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Yuletide Musings

Posted by idetest on December 24, 2012

But at Christmas time just listening to the endless “Oh, what are you doing for Christmas? You going home? Where’s home for you? Big family?” conversations takes its toll. So last night I was thinking about all my childhood Christmases always held at my grandparent’s house.

So I go on google earth and have to spend a good twenty minutes trying to find their house, find it and then get disturbed because in my mind it’s red and white, the same colour as when my granddad built it single-handedly in the 1970s after him and my grandmother saved up all their lives to buy their own farm.

But no, the street view photo is from 2011. The house is now beige. My granddad has been living in one of those semi-independent care home/village type places for over two years or so now (He must hate it, this was a man who’s garden shed was a huge barn where you could find anything and where he once built a plane out of boredom). I’d forgotten this because in April it’ll have been four years since I moved to England, and nine years since my parents split up and I only got to see my grandparents a handful of times after that.

This then reminds me that my grandmother died four and half years ago and I never really spent any time with her after mum and dad split up. This then reminds me how embarrassingly emotional my dad was at her funeral and how odd it was that all my aunts and uncles were so composed and calm whilst he went to pieces. I thought at the time “Yeah, play it up drama queen, the will’s already been written”, and spent more time thinking about his antics than about my own grandma finally at rest after a long and horrible battle with cancer.

This, matched with the shitty non-present he sent me (In a reused envelope with two fifty cent cards (my birthday is the 28th), signed in my step-mum’s handwriting), made me realise I didn’t even know where he lived anymore; I forgot he moved to Australia. I didn’t know which part. I can’t remember any of my stepsister’s children’s ages. I looked up their address from the cards and judged him for moving to a new country but moving to the same sort of non-descript beige subdivision he lived in in New Zealand.

Then my brother emailed me trying to organise for my technologically retarded mother what time she should ring me to wish me a merry Christmas. So when she rings in about an hour, as she flaffs about I the kitchen attempting to cook a chicken but really just burning everything, all I can really say is that despite all my complaining and judgements of them, I kinda do miss my family. They’re not perfect, but when everyone else is complaining about theirs and dreading sitting at the table and making posts about how they nit-pick about about their life decisions my extended family never do that, I always looked forward to seeing mine. Sure, they’re all FUCKING CRAZY, dysfunctional, thrice-married, alcoholic, amoral, badly-dressed, compulsive breeders who find it impossible to stay faithful to their spouses but for the first sixteen years of my life I had a solid familial unit and an extended family who were all up in each other’s business. Decisions were made and discussed as one, I had cousins who I adored and aunts and uncles who would jump in front of a car for me, and the idea that eight year later I’m sitting here at the literal other end of the world looking forward to my Christmas day of Mexican food and Battlestar Galactica DVDs is completely alien to what I raised with.

Is this just what happens in one’s twenties or have I for so long run from family after watching it disintegrate so completely that I forever shut myself off from ever being a proper part of one? Not a massive, “OMG what is meaning of life!?” moment but more a “Huh, so this is where I am” realisation.

 

tl;dr

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Housekeeping

Posted by idetest on March 23, 2011

I’ve neglected you of late, I know. I die of the shame. So here, in my beloved list form, is some stuff you should think and consider as your drink yourself into unconsciousness on this warm spring eve.

1) I read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I wish I hadn’t a lovely little story about emotional manipulation and hot guys who be packin’s bein’ all rebel with a cause a la nineteenth century ruined by being written by a Brontë sister and their godforsaken love of God and fuckin’ Jesus.

2) Also now reading Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. Yeah, wish I wasn’t. If you ever desire to read this just skip from about page 250 to 400 otherwise you will find yourself sitting on public transport tutting, rolling your eyes and lobbing it across the train with an exasperated “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” at the pathetic protagonist’s lack of a backbone or any sort of testicles.

