I Hate Drake

I found a link to this on the Postsecret myspace page, and thought it was adorable. It's a shame about the laughter, but i think it was recorded live, so there's not much to be done. Anyway, it's very cute, so i hope you like it.

Mortified: I Hate Drake

She did not find it endearing...

New story, written pretty quickly during write club. I'm not sure how i feel about it, it's pretty similar to the Dave Eggers story, "Roderick Hopes", and that makes me slightly uncomfortable. I try and write like him, but i don't want to just copy his work, you know? I wanted to get away from the modern fairy-tale stories i've been writing and try and do something slightly more realistic, but still not entirely normal.I should say that this is in no way autobiographical. Honest. Anyway, here it is.

Hannah was standing in her kitchen, in slippers, pants and vest, waiting for the kettle to boil and hoping that today it might not happen. Every morning for the past 2 weeks, since the morning after she and Nate first fucked, quietly and without much emotion, before he passed out, taking up most of her small single bed in her small single room, she had hoped it would not happen, and every morning she was disappointed.
The same thing happens every time. She wakes up before him, pads to the kitchen in her underwear, makes tea and waits, hoping. He wakes, stumbles to her in his boxers, still with sleep in his eyes. As she turns to fill the kettle for him he puts his arms around her waist and kisses the side of her neck, his hot, wet breath making her skin prickle and the short hairs stand on end as he whispers "good morning beautiful."
She told her friends about this new morning ritual and all of them "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed" and "isn't that romantic-ed," and she wondered why she didn't feel that way. She liked Nate, had seen him, desired him, pursued him and achieved him. They had trivialities in common, made each other laugh, found each other attractive, craved the touch of each others skin in the darkness, but this close morning contact repulsed her. She couldn't say why.
She had tried to avoid it. After the second time it happened she sensed a pattern forming, so the next moring she tried filling and boiling the kettle before he awoke. When he shuffled out, barely clothed and beautiful, she thought she would be safe. When he saw the already boiling kettle, the fact that she wasn't turning away, he came close, put his arm around her and breathed "good morning beautiful" right into her face, his breath hot and sickly sweet from sleep. It was all she could do not to pour the boiling water over his amorous head.
She tried to imagine why she reacted this way. Why his affectionate morning greeting made her skin crawl. Perhaps she was reacting to some repressed childhood memory of inappropriate, undesired or unexpected contact, but she could remember none. She had never had similar reactions to any of her previous partners, had never shied from their touch or breath. She decided that her aversion was irrational, and that the situation must be dealt with.
But how? She couldn't ask him to stop. If she did he would surely ask why, and she would not be able to tell him the truth. It was too early in their relationship for it to survive such a blow, and a relationship based on lies is one born to fail. She telling him that his endearing gesture made her skin crawl would end what was otherwise quite a satisfying partnership. The only thing she could think of was to do something equally repellent to him.
There followed a week of almost diabetes inducing affection which comforted and uplifted Nate almost as much as it exhausted and infuriated Hannah. Apparently he did not share the same aversion to early morning closeness, unbrushed teeth and stale sweat.
So we come to this morning, with Hannah, hoping, in her underwear. She has found a solution, the only one she can think of left open to her, her last resort. When she hears him stir she fills the kettle. When he enters the room she turns it on and does not turn away. As he puts his arms around her she tightens her grip on the handle. As he says "good morning" she lifts and begins to pour. He does not say "beautiful," and she is relieved.

The build-up to today

If you ever needed proof that The Daily Show was amazing, this is it. A video charting the rise of Obama, which i thought i would post right now, the day he becomes president. Have a great day.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Barack Obama: Path to the Presidency

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

On a related note, this made me laugh alot.


On the back it said "Make sure you call him Mr. President"

Postsecret made me cry again

I really am a girl sometimes. Stuff like this just makes me go all tingly.


-----Email Message-----
Sent: Sunday, January 18, 2009 1:04 PM
Subject: she said yes!

Frank,

Sorry for not letting you know a little sooner. We have both been calling our family and friends since it happened. It all went down around 10:30 this morning. After getting out of bed, I grabbed the ring from where I had been hiding it for nearly two months. Being my birthday, I just finished opening my presents from my girlfriend. I then got the laptop out to check the weather, and we started to look at the secrets.

I was actually very nervous/excited as we scrolled down the page. As we got to it, my girlfriend asked what the card above ours was a picture of. I was somewhat concerned she had already seen ours, but she hadn't. I then scrolled down to our card. She was looking at the card for a while, and then looked at me. At the time, she was wondering if that was really our cat or not.

I then reached into my pocket, took out the ring box, and got down on one knee. Before I even asked, she kissed me. She was crying, and my eyes also started to tear up. I then took her hand and asked her to marry me. Her answer was yes!!! I then had to go into a discussion of how it all came to be. She was definitely surprised by the date of the proposal as well as my method of proposing. Frank, I would like to thank you again for your agreeing to do this.

It couldn't have been better. The date is set for March 13, 2010 .

Who says romance is dead? I love the Frank helps people with these things, i think the world is genuinely a better place because he exists.

