Sunday morning jazz...

I used to spend my Sunday mornings listening to jazz. This Sunday morning I've spent listening to Edith Piaf, as I'm about to send a few of her songs to my mother, who is a huge fan of hers. The recording I have features Mme Piaf introducing the songs inbetween, and it's quite impossible not to love her French accent. I might start speaking English with a French accent just for the heck of it. Well, it's my project for the summer, as I think I've mentioned about two billion times, to learn French. Or rather to brush up on the French I already know. And now back to Ye Olde Studies.

What a difference a day makes...

Well, that's a day, a shower, some crystal wax, moisturiser, powder, blusher, contact linses, mascara, bronze eye-shadow, a cup of coffee, and whatever. But you don't need to know all that. In an unusually Dolly-esque mood, I'm trying my best to make sure no one will ever see me pre morning routine. I think the closest I ever got was the early morning arrival in Stockholm with Sean M, on our way back from... That's right, Dolly. No coffee, no shower, only a horrid night next to a guy who insisted on talking about "interesting" things. I was feeling rough, to say the least.

Last night I had a weird dream about going to pick up my last exam, and the guy working in the reception had a ponytail and kept whining about bees and bear. He was literally just standing behind the counter going "iiiiiih, beeeeeeees". It was very odd. Even more odd is that it was yet another of those dreams where I can't see things properly, as if I'm not wearing glasses or contacts and have lost all sense of direction. I need to figure out what that means.

Odd like watching a teenage boy adjust his bra strap at the bus stop.

Yeah, well you think of a better title for this posting.

The hair is now cut, and no, I do not look like Annie Lennox (but thanks for the suggestion, Sean M). I suppose I kind of look a bit like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's baby or Jean Seberg in Á bout de souffle (that's what I was aiming for, by the way). My husband was initially unhappy about it, but has now gotten used to it (or so he claims) and has joined the ranks of Fans of the Hair. For those of you who haven't seen Á bout de souffle, here's a pic that I don't own the rights to:



Today's song is I ain't broke, but I'm badly bent. Because the title is funny.

Is Dorian Gray stalking me?

No, of course he isn't. But I spent the better part of last night feeling certain that he'd show up by my bedroom door in all his frightful beauty. I re-read The Picture of Dorian Gray yesterday, and it's one of those books that just refuse to let you go. Cliché? Obviously. Still true though. I've got a painfully cheap copy of the book that I got at a sale when I was in my early teens or whatever, and it contains both Dorian Gray and the story about the Canterville Ghost. Cool, huh? I heard the Canterville Ghost story when I was a kid and I was so scared I felt sick. And for ages afterwards I nurtured a phobia of corridors, which I think remains with me to this day, really. In a diluted form, of course.

During the brief period I did actually sleep last night, I had a weird dream. I was going to Västgöta nation for some sort of weird party, along with the guys from Miami Ink for some peculiar reason. Only we were all living out in the forest by a lake, and there were loads of problems to actually get to the bloody party. I told everyone else to go ahead, and I'd get there later. So I was staying behind, trying to sort my hair and stuff out, which ended up with my hairspray exploding and me losing my eyesight. In the end I managed to get to Västgöta, but it was a pain trying to get anywhere as I couldn't see anything. Yeah, whatever.

I'm getting my hair cut on Monday. Can't bloody wait.

Like a knife...

I had a dream last night. It was quite detailed, and most of those details I've forgotten, but there was one bit that really stuck with me. Twice in this dream, I was attacked from behind by a guy with a knife. First time, I was standing with my back towards a room, looking out through a window, and the guy just sneaked up on me, grabbing me and pressing a really sharp knife against my throat. I managed to break free by grabbing his wrist and hit it against something, causing him to drop his knife. The second time, I was again standing in front of a window with my back towards the room, when I see another guy entering the room. The door was on the opposite side. This time I could see how he was sneaking up on me, but it was like I knew that the knife was either really blunt or made out of plastic, so I didn't bother saying anything until he grabbed me just like the other guy had done, and pressed this harmless knife against my throat. I just told him I knew the knife wouldn't hurt me, and he let go off me, and we were laughing about it together. This second guy was someone I knew (in my dream), like the boyfriend of one of my friends or something. The first guy was anonymous.