3) Saw True Grit. Friend and I did so on a whim after we decided Never Let Me Go looked depressing. Instead we got weirdo southern cowboys and proto teenage lesbians. And Matt Damon doing a Chuck Norris impression. And squickly violence. This was the week after we went and saw Black Swan and were both still “Ew, EWWW!” over the scene with the finger…

3a) I still love you Keira Knightley.

4) I’m on a diet. This is exciting, no?

5) Read this

6) And then pay it no heed, cos girl you FIERCE! (Except you, you’re ugly).

7) I bought new shoes! Hurrah for credit card debt and our generation thinking nothing of spending money we haven’t got!

8 ) Met The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, Prince Richard (Who?) and The Duke of Westminster over’t weekend. And also John Prescott. Google him you ignorant, unwashed hobos.

9) And by met I mean served them food at a 5* hotel.

10) And by served I mean I nearly dropped it in their laps and then got yelled at by my manager.

Wish you were me yet?

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My life, is Like, Really Hard, Y’know?

Posted by idetest on January 17, 2011

Hola chicos

I hear you, asking, nay, berating yourselves over your callous ignorance of my suffering and what causes it. I shall tell you.

My next door neighbour snores like a banshee getting a Brazilian wax. Like a freight train in a Bruce Willis movie. Like the screams of a Catholic Priest at the end of  a swimming lesson.

And yes, even though he may live next door I can hear him. At midnight. At 1am. At 2am. At 3am. You get the picture. The man is my constant companion in life. I may civil partner him just to get me through these long winter nights.

Anyho, these are the steps I have taken so far.

1) Bitter ranting

2) Screaming abuse

3) Banging on the wall (Useless as the wall is made of stone or some shit and rock solid. It sounds like I’m hitting a fish against a fat person’s thigh).

4) Earplugs. I, your humble narrator has to wear these hot, sexy and yes quite daring and avant-garde orange earplugs to be able to get one’s requisite thirteen hours of sleep every night. It’s hellish.

And they don’t even work. But why am I surprised. They’re Boots own brand.

Here’s what I shall try next

1) Alcoholism. I won’t care if I’m passed out by 9pm.

2) Drug addiction. See previous. Also may take up ganja again to help me cope with the stresses of modern life and city lying which are currently driving me to empathise with serial killers.

3) A small animal impaled on a spike left on the doorstep with a note written in blood reading ‘STOP SNORING OR YOU’RE NEXT’.

Obvs. I’m keeping this all in perspective.

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Christmas. It’s so Gay. And not in the good way.

Posted by idetest on December 27, 2010

Hola Chicos,

I Hope we all had a good one.

In fact I hope it was so good that you’ll all want to keep the memory sacred by never having another opportunity to have it ruined by a mediocre Christmas next year. And with that in mind I say we ban Christmas.

Now I know what you’re thinking “Oh, he’s a rampantly anti-Christian liberal, leftie bastard who won’t let us celebrate our mildly paedophiliac (Word?) holiday about some bitch what got knocked up and was too embarrassed to tell everyone the truth that the father was Bucktooth Barry and not the School Football Captain, Joseph (Little did everyone know though that Joseph had a baby dick and a water sports fetish. So, all in all of course poor wee Mary had to go find love in the arms of another).”

Which I am.

But also I am a Socialist Muslim Terrorist Commie who believes that Capitalism and Organised Religion form two corners of the trinity of evil (Lesbians being the third corner) and that when they are brought together humanity’s darkest days are upon us.

Want Proof?

Dec. 26, 2004. A magnitude 9.0 quake struck off the coast of Sumatra, triggering tsunamis that swept through the coastal regions of a dozen countries bordering the Indian Ocean. The death toll has been estimated at between 225,000 and 275,000.

Dec. 26, 2003. An earthquake devastated the ancient city of Bam, in central Iran, leaving between 31,000 and 43,000 people dead.

