Of course, after I wake up from my post-exam alcoholic coma...Beware.

Kiss: for a ridiculously grim bathing experience

2005-06-23T02:37:00.001+03:00

A few days left until the my exams.Can't say I'm apprehensive, I covered everything. (besides philosophy where I need to do some serious recap, but I'll get to that). That doesn't mean I am bound to break some kind of school/ personal record when it comes to grades, it means there's no way I will be performing a harakiri at the request of the family.Other than that, my aversion for Symbolist poets is reaching alarming levels and were it not for the things I still have to go over, I'd be wearing a sheet on my head and haunting textbook authors."That should give you a taste of the horror I feel every time I have to deal with your creation, Mrs Rogalski!..Woo...woo.."
My thoughts about writing a story involving a yellow rubber duck, wearing plaid socks and flip flops, getting involved in a super market adventure, with her friend-the self-destructive Koala bear cuddly toy, were interupted by a phone call from A. (from Actress). I met her and Loic Hatfield con Vino (we will call her that, although that is not her real name) for a soda. A. was unusually unhistrionic, which gave me the space to gesture and launch into a tirade about people who collect clothes of a certain brand and how that's as lame as people who buy Barbies and never remove them from their boxes*. Loic is someone who laughs whole-heartedly at all the idiocies I utter, how can I not love her?..A. told me it was her birthday today, something I was completely unaware of(yes, I know,k?!)...This dude, a fellow math wiz-kid of Loic, had made her sad.Suddenly, the b..., was no longer afraid of serious relationships, and she's not his girlfriend...
Of course, this piece of information tickled my sadistic impulses."So, did you make the Voodoo dolls yet? Can I help insert pins in them?" She was puzzled and maintained her dignified attitude, despite my enthusiasm.Apparenly, she doesn't hate him, she jsut wants to stop feeling sad. It's people like her and ..Ghandi why voodoo is not what it used to be anymore.People!As long as you can direct your pain at others and not yourself, you're still in control!Anywho...God will pay him back!:P
Now, returning from the land of Medieval Beliefs, I was also informed that Nance(that is not her real name etc etc) has bought a Labrador. She named it Trotski(Go RedArmy!)...which reminded me of the dog I named Winston and which my grandmother refered to as "W...W..ah! Dog!Come here!" and a calf I thought appropriate to name Gorbachiov( I was 6, I think.) I'm not a pet person. I think people buy them as substitutes for human affection. (This should bring some comments). In a great number of cases people exaggerate when it comes to their pets. A family friend has three cats. She is mean and suspicious of people, but she treats her obese felines like children.She's all for less taxes, even if it means even shittier social protection, but the kitties need absolutely the best brand of shampoo.The point I am trying to highlight here is that people are more important when it comes to certain things. That does not mean I am in favour of testing lipstick on rabbits or that deforestation is ok, because it creates jobs, so if you are reading this and raging over my opinions, do not assume this. It's just that you have a problem with expressing affection, deal with it or don't deal with it. Do not kid yourself or "abuse" an animal, by buying a substitute.However, if you find stray kittens..it's ok, as long as you don't improvise a shelter for another 100 in your flat.(Miss Spinster from the 1st floor: move!)
In this bright note, I leave you for now.
As she stood up Miss Brightside had the faint feeling that she had commited an injustice towards lonely people. But, she had had a good day and was proud enough to not take anything back.She also took a short look at the words"Blink 182" written in blue glitter on the right knee of her jeans. Her thoughts flew towards the cousin who had the grim task of giving her the bad news that-after assesing all the marks and disfunctions, he had reached the conclusion that the soundcard of Andrew(the computer-a different chapter for this story) had passed away. Rest in Peace, ya little bitch!(God will pay you back!)
"You ask me where I get my ideas. That I cannot tell you with certainty. They come unsummoned, directly, indirectly - I could seize them with my hands - out in the open air, in the woods, while walking, in the silence of the nights, at dawn" L. van Beethoven
* You cannot begin to understand how lame that is until you've been a little girl in the Romania of the 90's, where an original** Barbie costed more than your mother's monthly income
**Original Barbie: Doll with large boobs and long legs , made of smooth rubber/plastic whose legs and arms can bend and whose blonde hair you can actually comb, without getting all the 5 threads of hair on your little pink brush(like in the case of "unoriginal barbies") Long live 9-year-old fand of Mattel)

Kiss: for a ridiculously grim bathing experience

2005-06-23T02:37:00.000+03:00

I found pictures of Russian poets of the 6o's on my computer. Is that good?

2005-06-19T02:36:00.000+03:00

The Graduation ceremony is followed in this area of the Globe by the "let's show off our kid" ceremony. My parents decided to fulfill this duty towards family friends, neighbours, relatives, distant relatives, people at work and [insert name of person I have never seen before], by having a series of picnics at their garden house.
Today was the first one, and it wasn't so uncomfortable because there were only 8 people, whom I have actually met before.The garden was nice, and I'm saying this because I haven't been there in a few years.("Mom, there's no electricity,ok?Go off...pretend you guys have a sex life! In fact, you don't want me to come along, do you?..") That patch of land was bought by my parents because they wanted to get away somewhere from the concrete buildings, especially taking into account that they were both born in villages. They have a garden there, a really nice wood/rustic house my mom's filled with old furniture and folk art and some very rare types of roses. The funny part, the part that made me yell at my parents while laughing histerically "SUucckkkers!!You got sooooo punk'd! Oh my God!" is that, instead of turning into a residential area, as it was foreseen, the area where they built their "old-age retreat" is slowly but surely turning into an industrial area.From the balcony of my room I have a beautiful view of a 2005 aluminum-components factory and a cheese-puffs "establishment".Beautiful!
Anyway, I got so much silver jewelery as gifts.And it's not over yet. And money.(Money's good!)I stilldon't know whether to buy a new bag or Madeline Albright's memoirs.(Laugh your ass off after the beep......hah!no beep! Suucckkers!) After I got the ring, and the earrings,and the pendant etc. I could only think: Romanovs. They had a slow death, because they had sown jewelery inside their clothes.I donated half the jingling things to my sister, so I won't be tempted to use them in self-defense.(Although..I know of someone who threatened to beat a guy with the silver peace-sign round her neck, and it's not like I wasn't about to use a bottle of mineral water to hit an elevator-stalker weirdo in the balls..but I digress).
At the Graduation Ball, I wore my dress for only two hours, in which I had to move very slowly, carefully and gracefully, so of course I got annoyed.Moreover, the dress having basically been stitched on me, to prevent accidents caused by not wearing a bra, there was always the danger of something snapping,if God forbid I lift my fork to my mouth. Of course, it eventually did, not enough to cause a scandal but enough to make me go home and change into jeans and sport shoes.("Does it say formal wear on the door? no! Please let me in, sir, this is my Graduation Ball!" What?!...he was drunk, some people took care of that so they could sneak in massive quantities of whiskey). I had fun and I didn't. I danced, but that alternated with sessions of people-watching in the hotel lobby. I also got slightly drunk.And I have reached the conclusion that some people feel the need to behave like jerks.Well, good riddance to them!
I shouldn't be posting when I'm bored and don't know exactly how I want to say things.