I can't really interpret this dream, but it feels significant. I would like to say that on some level the knife is phallic. My back turned towards the room and hence the danger, symbolises some sort of lack of control. The laughter after I've disarmed the second guy could mean that it's something that I've overcome; the first time it was unpleasant and potentially dangerous, the second time it was just something to laugh about. On a more shallow level, this interpretation doesn't really mean anything to me. I think the concept of some sort of danger makes sense though. Probably the lack of control as well. But the knives? It feels important that the first knife was sharp and the second one plastic. Ah, whatever. I'll think some more about it when I got a moment to spare.

What's that noise? The noise of the Land Baron snoring...

Actually, I don't snore. But it I did, I'd soon be at it, because I'm bloody knackered. Don't know what's up with me. Had a good sunny day today. Went to a seminar, then pissed about by the river with Friend with Gerbils and Kitzboy. Very cosy indeed. We then went searching for sunglasses for me and sneakers for Kitzboy. He's fussy, that's all I can say. Possibly just as fussy as I am about my sunglasses. I've got a crazy pair of faux Guccis that I got in Thessaloniki a couple of years ago that I might consider using, although probably not, huh?

Well, whatever. Today is my Friday, which means that I might soon give in to the temptation of snuggling up in the sofa with a glass of wine and just relax. Tomorrow I'm going to start with my paper. Hardcore, ya'll. And I'm playing folk music with my Friend with the Dreadlocks and German girl.

This post is full of stupid nicknames. I'm tired. I offer you that as my explanation. If you want to offer me your first-born in return, feel free.

I drum my collarbones to country music..

That's not just a random set of words, I actually do. I've been listening to a lot of country lately, and I find myself drumming my collarbones whenever something upbeat comes on. I've got a weird sort of love/hate relationship to country music. I hate it because it's so bloody cheesy. On the other hand, I love it because it's so bloody cheesy. Seriously. It's this wide-eyed fascination of the absolutely most mundane things in life. "I'd set my alarmclock for seven o'clock... [violin] But I pressed snooze a couple of times... [violin] When I got up, I noticed you'd left a note for me... [violin and upped drama] On the kitchen counter - the note was of white, bleached paper... [drums leading into the chorus]" Et fucking cetera. I love it. Yeah, well, I'm trying to balance out the song currently stuck on a loop in my head. I just can't stop singing it. I think in comparison you'll find that country - despite it's whining - is pretty god damn cheerful.

Anyways, at the moment, I'm bloody tired. I was planning to cut class today, but my sneaky plans were immediately cut short when my beloved lecturer appointed me the person to pass on the message that... Actually, I can't remember, so I'm hoping he'll be there so I can just remind him to do it himself and I won't have to make a complete fool of myself. I might anyway considering I'm wearing a pink scarf with a camouflage-coloured skirt.(welcome to the amazing world of colour analysis for the colourblind... The skirt in question might be bright orange for all I know).

Oh yeah...

I've stopped listening to the radio, but I listen a lot to stuff on MySpace right now, and I just wanted to warn everyone about the band that I think will get the most time on the air this spring. Just so ya'll know. I don't particularly like them, they're a bit too anonymous for my taste. But they're radiofriendly.

So what school did Scrappy-Doo attend?

My husband was acting very stoned the other morning. I found him laughing his head off in front of the computer.

"What's so bloody funny," was my eloquent question.

"You know Scrappy-Doo?"

"Yeah..."

"I mean, what's the deal? How come he can speak fluently and Scooby-Doo only makes incoherent noises? Did they go to different schools or something?"

I look at my husband like he's a retard. Then I decide to ignore him and his laughing by listening to some classical music. Until he demands my attention again, to explain why it is that Scrappy-Doo can talk and Scooby-Doo can't.