And that’s just what I found on some weird Canadian news website after approximately three seconds of googling. The fact that both those things happened in mostly Muslim and other non-Christian countries further proves a point…or possibly ruins my point. I’m not sure. There are arguments for both

Non Christians deserve to die BECUZ DEY IS MUZALIM INFIDELZ.

Non Christians have died as God’s wrath against us for our butchering of Christmas.

Whatever. I’m just glad they didn’t happen here.

In short, I say we ban Christmas. Mostly cuz I’m fucking sick of it.

Think about it.

  • Everything shuts down for weeks.
  • You have to spend it with your family. Ew.
  • It’s destroying the world’s natural resources by making us buying lots of Made In Taiwan plastic junk that’ll be used for approx. five seconds before we tire of it and throw it away.
  • Bad, bad, BAD, BAD Christmas Television.
  • The poor Queenie having to do her annual message. She’s not a natural on camera, can she please be let off this obviously stressful duty and allowed to go and glug down a few bottles of sherry like every other OAP on Christmas Day?
  • I may have mentioned having to spend it with one’s family already but there are certain things in life that one must always make sure that other people are aware of. Like the horrors of enforced family togetherness time.

So, who’s with me? Let’s KILL JESUS!

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Yuletide Bitchin’

Posted by idetest on December 22, 2010

Hola chicos

Well today I started my Christmas Vay-Cay (Heeeey!) so I thought I’d celebrate with vodka, jesus LIST OF THINGS I DOTH HATE

Ok, mein ein kinder, it’s been a long and hard winter so far and the Lord sees fit to let it continue so I warm myself by glugging down the sweet nectar and letting my-inner-not-very-nice-person-but-good-deep-deep-deep-deep-deep-deep-down engage it’s full on hatetitude.

Hallelujah. Stuck that in yo’ pipe and smoke it, Jesus (Pronounced Hey-Zeus. You racist)

  1. The inability of humanity to subdue their base instincts while using public transport and forcing me to deal with their disguising habits while enclosed in a metal box hurtling through the underworld.
  • These include the sub categories of
  • Slightly overweight blonde girls in Ugg Boots who can’t seem to lift their feet while traipsing their fat asses around the town. For fuck’s sake lift up your fucking feet you crass, classless little plebs before I take those ugly pieces of filth of your feet and ram them down your over-used piehole of a mouth. You slags (said in a Barbara Windsor voice).
  • Them what make out on public transport (particular mentions to disgustingly attractive Spanish, French, Italian and other romance language nationalities. Especially the teenagers. You fuckers, just go make a sex tape if you’re so desperate for us to see your O-face. Also mentioned: unattractive, overweight people desperate to prove they can get some. At least the continentals just go in for some kissy-kissy actions. If I wanted to see you dry hump something I’d wait in your closet until you thought you were alone with your World of Warcraft boxes. Sick)
  • Fat people. You know your crimes.
  • Tourists what don’t seem to understand basic instructions: move to the side if standing on the escalators rather than walking up them, move to the side of the platform rather than standing in the entrance with what seems like every suitcase ever made, rather than blocking it for everyone else. I hate you all. Except Germans, I quite like German ones: they apologise if you glare at them while they’re doing it and shamefacedly hurry out of the way. Bless.
  • People who seem to think we can’t see them picking their nose. Dude, you’re in a carriage with 100 other people. We’re a metre away from you. We can see you licking your fingers afterward as well. You are disgusting and when the revolution comes I shall make sure you are first in line for the firing squads.
  • TFL in general. A strike? On BOXING DAY? Oh, you utter cunts.

2. X Factor, ITV and all those who watch it. Yes, all twenty million of you. It’s terrible! The bloke who one couldn’t even sing and it seems more and more apparent that yes, Cheryl Cole is actually as dumb and chavvy as first thought and yet, YET still 1/3, ONE FUCKING THIRD of the population watched it. There must have been hospitals full of people just holding on to die just to get those sort of numbers. It’s a travesty. I refuse to partake in anything X-factor related unless it’s an official burning ceremony for all of Cheryl Cole’s hair extensions.