What does it take to win a blog battle?

2005-06-12T02:35:00.000+03:00

In this edition, dark humor or something more depressed than that
I need to take a shower. Or be soaked with cold water from a hose by police-forces, in the middle of the street. Or have a bright light directed at my eyes while a member of the NKVD, whose mouth smells of caviar* and vodka, asks repeatedly "Comrade K.,what iz zat you are sinking? Do you not know you have egzams in two weeks? You are dasgracing ourr regime!" If someone could just award me a nudge and get me back into "blind-will/must-succeed/you are the book" mode, I would be eternally grateful and bake cookies, babysit for your children and traumatise them by choosing to tell them the story of Picasso's painting "Guernica" as a bed time story.(In retrospect, maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all...)
I'm really starting to wonder if brain-paralysis is a side-effect of whatever experiments are being made on us, highschool seniors.There's definitely the memory experiment, in which subjects are required to memorize between 3 and 5 textbooks and then asked about details that appeared in a book from the bibliography at the back of textbook number 6...a book published in 1975...in Paris...in 300 copies..which sold out.The coffee experiment, an arm of the memory experiment, testing the reactions of the poor sod who volens nolens has to take part in the scheme that forces him into coffee over-doses, is also the main source for office jokes for those darling bureaucrats from the Ministry of Education.The road to mass hysteria...."The ants! They're all over me!Get them off! Get them off!"
A.(from Actress) and A.2 (from Nancy Spungeon +160 IQ) came up with the idea of one of those safe, white-linen-tapestry , sound-proof rooms being built in the Middle of Nowhere. There, for a modical fee, the respectable citizens will enter and scream until they can scream no more.Now,I generally tend to take a step back and take in a lot of air while forcing myslef not to think about how close to an alcoholic coma those two are, when they communicate such ideas. But Bring It On Babe! I want to rent the room!Hell, I'll work hard if I am given the possibility to buy.
On a lighter(bright light-er) note:
Your SAT Score of 1235 Means:
You Scored Higher Than Howard SternYou Scored Higher Than George W. BushYou Scored Lower Than Al GoreYou Scored Lower Than David DuchovnyYou Scored Lower Than Natalie PortmanYou Scored Lower Than Bill Gates Your IQ is most likely in the 120-130 range
Conlusions: 1) I can be President 2) Mulder, what kind of name is Fox anyway? 3)most likely higher, because English is my second language and I didn't really prepair for the SAT (something to cheer up the author of this blog who will very likely create a small disaster for the family after announcing her Romanian exams results...again,the road to mass histerya)
Your Extroversion Profile:
Assertiveness: High
Sociability: High
Activity Level: Medium
Excitement Seeking: Medium
Cheerfulness: Very Low
Friendliness: Very Low (nonsense, I can perfectly well fake friendliness, no one ever see the difference)
www.blogthings.com

Freak Train -ep.1-

2005-06-09T02:33:00.000+03:00

Hello everyone!Kiss kiss! Tonight I would like to share with you my idea for a television show that, given the love of the public for everything that proves that their lives are still not the brownest in colour, I am sure you will enjoy! I was just chatting yesterday with my friend, Emily about this new beauty saloon (gorgeous manicure!) and she told me how she broke a nail in the elevator and then it hit me! I said darling, I want to host a show called the Freak Train!
No, actually, I got the idea while I was studying in a cafe (alone),as a way to distract myself from the embarassing urge to flirt with a waiter.The show has to be filmed in an actual train, because no one from the camera crew wants to work in a roller coaster, which -damn it, will leave the viewers without a number of spontaneous special lunch-related effects .Such a pitty, but I suppose serving the guests bad coffee might have a nearly as spectacular effect.
Everyday I will be interwieving three people, who have distinguished themselves through weirdness, stupidity, insanity or simply by being related to me. In a second part of the show my assistent, the hot guy who waits tables in Poesis, will host the "Loud Thinkers" section. This section is dedicated to all those great men who, in every train, have thoughts to share with us, people grown tired of schizophrenics.And, in the last minutes of the show, we will be airing a chart of the coolest people ever seen waiting in train/metro-stations, based on the emails received from commuters.
For the first edition, special efforts were made to drag Chris-the weirdo, out of bed and on the train, explain to Danielle-the dummy what "television", "show" and "television show" mean and call Simina-the sister, enough names to persuade her to participate. Ladies and gents, give my first guest a round of applause.
a: Welcome Chris!
c:...hmm?..oh,right, hello!
a: Are you glad to be here?
c: Here where? Here on Earth? Here on the train? And...it's sorta relative...cause, the train's moving...so...I mean, yeah,I suppose. Yes, it's ok.
a:So, tell us something about you! I mean, so many girls just dieing to know you. You should feel honoured, you know!
c: Umm....I don't know...(aside) why should I be honoured? It's not like I asked to be here...Right...umm...I like Seinfeld and I skate, sorta, althugh I did fall once and like..smash, there went my skateboard...and I draw, sometimes. (There, I said stuff..)
a:Do you like trains?
c: Yeah, they're cool.
a: o..kay...why?
c:Dunno..like...because!
a:Chris, we're obviuosly getting nowhere.(dude...I have a show to run here!Understand?!Wake up. boy!) Ladies, the kick in the shin you just saw, don't worry! It's just..err...our secret salute! yes.heh! that's exactly what it was! Now, before you ruin this completely, Chris honey, you are entitled to one last joke.(aside) and one last wish, for that matter, you...!
c: Why did the chicken cross the road?
a: Great! dude, you've finally decided to cooperate!Thanks man! I don't know! WHY???
c: Exactly...Why?
Well, ladies and gentlemen say good bye to Chris!Due to some misunderstandings we had to throw him out of the train. But he'll live! Our second guest is Danielle. Danielle is a part-time essay thief and official class moron. Such a nice girl, you almost feel sorry for her..being loaded and driving a BMW whose gas costs more than the yearly budget of Pallau, you know!
a:Hey Danielle!
d:Kiss kiss!
a: Yeah...we don't do that in this show...
d: oh...(smile)
a: Do you honestly think that if you complimet me I will forget that you copied my philosophy essay word for word?
d:but, she wanted to give me a 4(D)...but, I didn't mean to hurt you...hi hi! And, honestly, you sure you don't want a bit of my fat? You are sooo thin!
a:You are...look.. anorexic...
d:( smile)
a:What's your opinion on the EU?
d:(smile) I need a diet coke...I will be back ok?...(smile)
Well, Danielle is just in the toilet providing herself with some special effects. (Get someone to film that! Move! Don't stand and look at me, you bunch of incompetents!You're fired!)Our last guest from today is Simina!!!!Come here Simi, stand next to me and prove to the audience that, thank god! we are nothing alike!
s: Hello people! So like, you hang out with her?! She's weird and she..she calls me names all the time, mostly "retard", you know...
a: Oh, c'mon! Admitt it, we get along as long as the parents are not at home!
s:Like yeah...Oh, alex, remember the time Mom and Dad were at that funeral and we were alone and we ordered pizza and you smoked in the house?...and then you did the...hahhaha! the air guitar and..hahahh!
a: ok!that's enough!
s: knock!
a: hahhahhh...knock!knock!stop it!
s: Nonsense! hahhha!knock!heheh!knock!
a: shut up!hahhhah!..hah!right..that was something.. too hard to understand if you're name is not beavis or butthead. Simina! Stop humming! What song is that?"All I've got is 1000 lei" What can you buy on 1000 lei? Box o' matches?
s: used condoms?...
a:ah!c'mon! who sells used condoms?
s:try ebay?..I crack myslef up, I swear.
Kind viewers, that was my sister! Trust me, you don't want to hear anymore! Now, Chris has asked via Yahoo Msn way too many times if it's done, "you know...the thing you said you were writing" so, the show ends tonight. I am sorry you didn't get to see the hunk who waits tables(no i'm not, he's mine, all mine) performing the part of the woman yelling with pathos that"The King is not dead! He is eternal! You will all explode before the king perishes! If the king were still alive I'd have a job now!" and agitating an umbrella. But I promise you that, next time I will definitely tell you the story of the rock band waiting for the train in the Sibiu Station!
Good night everyone!(Oh,and you lot...you're unfired...Kiss my hand now, go on!) Send comments and suggestions for our chart. You can also send your favourite waiter, for a comparison.(Must pay for his own train ticket!)
Taaa!!!
-Listen to our theme song here (Ctrl+C "freak", second find)-