Couscous - the food so nice they named it twice

This is the alternate ending for The Pineapple Express. It made me laugh, and i'm pretty sure it'll make you laugh, even if you didn't see the film. I'd quite like James Franco and Seth Rogen to be my gay dads. Is that odd?
anyway, here it is.



I think their relationship is too adorable. James Franco's character is so innocent too, which makes everything so much more amusing.

"The challenge of modernity is to live without illusions and without becoming disillusioned."

I cut this story out of TANK over 2 years ago now. I used to have it next to my sink in Boarding school so i could read it as i brushed my teeth, and now i have it stuck to my wardrobe so it's pretty much the first thing i see in the morning. It makes me happy every time i read it. I was thinking about doing a photography project based on it. If i do, i'll post the photos. Remember to click on it to see if full size.

A man's home is his castle...

So people say that you can tell alot about a person by looking at where they live, or how they adapt their surroundings to suit them. I've just finished re-putting up all of my posters which fell down over the christmas holidays, and this is what my room looks like now.







I was just wondering what, if anything, my room said about me? That i'm creative? That i like film? That bare walls make me nervous?
How much detail about my life could you discover just by looking at my walls? You'd probably figure out that i was a student, if only because of the mess. A lack of couple-y photos would imply that i was single. Photos of me with cameras, pages from fashion magazines, etchings and lots of film posters would hint at my interests, but could you get to know the real me just by seeing my stuff? I hope not.
Possibly i've just read too much Sherlock Holmes or watched one too many CSI re-runs, but i'm curious. Just by looking at those 6 photos, what can you deduce about me as a person?

Just a thought...

It could happen.

The girl who knew everything

There was once a girl who knew that she was 2920 days old on the day of her eighth birthday. She blew out the eight sticks of wax layered around string piercing the top of her $5.99 chocolate cake which was not suitable for vegans and was made in a factory which could not be guaranteed free from traces of nuts. She was wearing her best pink silk dress, woven in a factory in India which employed girls younger than her, then shipped to china to be cut and stitched in a giant workshop which was very hot before being packaged in cardboard, recyclable in the green bins, with hundreds of other pink silk dresses and sent to England where her mother had bought it for $29.99 and gave it to her a month ago to wear to her mother’s brother’s son’s union before God and those gathered here today, to his fiancé, who was fat.
The little girl was very bored. The other children in her class were amazed to learn about photosynthesis, the simple process of turning light and carbon dioxide into food and oxygen within the leaves of every plant on earth, as though it hadn’t been going on since the beginning of time. She was unpopular because she always got everything right, and never asked questions because she always understood. Even childish things, guessing the weight of the bag of sugar, or how many sweets were in the jar held no mystery or excitement for her, since they were really based on the relatively simple mathematics of volume, which was length times by height times by width. Roller coasters were physics and momentum, candy floss caused diabetes, laughter caused wrinkles when you were older and your skin began to lose its elasticity, the signs of which could be reversed by daily use of Olay Regenerist, which was overpriced.
One day there was a new boy in her class who the other children, who would end up as doctors and plumbers and benefit frauds and who would have sex and then children and then get old and then die, did not want to play with. He was put with her on the table for “exceptional” children, which was the school’s politically correct way of saying children who didn’t fit and who were probably not in the right place. He did things that other boys did, like use the hardened growths of dead tissue on the tips of his fingers to excavate mucus from the growth of cartilage in the centre of his face and put it in his oral cavity for it to be digested and eventually expelled from the other end, but he also did things that were different. He drew pictures that weren’t of him and his dad playing football, but instead of complicated forms which seemed to have no meaning. He muttered to himself occasionally, or made jumps in conversation or logic which she couldn’t immediately follow. She began to look forward to going to school. She felt surprised and confused for the first time in her life. She learned to love the feeling of guessing, searching and not knowing. She got things wrong.
She followed him around, hanging off his every nonsensical word, occasionally writing them down in her notebook, a gift from her father before he couldn’t handle it any more and ran off with a cliché named Lola. The teachers said he wasn’t well. People occasionally looked sad or went quiet or whispered as he walked past, and she knew why. She knew everything about what was clinically wrong with him, but she didn’t care. She experienced mystery for the first time in her life, and she was rapturous.

This one's a little more romantic than my other stories. I wrote it very quickly during a really boring seminar, and haven't really edited it that much. Tell me what you think. I might make it longer, depending on if you think it works as an idea or not.

“Not everybody trusts paintings but people believe photographs.”

I thought i'd put up some photos taken by me and mum on our trip to Israel and Jordan last year. I think some of them are pretty good. Enjoy.

Down day...

I was feeling pretty down today and i didn't know why, so when i got home i read through every single asofterworld comic to comfort myself. I picked a couple to share with you. Remember to click on them to see them bigger.




I love this one, it made me smile real big.


I hope your new years are going well so far, and that one day someone says something similar to each of you.

a random post for the new year.

For the new year, i want to look like this girl. Then i want to mug her and steal her jacket.


How is it that Mark Ronson looks so cool when he appears to be wearing a pink tweed tuxedo jacket with a shawl collar? Sometimes things are so wrong they are actually very right. (the plain white shirt and cigarette skinny black tie definately help though...as does his epic cuteness, and the hot guitar)


Sometimes things can be so wrong they are just very, very, VERY wrong. This is one of those.