3. The Tories. Then again…. did you know the partner/wife/girlfriend/beard of the émigré Jew henceforth known as The-Miliband-Brother-What-Won is worth £16 million? Yeah, she’s a Paris Hilton in disguise heiress to some bizarre fortune. This may be wrong. It may be someone associated with them. But whatevs. Close enough for my liking for me to say “They are all as bad as each other.”

4. That Jodi Picoult is still writing novels.

5. Sarah Palin is still around I see.

6. The world’s continued refusal to realise how brilliant I am and that I should be listened to emphatically on all subjects.

7. The fact that people think I should find their children cute. I don’t. I’m tempted to push it in front of a car. Especially if it touches me again, if I liked children surely I’d have closed my eyes, lay back and thought of Ricky Martin (ahem) with some of psychologically unstable, obese McDonalds employee named Denise to have a few of my own by now. Obvs. that is not the case. (I swear to Allah it isn’t).

So no, the next time your only reason for living (get a life, you sad maladjusted freak) decides to LOOK at me or even worse, BREATH near me, do not be surprised if I dropkick it into the path of an oncoming large vehicular shaped thing quickly coming towards at a high speed. Because, that, that my darling is what I find cute.

8. Snowmageddon! Snowpocalypse! …Or in reality a few inches of snow. I don’t understand why every year the newspapers go mad. It’s just frozen rain, you don’t need to run articles saying (as was in the Daily Express this morning) that Christmas would be ruined and we were facing a zombie apocalypse because soon the supermarkets would have empty shelves. Huh, frankly that would be a good thing for most people if we all lived on our fat reserves for a few days. A collective national detox. Most wonderful.

9. Americans. British slang. It’s just painful for everyone. This also goes for British people being obsessed with Americanisms…and more recently Australianisms: Aforementioned bloody Ugg Boots. Ugh.

10. Christmas time in general. No, I don’t want to spend hundreds of pounds on shitty gifts for friends and family that they don’t want or need, no I don’t want to have to wait several weeks for everyone to come back to work and to sober up. I want my services and I want them open NOW! No, I don’t care about NYE. I spend my life staying up till midnight and drunkenly saluting the clock going “Well, you win another day, monsieur (*suddenly points out arm and waves finger menacingly*) But my time shall come!” I don’t see why I should have to do it with the rest of humanity on this particular night.

There’s also the usual rant about how capitalism is evil, etc, etc in there as well. Just look for it. Read between the lines.

Good night.

Now fuck off.

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Winters Warmers and WhatFuckingEvers

Posted by idetest on December 2, 2010

Hola chicos, how you been?

Some points for contemplation

1) We have snow in London. If I could be bothered I’d put up photos. I cannot be however. Anyway, the fun part has now finished and now we are just at the ice, ice baby stage of not being able to walk on the pavement for a fortnight without doing some sort of crazed Benny Hill-esque comic act and ending up arse first on the ground. Sigh.

2) Listening to Alanis Morissette, as everyone should, the wonderful, crazed barefoot and pregnant woman she is – Canadian though, but acceptable. Like Dion, Celine  and Reynolds, Ryan- I noted in her song “Oughta Know” she says the line “Does she speak eloquently?” which as a child, when my parents bought me the 1995 Grammy Nominees cassette (‘member those?), I thought she said ‘Eloquenee’; some sort of strange, secret North American language not known by us in the Southern Hemisphere. It was several years before I discovered the actual word. We shall not mention the fact that I was seven and listening to songs that included lyrics about giving blowjobs in a movie theatre. Blame my parents. God knows I do.

3) Tonight I worked at the launch party for the BBC’s Winter Programming Schedule. It included Little Britain, Eastenders and Doctor Who. Ugh, I hate the poor.

Also I eavesdropped on their conversations. They were all talking about X-Factor. Make of that what you will.