don't hate the game, steal the pieces

2005-06-07T02:32:00.000+03:00

It's late,and I'm writing this after having been beaten twice at pool. (You know what, Chris? Online pool is not even a game!)To my defense, I will say that I was beaten in a very complex game whose rules are a mistery to me, apparently. I think the whole episode of a summer spent in a bar whose atmosphere resembled that of the MASH 4077 canteen, and doing nothing but playing pool and choking on cigarettes(ah, yes, being 14 and getting dizzy from plain tobacco) is the mere product of my imagination.
I am graduating from highschool in a few weeks, and therefore feel entitled to look back at things with the fake wise look of someone who in 4 years has become none the wiser.Like everything that has to me with me, my teenage years have two completely opposite sides.(Libras...) The grunge-chick(ok, more like kid), part of a fairly cool gang,nihilistic attitude, or more simply put, quite an attitude, always the ironic smile on my face. And then, there were the well...quiet years. For a long time, I felt that everything was disintegrating. The old feeling of ground slipping from under your feet.It was no longer a matter of the atittude adopted towards something.There was nothing left. Everytime I see footage of the heat wave from an atomic bomb,sweeping trees and houses...For too long, I felt like I was chocking, my thoughts stopped meaning anyhting.People became invaders of even the small teritorry I was trying to preserve intact. The typical heartbreak gone into over-drive.I do not blame anyone but my flimsy psychical structure. I'm still genuinely scared by what I could let myself do.I think I'll never be able to understand exactly where the inner screw loose that allowed me to crumble is located.What's scarier is that I don't think the flaw in the mechanism will ever be fixed. I'm usually able to avoid the part of me that's seen too much and is constantly afraid and then, I crash.The problem is that, when you come to see things from this perspective, you cannot do anything else but stop thinking someone has the power to save you.You inevitably become lonely, and quiet despite your nature.
I'm 18 and feel freakin' old.In less than a month I will be in college, very likely a top college, somewhere in Bucharest. I'm not looking forward to it, because I am convinced everything will develop according to the same cycle that has ruled my life until now.(I know, Medieval belief in this century..) First year-perfect, Second year-too perfect aaand..cut!snap!, Third year-absolute hell, Fourth year-readjusting.I do not feel completely helpless. There was always some goal to pursue, academically, there was always the part-time job that calmed me temporarily.Very likely four years from now, I will have the job I like,the antique-filled apartment, the CV, the odd good memory, the odd friend and very likely the trail of lukewarm relationships or Sid/Nancy hell for two adventure...I've seen it all, there's no way I can help feeling old. So much wisdom, in only four years...:P
-Alex, who luckily has been nowhere near alcohol tonight-

Mall Rats

2005-06-05T02:31:00.000+03:00

You'd think an evening involving stories about fathers killing rats through different methods, ranging from sadistic to plain dumb, can't be That funny. But, my friends, I have to say...it was!I have heard the story of the rat from the tool shed who was smaked dead, the rat killed with a jar instead of the many available traps, and described how my father slayed a mouse in a bathtub, and the satisfied "veni, vidi, vici" grin that followed.My muscles ache from laughing. Also, I think an elderly lady gave me the evil eye and another is currently prepairing a ragdoll, endowed with a large, red tongue that sticks out-that she can cut! "And I would have slept, if it wasn't for you pesky kids!"
Today was the grand opening of the mall.It is blue.It has a lot of products.All the people smile.They are nice, so I bought many things today...Quite the leap for the local customer,/From buyer in the Universal Store to esteemed visitor of the Mall./Today we have them all/And greet them with our heart and soul... Nothing like an impromptu poem.
The Universal Stor(age)e (Facility for Relics of Communism) was way cooler. To your left, the living, breathing, turqoise gown-clad Holly Relics of various Holly Cashiers, distributors of mean looks and paraders of "I know you want to steal" attitudes, with pride, since 1948. To your right, the priceless collection of stuco statuettes, ranging from Venus wearing pink lipstick, to barbaric reproductions of the Pieta,to Lara Croft in chained to a plastic bed(you have my word..), to a work of art that made me want to lay of the floor and kick my legs, laugh and roll, named ...."Arrangement with Robins"(the birds!).If the "sculptor" would like to inform me how he aranged the robins that served as a model(where sedatives involved, were they glued in a certain position, if so-how come you didn't think of making one that sat upside down?). My email address should be somewhere around here.
The Mall is completely different. I went there today with my sister. I bought green shoes. They have high-heels. I was on the verge of buying something with floral patterns and changing my name to Donna Reed after purchasing the above-mentioned goods.The main attraction of this establishment erected in the honour of consumerism and stapled-on smiles, was..the Kenvello shop. Kenvello is fairly popular around here, and this I found out from Cliche-girl(can you imagine someone asking in the sweetest, cutest, adorable voice "who was Itzac Rabin"?-yep! that's her!).I went in and merged with this sea of brand-conscious people,migrating towards the shelves , with hands out-stretched towards the over-priced merchandise, grabbing thigs like the legendary Arthur the sword Excalibur,reaching for their 100% cotton, Made in China salvation...I made a promise to Monkey, my best friend, living on my favourite tshirt, never to part from him.Monkey comes from the USA.He's part of a Union,he never worked for less than minimun wage...
Today I bought shoes that are meant to secure my joining the Cirque de Soleil as a main acrobat, a ring that changes colour according to my moods (it says I am very relaxed now...I've been relaxed all day long according to it..), a purse for my mobile phone a.k.a something that will misteriously disappear in a matter of weeks.
There's a black hole in this house, or trolls. My jade earrings disappeared, my ID card , and the Parker pen that I received for my birthday from someone that I now realise was very dear to me...I had nothing to do with their disappearance...Nothing at all. No, wait! How could I not see? It was the old ladies! Ladies and gents, I rest my case..the venerable citizens of the community are to be accused.