"Oh, right, they're not brothers or anything, Scrappy-Doo is Scooby's nephew! He's the son of Scooby-Doo's sister Ruby-Doo... Well, that makes sense."

And he's not even saying it ironically. He actually think that the above reasoning makes sense. I find that scary and funny in equal parts.

The Cool Cat is Back!

I moved into this flat in late July last year. One of the first things I noticed about the surrounding landscape was a fat black-and-white cat who would sit for hours on end in the grass on the aforementioned hill outside my window, looking intently at the ground. My guess is that he was waiting for mice to forget about his presence and wander out into the sunshine so that he could attack them and eat them. Well, he's been away during the winter, and today is the first day since last year that I've seen him, so that must mean that winter is officially over. I mean, if the cat says so, right? Listen to the cat, is what I've always said. Ok, fine, I've never said that, but whatever. I declare that saying the new black.

Any old how, the award for best text message ever sent at 7:29 in the morning goes to my youngest and blondest friend who sent me this little gem of a reflection earlier today:

"Ok you have to admit that flames, camo and cowboyboots DONT MATCH! So why do young ignorant women keep wearing them?!"

My uninspired answer back, at 7.50 A.M was a short "Do we?". Only at 7.50 in the morning will I admit to being a young ignorant woman. Quite funny now when I think of it, really.

Telling young adults about condoms...

Thankfully only in my dreams. I had the strangest dream last night. I was a substitute teacher in a school that was located not far from where I used to play as a child. It was pretty run down and it was pretty much chaos everywhere. I was supposed to take over the history class, but thanks to crazy circumstances, I had to do sex ed with this group of fifteen or so 18-yo's. It was kind of funny, because they were all terribly inexperienced, and whenever I said "well, you know about this right", they went "no", and I had to tell them about really basic stuff. Then I had to teach them about safe sex, and my method to do this was exactly the same as one I was subjected to some ten years ago. I was trying to demonstrate for them how to roll on a condom by using someone's fingers. Yeah, I had to do this in sex ed once when I was young - I was given the choice whether to roll a condom onto my then best-friend's fingers or have her roll one onto mine. I refused both. Any old how. I was doing this in my dream, telling these oblivious kids about how it would only roll down if you put it on the right way and loads of shit. I've tried to interpret this dream, but I score nothing. My conscious interest in telling teenagers about safe ex is very limited, although I suppose it could be a reaction to a feature on the news a couple of days ago about how the abortion ratio has increased with 50% or something in the past decade. Maybe the dream holds a wish to educate kids to avoid abortions or something. Ah, whatever.

Now I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon studying. Then hockey. Very important game on tonight.

Dropping the body of Christ...

So I just got back from church. New church, first time I've ever been there. Second time I've been to church in this city. I draw the conclusion based on these two visits that some things are done differently here than back in my little hillside redneck mountain town, but whatever. I made the bad decision of going on a family service. Sitting next to an old man who was singing like his life depended on it - no problems with that really - and behind four little trolls. Well, trolls, children, whatever you want to call them. One of the little children, a boy of four or five or so, was in front of me in the line to communion. I was kind of observing him as he picked up the bread, dipped it in the wine, took a bite, dropped the rest on the floor, picked it up again, blew off some dust and then ate it. When I get back home, I express my dislike for this incident to my husband. I mean, I wasn't that pissed off about it, I was just saying "well, this kid was dropping the body of Christ on the floor". Then I demanded my husband give me back my walkman so that I could meditate to the soothing sounds of Mozart. He seemed to get a bit annoyed and said that he couldn't understand that I was so upset that this kid dropped a piece of bread on the floor and yet deny him to use my walkman. I just think his logic leaves a lot to be desired. Just saying.

Today I'm off to play violin with my friend with the dreadlocks. Good. Looking forward to it. I need to play some folk music to let off some steam. Today is the Sabbat, so I'm going to be doing absolutely nothing useful whatsoever. Sabbatical laziness is my new way of avoiding stress. Good huh?