4) How fabulous are the Wikileaks Us Embassy Cables? I’ve been reading them incessantly. They’s brill. If you haven’t read them I demand you go here and catch up on what Prince Andrew’s been doing in Central Asia, how the Chinese aren’t quite as insane as well all first thought and how Americans are actually slightly more astute than they are given credit for (except for that whole letting them get leaked thing).

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It is darkest before the dawn…and all that shit.

Posted by idetest on November 3, 2010

So.

Sarah Palin continues her upward momentum to take over the world and kill us all because American Liberals were too ‘meh’ to get off their hypocritical fat arses and go vote. Screw you guys and your damn economy. If it wasn’t for that we could ignore you like we do every other country with puritanical mindsets and a quasi fundamentalist government.

However, in happier news: Brazil elected its first female el presidente (is it the same in Portuguese? They’re basically the same language right?). And lo and behold she’s a former Marxist Rebel! And was an unwed mother! Oh, blessed be she is going to Rip. Shit. Up.

Speaking of socialists with an agenda (Aren’t I always?) here’s a clip of the wonderful UK comedian/tv presenter and sometime drag queen Paul O’Grady giving an impassioned speech on the state of the UK.

(I apologise for the weird cuts to Parliament. I have no idea if that was in the actual broadcast or if the youtuber put them in.)

I love this man. He also rules because he calls out the gays on their stupidity regarding safe sex and HIV. And as you know my thoughts on ‘stupid gays’ are of a negative persuasion (USE A FUCKING CONDOM WHEN YOU’RE FUCKING FUCKING, YOU MORONS!).

And speaking of the gays- I am not even going to comment on Stephen Fry and his latest shenanigans. Mostly because I don’t like Stephen Fry and am glad he’s finally going to get told.  However I may give him snaps cos…

This is basically my version of the Bible

Also, no gay men, you do not get to comment on women’s sex lives. Just like as a man in general we should always hold our tongues about abortions. Well kinda…y’know it’s best not to generalise on that specific subject but you get where I was going right?

Anyway, ta ta. And God Speed.

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Well I have one in Leopard Print. So there!

Posted by idetest on October 18, 2010

So my beloved M.I.A. went out dressed like this the other night to an award show.

So basically what she’s trying to say here is that the recent burka ban in France was bad? Or that women who wear burkas are not being persecuted and oppressed because it’s their choice? Or that they are because it isn’t their choice? Or that in the west we misjudge them? Or that we misjudge M.I.A. and don’t really know her? (admittedly this is a strong possibility as Americans who comment about her are often surprised to discover she’s not an American let alone a British born Sri Lankan) Or is she saying that what’s on the outside does/doesn’t matter and we don’t really know someone by seeing them and prejudging them? Or is she saying “Dang this is some cool shit I picked up at duty-free in Islamabad?”

Well whatever. When I get blown up on the tube by a suicide bomber I’ll know who to blame.*

*Americans. Because you couldn’t just let Obama take over and make us all into Muslim Socialists, could you? Tea Party cunts.

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We’re all getting older.

Posted by idetest on October 16, 2010

Hola chicos

So I noticed something as I gout out of bed at 5.30am everyday this week to go serve sandwiches to a bunch of investment bankers (you wish I was joking, don’t you? Or at least my bank balance does) that it was now too cold to run back to my room in a towel after my shower. Which officially means it’s winter in my book.

Unlike everyone else I love winter. I’m not sure why but here are my reasons for why cold weather is better.

Hell

1) This a purely personal reason; I honestly believe my body thermostat is higher than everyone elses. I am always too hot and sweating. I have the heating in my room turned off and notice I am walking around in a t-shirt while others are bundled up in coats. It might just be caused by my ability to walk abnormally fast or my constant neurotic worry but I doubt it.