The Pope will be a couple of days late

2005-06-03T02:29:00.000+03:00

I read a lot of weblogs. I realized I liked some of them so much because they are good transcriptions of every day life.You are bombarded with cellebrities and their stories, their habits, their private lives. All this to supply a demand from the public for "good" lives. Certain weblogs can bring you-the viewer burdened with the memory of Pop Princesses' nail-polish colour, back to the basic. I mean, I never thought I could look at the picture of someone's fridge and have a revelation about how life is not about the sheep feeding on red polystiren carpet fibers.Life is about "small" people. Blogs are about "small" lives.I am little too, literally. I didn't reveal much of my actual life here, without asking for half an hour of reading between lines in exchange. Or did I? I wish...
Random Me:
- I spent most of my highschool years wishing to not be a complete extrovert. I finally succeeded...
-I spend a lot of my time trying not to use neologisms. Apparently, they upset people.
-I am listening to the radio now. Tracy Chapman is what my thoughts sound like when I'm calm.
-I'm always broke.
- I walk very fast.
- Me and Paris...this is getting personal! Blondie, spare us your presence!
-I do not have many friends, by choice...
- Yesterday I dreamt I was supposed to have breakfast with Pope Benedict XVI and he never showed up.
- I like ducks.
- I make up Sid Vicious versions for corny songs.
- As shown in a picture taken yesterday, I have freakishly large hands.
-When I was little I couldn't decide whether I wanted to become a Princess or a Prime Minister.
- I am most afraid that no one will ever fall in love with me. I would never admit this in real life.
The long and winding road
The Internet is also a place where people can make public all the junk they have. From grocery lists to endless rows of words about which the authors believe form poems. (Such rows must include the following words:darkness, love, sorrow, tear, angel, sun, moon, star, touch, death, me, you -that rhymes with "too" or "two" or "who?", and -of course, orgasm) I will not delight my reader(s) with my ramblings in verse-form tonight, but I give you: the 3 different introductions I wrote for a speech and never used any.How's that for junk?
1) Hitler,Mussolini, Stalin..What do they have in common, besides ample-gestured speeches ? The belief that some people are better than other.The conviction that only their views, their values deserve to win any debate. These attitudes, we all know, nurtured disasters and although we can say today that we are nowhere near the extremism of 60 years ago, we are hardly on the safe side when it comes to ignorance and self-righteousness.Individuals and societies alike, continue to fall in the trap spread by feeling superior and ignoring their faults.And, the sorry outcomes bare the rusty echoes of half a century ago: hate, dispair, pain.

2) Whether European or American , people feel a great amount of staisfaction reminding themselves that they are citizens of democratic countries. It feels good to know that your Constitution observes all the Conventions, Treatise and Acts that any civilised Consitution is supposed to observe. Also, every now and then, you donate something to an obscure organisation for a country whose name sounds like a tongue-twister. You feel like a good person.

3) People living in democratic countries are generally quite satisfied with their status. Their countries respect Human Rights, listen to people's opinions and are said to have the most proper regimes in the history of mankind. So proper, some think, that they should be taught to others. The problem stands in the attitude itself, because no one can asses how good something is until it's long gone and its influence undetectable,so there's no way to tell that what you are teaching is utterly good. Moreover, supposing democracy is the best thing, isn't it somewhat undemocratical to try to teach/impose regimes and values to others?Clearly this is sheer hypocrisy and is possible because we have began to feel so generous and goodwilling with others, that we have forgotten about our own backyard. Democracies have their own big problems, yet we tend to ignore them.
The introductions started from the notes below:
ignorance
Aids
Freddy Mercury
intolerance
the inquisition
corrupt governments
to assume you know better is wrong
to believe in the superirity of a category of ppl over others
"and teh devil wants you thinking that it's either black or white,/But God,it's not that simple"
human relationships are deteriorating partly because people try to impose their views on others
wars
uniformisation
this attitude of the individual reflect on a whole society
dictators
the "super power" concept
Bush"the nation does not expect the president to sit in that OvalOffice and try to find his inner soul"=irak?
The subject assigned to me:"The greatest fault of all is to be conscious of none" Do you see the connection? Yeah, I couldn't either, unless I squint...This is how my mind works..
Good night, y'all!
-the picture below was taken two minutes after I kicked away my high-heel shoes, after having to wear those for 1(one!!!) hour. Some found the episode funny, some took pictures. Ignore the clown in the background.(Octavian, you do realise that with that hand you sealed your fate, don't you?!)-

Surprise everyone! I'm a part-time hippie...

2005-05-31T02:27:00.000+03:00

I watched this documentary and, it's funny, how a 50 minutes film can make you retrieve the meaning, and logic of some things. The film was about the University Square phenomenon. Of course, if you are not Romanian the chances are close to zero that you know what I'm talking about, and-what hurts more, is that even if you were born and/or live here, you might not know. To my shame, I didn't know very clearly either...
Romania got rid of communism through a revolution, in December of 1989.It was one of the bloodiest revolutions of Europe, unlike Berlin, Warsaw or Prague, but this is the part many know.What is very little known, especially to my generation, is that between May and June 1990, there were protests in Bucharest's University Square, aimed at replacing those who were leading the country at the time, former Communist Party members, with people who had not been involved in the oppresive regime that had just been dethroned.The vast majority of protesters were college students and disidents during communism.
For almost two months they lasted there and I heard some of the most touching protest-songs on the soundtrack of the film.On the 13th of June, the then-President, Ion Iliescu, asked the miners massed in the industrail/mining area quite close to Bucharest, to come to the capital and help the authorities clear the Square. They came,of course, without knowing exactly why they were there or why the people had gathered in the Square. They killed hundreds of people, students or simple passer-by's(the main criterion being "an intellectual appearance").
What makes the episode even more tragical,is that people outside Bucharest were made to think the protesters were hulligans, vandals high on drugs "supplied by negative, outside elements". The television only showed young people setting things on fire and not the police beating random people, or 5-10 miners kicking a woman.To this day most Romanians think that the people in "University Square" were being manipulated by the leaders of the 1990 opposition, drunk kids looking for trouble (and this, to my disappointment includes my parents).And it was the other way around.
It's been 14 years since the documentary was made, but it's been aired today for the first time.(Iliescu has been replaced this year as Head of State) I didn't know about the University Square events very clearly, because no one talked about them clearly. And this is scary, because you realise that they were not allowed to and that Freedom of Speech, one of the main rights the Revolution demanded, is actually not here, not ours. And it's scary that there's no way you can realise that, in a country were "indy media" is an almost inexistent concept and "civil society" a bitter joke.
I think I needed to hear protest songs , see what happened and eventually hear my parents say that this was not the version they knew, to remember some things.For quite some time I have been wondering why I actually want to study Poli Sci and why I talk about hoping to one-day work for Amnesty International. It's a weird feeling not knowing, just faintly remembering that there used to be solid arguments behind a decision you took.
As silly and as corny as it sounds, here are my arguments:those who died in '89, died for a better future, i you think about it;a better country is not made from the top of the pyramid downwards, but viceversa-it's up to the people;people still don't know what to do, because they are disappointed and afraid to ask; they are afraid to ask and disappointed because they have been thaught that having doubts means insubordination or because they realise they have been taken for fools and spoonfed lies;NGO's offer a counterweight to the public sector,prevent manipulation and can explain to everyone that having an opinion and then DOING SOMETHING about what causes your discontent, is the only way you can progress;I graduate from PoliSci, I know a thing or two about how to explain these things competently.In this way,I do my duty towards those who died and make people happier. Yay...(q.e.d)
I think Freedom of Speech is what allows us to really be human, achieve the best we can,maybe because I need an excuse for always being someone with "too many opinions, miss!"... I read about North Korea. That country is facing a new humanitarian crisis, with starvation rations being supplied to the population by a monstrous "government". Africa is in a similar situation, but you somehow know that you Can help, you are allowed to. North Korea is closed, ermetically. Because of their nuclear weapons foreign aid has been reduced drastically and the food that is sent to Korea, according to some evidence, does not reach the population. Outsiders are seldom allowed in the country, and you cannot do anything but feel helpless and hear how an entire country is forced into a sub-human state.
I've heard too many stories about how trapped you feel in a totalitarian regime, everyone over 25 has a story about that here (and we had Radio Free Europe, the one source for real news and..Western music). I cannot help but repeat in my head that There Must be something that the world can do to help North Koreans.But there's nothing but wait...and send money for those you Can help.
Secrets on Postcards
Last night I came upon the website which displays postcards on which people have written their deepest secrets .Reading, I felt like I had the opportunity to shake hands with the whole of mankind and be pleased with meeting them(and I'm not a big fan of touching or meeting people, on most days).I felt sorry for the countless times I have asked in a sweet voice "Honey, do I look like I give a fuck?.." www.postsecret.blogspot.com

night

2005-05-29T02:27:00.000+03:00

There are times when you think the whole world is as peaceful as you and your immediate surroundings.I was sitting in the kitchen, half an hour ago, with a good cup of coffee on the round table I always loved, Debussy adapted for a guitar duo on the radio, my philosophy textbook in front of me, written in such a twisted and pretentious way that I was forcing myself to think and restructure, a beautiful summer night. I thought then that this is as good as it gets.
It's strange how I got attached to this town, because Satu Mare epithomises "The Province".You get to know everyone's habits, everyone's lovers and mistresses, everyone's fortune, you know everyone, maybe not by name, but by type.It's not the town in which you are allowed to screw up or, if permission is granted, it's only for the sake of gossip. But then, it's nights like this one....In how many places can you hear a train crossing a rail-bridge three kilometres away, and still be able to think that the same train is actually sneaking its way through the maze of concrete blocks and narrow streets below you?..Steps, the sound made by lighting a match... car-less, siren-less, the sound of too many crickets...
A wedding somewhere downtown, there was this almost muffled sound of exploding fireworks. I looked at the sky, they were somewhere behind me. But I could still see them, reflected, as they went up, on the windows of the 5th, 6th, 7th floor apartments from the building across the street. Mihai-my 9-year-old neighbour and fellow Peter Pan fan..It would have been so easy to persuade him that Tinkerbell really existed. A small creature flying graceously from the 5th to the 6th floor and back , through the ceillings, leaving sparks of her presence behind....
This whole night is Italian-flavoured to me. Luigi Capuana and his short-stories of the Italian South at the beginning of the past century, Roberto Benigni's "La Vita è bella"(a film whose actual images I remember so little...). But this is Romania, and reason tells me that the world cannot be as peaceful as I am. There was no news of a worldwide cease-fire agreement,or was there?..

tap trap tap

2005-05-26T02:22:00.000+03:00

Today was a good day for science!I encoded stuff, so I am sure you can all feel what I genius I think I am at the moment.The fact that I spent three hours doing something any 10-year-old who can type faster than I can and will not call an ex when the computer decides to shut down, would have done in half an hour, if we count the snack brakes and the "let me finish this Gameboy level" periods of frantic button-pushing, is-of course, not relevant.The green and pink result is, I think good enogh not to produce a trauma, but for safety I will not link it here.(Actually, I cannot, because it's still on the school's computer.)
I would also like to congratulate, on this occasion, the guys from the Math IT class for switching all the keys on the keyboard.Thank you dear pisheads for making my life and that of ten other people incredibly funny.Cherished weasels, it may be possible for you to type with your eyes closed but you shouldn't have assumed that the rest of us, the people who do not hack computers for porn, posses the same capacity. However, I must congratulate you for your patience(a quaility which I am sure developed after hours spent watching download-progress bars for such masterpieces as Matrix and Triple X, and the classic "A Night in Paris").I and several of my classmates invite you to visit us and hear the story of a half-hour spent "re-decorating" a keyboard.Please be assured of our warm receival and eternal gratitude.
Another point I wish to raise is the following: dear math IT boys, all seven of you who entered the door before me while I stood there, thinking about your poor mothers, no matter how many times you have called me a bitch, I still get to enter the door first! UNDERSTOOD?And I get to do this because I'm in a hurry and I'm short!Ifyou do this next time I'll tell Paris or...Bill, or someone...
More on the macho syndrome
I sometimes study on the pier, which is the closest thing to a quiet park in my neghbourhood.Last week, as I was sitting there making a list of what Plato may have been on when he came up with the Theory of Participation, three boys approached.I think they were somewhere around 9. They were passing a Red Bull can from one to another. The conversation went something like this:"Can you feel it yet?" "Yeah, uhum...I'm feeling it right now""Makes you feel better, doesn't it?" "Yeah, it's like I have a lot of power.Maybe if we buy more we'll be the best." I'm almost sure they were drinking liquified Redemption...The Red Bull is just a cover-up. I mean, even the slogan "Red Bull gives you wings". Can't you see? It was there all along.
I had to start being a normal blogger,so I am posting various tests results.
Your Birthdate: October 16
Your birth on the 16th day of the month gives a sense of loneliness and generally the desire to work alone. You are relatively inflexible, and insist on your being independent. You need a good deal of time (I knew there had to be a scientific explanation.It is official, I cannot help it-I was born like this) to rest and to meditate.
You are introspective and a little(more) stubborn.
Because of this, it may not be easy for you to maintain permanent relationships, but you probably will as you are very much into home and family. This birth day inclines to interests in the technical ("unplug the charger, leaving it like that,without a phone to charge,is a waste of electricity" The Genius of Me) the scientific, and to the religious or the unknown realm of spiritual explorations. (REDemption Bull)
The date gives you a tendency to seek unusual approaches and makes your style seem a little different and unique (now, am I only a little different or am I unique?) to those around you. Your intuition is aided by the day of your birth, but most of your actions are bedded in (fuzzy) logic , responsibility, and the rational approach. You may be emotional, but have a hard time expressing these emotions. Because of this, there may be some difficulty in giving or receiving affection.