2) I don’t tan. I don’t burn either…I just don’t change colour. Even on beaches of tropical islands. It’s not fair. My father is an olive-skinned Arab (in all but name) who constantly gets asked where he’s from or if he’s Maori – he is nothing exotic but merely a farmer who has been working outdoors in a black singlet since he was sixteen. My mother meanwhile is a rosy-cheeked Englishwoman with reddish hair and green eyes. She didn’t get her first proper tan till she was in her thirties and she was forced to come to the colonies.  and yet now she runs around the place yearlong in sleeveless shirts gently illuminated by a golden tan. And no, it’s not just the over-priced moisturiser with bronzer in it she uses. But alas, despite this my older brother (who unfortunately does burn. Even when covered in sunscreen and indoors) and I did not inherit these genes. It’s not fair.

I have spent several years of my life sitting on beaches and back gardens attempting to tan only to come back inside with a headache and vague hope of having changed colour from “vanilla yoghurt” to “apricot yoghurt”. I am still waiting. Although once I did get terribly sunburnt on a beach while spending the afternoon attempting to read Anna Karenina. Not only did I have to sleep on my stomach for two weeks but I still didn’t get very far through it.

3) I grew up in New Zealand. Which thinks it’s a lot hotter than it really is. Adjust your love of summer accordingly.

4) I love beaches but I’m not in love with them if you get me.

5) Long black coats, scarves, gloves, fireplaces, pubs…stop me when you need to.

6) Have you ever tried to sleep in a small bedroom on a hot summer’s night? Especially when where you live is mosquito central and you may die of blood poisoning if you keep the window. My father’s response to this was to buy a small cheap portable fan for me to use in the night. It didn’t work. I couldn’t feel any breeze from over a metre away and it wasn’t exactly quiet.

7) Like I said, I walk fast and am neurotic and spend my life sweating an embarrassing amount anyway, I don’t need blazing sunshine added in to the mix.

8 ) Me? Shirtless? Warn your children.

9) My summer outfits require a certain amount of ‘grin and bare’. I don’t really have the build for them. Also I look silly in shorts and my head is too big for most sunglasses. And how are you supposed to go to work in summer? Because everywhere I’ve worked during a summertime since reaching adulthood requires a uniform or some other source of sartorial problem which leads me to becoming a dishevelled and perspiring mess on my way there. I arrive looking about as ready for work as Pammy Anderson would if she got a job at a book store (God, that was a great TV show, right?).

10) Summer is for the beautiful people. I hate the beautiful people. With their six packs and their lack of chest hair and their tallness and their slimness and their blonde hair and their tans and expensive beach attire and ability to look good in sunglasses and jandals. Fuck ’em all.

11) Barbeques. ‘Nuff said.

12) Salads also. I love a good salad but it’s too hot to eat much else between November and March in the old country.

13) Schooltime. Who the hell designed the school year so as we return to sitting in classes with thirty other pubescent BO-ridden adolescents in fucking JANUARY?

14) My birthday is in summer. Between Christmas and New Years. There was never anyone else around for me to have a  party. Tis something that carried on into adulthood. I spent most of my birthday’s alone in front of the TV. Drinking. Also, summer itself is lame because everyone leaves on holiday and if you can’t afford to go anywhere (ahem) you end up left in town with no one to talk to.

15) Family holidays. My family loved to go camping.

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Dumbo Speaks the Truth

Posted by idetest on October 11, 2010

This man apparently knows me well.

 

I'm not saying it's a big contrast or anything...

 

Andrew Marr, has dismissed bloggers as “inadequate, pimpled and single”, and citizen journalism as the “spewings and rantings of very drunk people late at night”.

I’m just glad he knows we exist. What with him being so busy being a useless political reporter. No seriously. He is useless. And anyway, taking the debate down an intellectual notch (chance, fine thing, insert own comment here), who is he to comment on other people’s looks?

Read the full article here. If you’re not too drunk while masturbating over a pair of your own mother’s underwear, you sick, perverted little creeps. Dirty.

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