She loves me..bla bla bla

2005-05-25T02:20:00.000+03:00

I've been checking my stats for this weblog far too often, I've been checking my email today more times than I'd like to remember(yahoo should give me a prize,like the prize they gave to the guy who hate McDonalds hamburgers everyday for the past 25 years).The manic checking is for no reason at all, I repet I did not check my emails for any specific purpose. I did not change my colour scheme to purple for any specific reason either(and this time I mean it, but of course you can always believe that it is for lack of wine that I did that, if the what I like to call "sine causa explanation" does not fully satisfy you).
It was a beautiful summer day today, the kind of day in which She holding her sun hat with one hand and vaguely squinting, is photographed by Him-the handsome owner of the Tuscany villa behind them, who has exchanged for a few hours his penguin-tail frock for tennis shoes.If you can not picture this, try picturing Anastasia and the guy from her last video, only in a sunnier decor. The "heavy on my heart" video was filmed in Romania,and I think the intention was to mate Hugo with Christian Andersen, for as long as they legally could.(copyright!..I am not That sick,although many people have assured me that I could easily direct hardcore porn. But I choose not to believe them!)Bottom line is, it snows in there, heavily and I ralised I always think of Russia as "red with snoflakes".(Britain-"linear abstract with kinks")could Romania be "redish with snoflakes"?No, of course not, because since immemorial times I linked my country to "raddish with kinks", it's just that I didn't know it until now.(it should be noted that names are awarded fairly randomly, and that I do not believe Romania is somewhere between Russia and Britain,when it's only somewhere between Russia and...history, squeezed right in there).
I went out tonight, for the first time in quite some time.I met A.(from Actress).We used to hang out a lot and then I just got pissed one night and told her exactly how I felt.You are fake!Fucking fake! She said leave right now, so I left right then and only looked back twice. She called today and said you didn't even say hello and I said I didn't see you, honestly. She said I'm not mad anymore and I thought you're missing the point. I said I'm not mad anymore either and I thought do you expect me to apologise.I dropped by her place and yeah,she did expect that.She made me listen to this song by a local band and asked me what I thought about it. I said the lead ("Lolita"'s boyfriend) has a good voice but they sound like the eagles, which is not exactly the best thing right now. She said why. And I said because there's this sound that belongs to a generation, and you sort of have to follow it, especially if you want to get a deal but anyway you like it I don't it's a matter of taste. And then I played this Creed song, which I like despite its corniness,and she said well I don't like This song, I like other creed songs but not this one. And I was thinking your not really going to drop this are you.And then she gets into the theory that does everything have to sound like Radiohead, or post-nirvana, and how do you explain the return to rock'n'roll.And in my head I was trying to come with an explanation about an artistic current and zeitgeist, and of course, I made a brief outline of the history of chair designing, how else?And retro is one thing, completely out there, in the 80's is another. And then she comes up with the genius line:well, if you think so you msut be listening to crappy dance music, because it's so popular lately.I said yeah, A., that's..exactly what I meant...People who argue for the sake of arguing and saying everything that comes to their mind as if it was a good argument, or relevant..My mind was screaming SHUT UP!DON'T!YOU'RE DOING IT AGAIN....TRADING THOUGHT FOR ATTENTION!STOP IT!
And anyway, I've always felt more comfortable alone(unless in a debate match, those audiences are cool..cause I shine)
Miss Bitchside slowly stood up and headed for the shower, thinking with dread that picture day was the following day and she could not find any clean trousers that did not have holes in them.

I stopped claiming to be sane...some time ago

2005-05-23T02:19:00.000+03:00

My hair is wet and I feel cold, not to mention scared by the possibilty of developing meningitis.When you've seen one of your best freinds in a coma, in a Romanian hospital(shudder),due to meningitis... it's not something you'd like to try.
I'm a hipochondriac of the worst sort.I do not have headaches, I have a tumor, it's not anemia,but leukemia in a terminal stage,I have cold hands, so one of these days my arm will have to be amputated. I'm not particualrly entertaining tonight, am I?Good thing is I don't have phobias; I once shot pebbles with a sling from the roof a seven-storey building,and cracked the windshields of two cars in the intersection right below;I went home and told my mom, laughing...I think her face was white for almost a week.
I'm in my final year, I've got my end-of-highschool exams(big deal around here) in only a few weeks. I haven't mentioned them here before, so you can all(huge number of readers) infere exactly how interested I am in them.The exam-related thing that comes to my mind most often in "getting wasted, on expensive wine when it's all done...wine ...*mental giggling*"
I had beautiful things to say in this entry, a few hours ago, at about the time my Internet connection disappeared in the bushes with who knows what punk.I lost all the beautiful thoughts, but in exchange I am offering you an excerpt of one of my Yahoo Messenger conversations(no, sorry, monologue), under the heading:
Welcome to the land of fuzzy
Alex : i do? huh! talk about sending wrong messages...now, if I don't believe you are fluffy (something I didn't state), is that something so wrong?Alex : I mean, i might say "I feel purple and green", and you might ask why (something I doubt, but for the sake of specualtion let's admit you would ask that),wouldn't you ask why because you were curious and not because you would be thinking" has she finally gone completely insane?...she is not green and purple!"
Random thought. There are many people I love, some of them don't know it, some of them know it although I never said a word, some of them fail to realise it. Being the pickiest person in the Universe when it comes to targets for affection, I know that if I love them they're special (or are very likely to become General Secretary of the United Nations).If I'm close to hating them..oh yeah! you keep on thinking you're special!(shouting this from a seven-storey-high building, with a beer in my hand). This paragraph was not meant to make sense, it was meant to fill some more space...
p.s:Chris, one of the few reasons I don't want to graduate, uses the word "ladies" for prostitutes...(Now. dude, dopey dear, if you are reading this...do not flatter yourself by thinking who knows what bullshit, I am not part of your fanclub- btw, there were girls fighting in the library for your phone number, they were giggling-it's just that you happen to be the most unintentionally funny person I've met..you and Mr. Moga, the lunatic turned English teacher)

Romanian Blues

2005-05-20T02:18:00.000+03:00

I was just dancing to this Brian Adams song a few minutes ago (now, if you could just picture a duck with trembling legs, auditioning for "Swan Lake") and my sister calls me, because there's something I had to see...30 seconds later I was jumping around, shouting "We got an award at Cannes!"..60 seconds later I was sitting on the couch thinking "No, we didn't, Cristi Puiu did..". Cristi Puiu is a great director, so great that after I watched one of his (looking for the correct term) short-length(?) films, I wanted to pack my bags and emigrate. This happens also after I have to deal with post-office clerks, so it wouldn't be completely extraordinary.Only the conversation between a father and his well-off son, in a posh restaurant in Bucharest was...so realistic,I was almost wondering where the catch was and only when I saw the English subtitling, did I realise that people outside Romania may have watched the film and, inevitably I began to wonder how it would appear to them...you take a step back and realise how abnormal and cynical a low GDP can make your life...I think I felt ashamed.
The son acted superior, the father very humble.My mother called today from work to ask me and my sister if it's ok with us if she has dinner out with the girls from work...Fortunatelly, that did not feel normal. Too often, Romanian parents feel inferior to their children.
"We got an award at Cannes!" I was just reading this book, written by a Romanian historian who's mostly abroad, about Romanian history, in the hope of getting an objective perspective.(It's frustrating to look through history books in the school library;most of them were published before 1989, thus tributary to comunist ideology.I read three pages and can't help feling brainwashed..)Lucian Boia, the dude I was talking about, actually managed to make some sense.And, one of the most interesting things he said that Romanians have a tendency of compensating their lack of importance as a people on the historical scene, by over-estimating the importance of the events they did take part in or take credit for the achievements of a few ilustrious Romanians.(Cristi Puiu's award, after all...)
I wouldn't have launched in this entire explanation that is of little interest, if it weren't for the comment someone posted on this site.(mr mockingbird3, if you are reading this, thank you!)Emil Cioran was mentioned.The person said Emil Cioran was Romanian, if I could tell him more about this philospoher and the place he comes from.I read that and couldn't hold back this bitter smile.Cras disinformation...Cioran may have been born in Romania, but he was not Romanian..He wrote very little in Romania, in his youth, during the 30's. He left and spent most his life in France.Most his works are in French, he owes his reputation to French culture. But Romanians love to remind everyone that you know, Emil Cioran was Romanian...And it's the same thing with Eugene Ionesco, Constantin Brancusi or Mircea Eliade. If he's famous he's ours...Oh, and gipsies too.Romanians would like them anywhere ales but here!They are synonimous with poverty, deliquency, lack of education and the source of Romania's reputation abroad for stealing .(Bollocks!) The moment the West(the West begins 5 km from here, I live on the border with Hungary...) took interest in this important minority, with interesting customs and some of the most beautiful physiognomies I have ever seen, the average Romanian started to take interest too.(but they still don't like them...What do you do with a minority the majority does not want to see fitting in, and it itself wants to live by its own rules, and having a serious identity problem?)
And Mr Mockingbird...stay away from Cioran!I think he's one of the spoilt brats of philosophy. The main principle is to say a categorical No to everything but your own philosophy...Maybe it's just me, but I get rashes when having to deal with people who refuse to provide a solution...
*collecting my speech cards*
Good bye everyone! Going to the Retro Party!

My make-up may be fading...

2005-05-19T02:17:00.000+03:00

My brain feels fuzzy.And furry...I am sure that if someone threw a pebble from inside my brain ( obviously, a hollow, dark place), all you could get would be this muffled sound (and brain damage, to a certain extent).I'm done with trying to pinpoint what's wrong in my life, due to the fact that I finally realised that you have to do some actual living to be able to have material for detalied analysis.I am doing that, feeling happy, being more and more in contact with reality and less and less Queen of Fantasyland(a realm that went bankrupt; poor management and uninspired investment policies did the trick) .But there's still something missing.I have ...volatile principles, a fluid spine...a huge yawn coming out of my mouth.Enough of this bullshit! Sometimes, very rarely, I even bore myself to death. Did I mention that doens't happen very often? (Of course, if you are impressed by my pain and sorrow, feel free to shed a few tears. I will be greatful if you send the handkerchief over here, as evidence! *sweet smile as wide as the smile of a psychotic clown*)
I bought my dress for my Graduation Ball today.It's a long, black dress, tight fitting, with a generous clevage. Sexy in a business-bitch kind of way. Now, if you think that these last few sentences were written in an enthusiastic state of mind, you are very wrong.The above description does not fit at all my idea of the ideal dress (actually, the "business-bitch" thing...sorta).The main reason for the irritation on my face when I look at it is that...it's a dress.I don't wear dresses, I wear my uniform skirt over my jeans, I cannot be "feminine" because I do not know what that concept entails. How can you be something when you have no idea what it is? And, if you are a girl...stop humming the Meredith Brook song!She sounds like she has multiple personality disorder or like she enjoys being so duplicitary. Ok, so maybe I'm a human being who would like to be just "a person".No female, no male.No,I don't feel trapped in my own body!
It's just weird how you have to expose and sell everything that you have on the outside.And girls (especially) falling into that trap,feeling special when they are complimented for something their will and intellect didn't have anything to do , without realising that they're automatically sending the message that they feel incapable of doing more and showing more.How the hell can some girls feel popular and confident on the sole basis of making guys feel attracted to them? You swayed your hips, and presented your breasts on the school hall.Unless you have always dreamt of being a strip dancer and consider streaptease as and art and having nothing to do with human sexuality (what am I saying here?!) you, as a person have achieved nothing(a guy's hard on on a school hall...that's not an achievemnt!ok?)!But hey...you can always be proud for what a good job your gene sellection process has done! I just cannot agree with the whole female arsenal for persuasion.You are somehow expected to meow your way, and sway your way and well..blow job your way,use arguments as little as possible, argue as little as possible, and if you don't achieve that... you get the nickname "boy" from an angry classmate!
Ok, deep breath. The whole ramble above has taken me too long to write, and I am not going to delete it.I realise it is a bit far-fetched and that I falied to see the other side of things. You are free to consider those opinions as part of the defense mechanism of a person with a few issues regarding image, or my angry outburst against...over-emphasis on sexuality, guys with a tendency to dominate, popular girls, "the art of seduction" , prom-night memories, invalid arguments, school halls and TV static during the only news bulletin in Romania that does not believe that the fact that Kylie Minogue has breast cancer is the most important story of the day! (Of course, I wish soon recovery to the "hold me and control me","hot-blooded" woman!)
*taking my hat off and bowing* I have to leave now, but I hope you have all become aware tonight of my talent to digress.If you're good and you just gave me a round of applause, I will sign your handkerchiefs, use them(but not to wipe my tears) and send them back to you! Thank you all!Love you all!
-on a more serious note:Jorgen , I feel honoured to have you as a friend..and thank you!-
A haiku I wrote...
Broken Glass
I sighed not for the slivers,
But for the sun-warmed water
I could never pick up.

no longer relevant title

2005-05-16T02:16:00.000+03:00

I've just finished doing my paper on "Inter War Britain" for tomorrow and I feel proud.Of course, I would have felt even prouder if the printer hadn't run out of ..whatever it runs out of...(is it ink? cause..like...there have to be certain components that differ from those in normal, fountain pen ink, because printer (well,not) ink does not smudge as badly. Of course, taking into account that it's me here and I can get smudges on everything and out of everything...maybe it should be called ink, after all. I mean, I have funky yellowish stains on every freakin' pair of trousers I own..from coffee... I walk fast even if I'm in a crowd and if people won't yield to the princess (me) and let me pass...screw you people, it's seven in the morning, need to drink my coffee and read my paper..I'll make my way through you, even if that implies severring a few limbs.(you know, a little tweeze here, one there...now. don't you just look lovely without that hand whose size you must have inherited from your very, very close relative, considering your I.Q, the Neaderthal Man. MOVE, Idiot!)As a result of this whole Blitzkrieg tactics, by the time I get to my classroom, there's half the quantity of coffee I initially had and double the possibility of me yelling my lungs and throat away out of nothing at the closest person I see....on one of my extrovert days, that is.

Ok, in case you were wondering, I'm half extrovert. Only half...I'm not sure if there's a pattern in the days I talk a lot and "communicate"(gotta love this word). It's just that sometimes I feel like talking and bugging everyone and other days I feel like being quiet and left alone and "Could you please leave me to reda my book? I am sure you mean well, but I'd much rather sit here, disect my life..I'm sure you understand" I'm sorry to disappoint the vast population of bloggers who takes pride in being "bipolar" and possesing multiple personalities and a long list of other psychical illnesses..guys, I'm not one of your...I also don't like Star Wars...or anime.. (let me Not get into the subject of why I don't like anime...because it could turn ugly, ugly implying all sort of refrences to obsure cultural anthropologists, and quoting statististics...and yes...I am a nerd and very proud of it..) I can also be nice, and polite, and extremely cold at times, and you don't wanna talk business with me, cause I will kick your ass at it...I felt the need to say this...Ah! I love myself on certain days! this makes absolutely no sense...
I also feel hungry...would any of you kind...err...gentlemen(thee!hhee! yeah..right...) like to take me out to dinner? I'm currently broke, but when I am queen..I'll send you the money and let you decide if you want to be first or second against the wall...
-Alex-(who sometimes goes by the name of Eva...Braun)

Smell the coffee!SMELL IT!

2005-05-11T02:14:00.000+03:00

The weather's grey , which means that I, the person whose moods are dictated by the quantity of sunlight per day, am feeling like a good dose of sleeping pills was forced through my throat. Not good...That, and the fact that I'm dizzy, contribute to my coming up with all sorts of odd theories about the modern world and Romania's situation. I am sure that you are only now beginning to realise the extent of my nerdiness. Yes, that's what I do, when I'm tired, drunk or travelling by train (unless I fall in love with that one guy in that one trainstation.."No...Don't go...I love you, after 30 full seconds of staring at you from the window of the dining cart...").
But, I will not bother anyone with my theories until they coagulate in a 30-minute-read ramble which will offend people from around the world and force the otherwise peaceful Romanians (read "too busy to sit with their eyes glued to a TV Romanians") to impale me.(Stay tuned!)
I think it's easy to start beliving that you, as an individual, cannot do anything to change the world. I definitely stopped believing for a while, and a poster of Mahatma Ghandi is still carefully rolled up in a corner of my room. Because it was a lot more fun and tragical in the same time to feel there's no purpose in life,and idealism was always there if I got drunk enough.(On this occasion, I would like to thank the lack of scrupules of the average Romanian bartender, who never bothered to ask about ages, when pouring us cheap vodka and water-filled beer!)What I'm trying to say here is that, maybe, I didn't know how much I missed knowing there's always a solution.And there's always something worth fighting for.And this post is utterly boring, unless you think that working for Amnesty International is the best thing in the world (which so is!).
I had big plans tonight for this blog, but I feel dizzy, a clear sign that my anemia is getting even worse or that I have a brain tumor.I would appreciate comments, if you are reading this...
-Alexandra-

apparently, they put a man on the Moon

2005-05-07T02:13:00.000+03:00

This day, eleven years ago Munch's Scream was recovered after it had been stolle. Lusitania was torpedoed today, almost a century again.The beauty of Encarta....
I came back home last night, drunk, scared and very tired and I went to bed this morning with this feeling that I should never be allowed to drink, in my life...I woke up with "OH, My fucking God!" in my head and my heart beating like crazy. the who is this? why am i here? we didndn't...oh, yeah we did...feeling. Yes, boys and girls, the feeling like you've done something too fun not to be wrong. I did not have a one night stand...it's just that feeling. And now the time to stand, look up, cloudy sky, question marks visible in my eyes, literally..they appear, you know. Yellow question marks.It's so people know they have to do some thinking. umm...What do I do NOW?
The guy I once loved and still like...um...a lot, apparently likes me too.Last night felt unreal, and this morning I have to chase away the fairies and gnomes( and other creatures invented by a. people who didn't know better b. very bored people, with severe childhood trauma ), have to banish them from under my bed, and my coffee...
this new century is bringing you down, all the places you have been
Miss Brightside felt confident.She knew that if he disappeared everything would be fine, as good as if he stayed.She smiled softly. He,and his dreams, and his decisions which left her gather pieces from the ground, should stay for now.And then, he would return to her, if that was what he wanted. Because Miss Brightside had learnt how to disappear herself. He. involuntarily, had taught her a lot.
this new century entails everything but certainty...
girls of a certain hair colour make me think of cat fights
-alex-

I may be here...I'm here

2005-05-05T02:12:00.000+03:00

And she became mainstream...Until I learn to build a propper website, I will use this one. Obviously, I am not happy with using it. I've kept this diary until now, but I'm abandoning it. And I feel all the regrets abandonment implies. In Diaryland you knew there were real people behind it. Because they were so real and non-corporate they could not offer many options for those with free accounts.And it began to bother me that my diary had no pretty pictures, and that there was not much I could do about designing.Andrew, I apologise...If you will bother to read this more often, kind readers* you will find here many links to diaryland diaries. Enjoy them!(sprinkiling ashes on my head)
May I just say my website looks sligthly schizophrenic?
The post-storm wind blew away the ashes from her hair.She picked up her books, wishing for John Stuart Mill to save her from misery and guilt.With a firm grip on her Coke can, Miss Brightside opened her textbook and let out a graceless yawn.
-Alexandra-
*there's a very good chance that I don't like you, your taste in music, political sympathies, your Tolkien favourite author, your books about inter-dwarf conflicts, your often mentioning fabulous deals, buy three for the price of one, your family, your 15 cats and your ignorance. But thank you for reading!