Success At Last...

... in finishing a particularly gruelling section in the ongoing saga of the Dissertation.

type type type...

Finshed!!!

*cigarette break*

Rubbish Date (2)

Okay, this wasn't so much a one off date, more like someone I dated a couple of times.

The time when I knew that it wasn't working out as he was a crap date was apparent when I fell asleep once.

When he was apparently (and I say apparently because I truly don't know) enthusiastically giving me a blow job.

And (apparently) I snored.

And he got upset, stopped his great gesture of love (because he told me he was in love with me after 2 glasses of wine) and turned over and went to sleep. On my Brand New Egyptian Cotton Sheets.

I got all of this in an email as I didn't see him the next day as he'd left early for work. Mornings are never a good time for me as I'm all bleary and tired, so I traipsed into the kitchen, made a super-duper espresso and went back to my room.

And that is when I saw The Rubbish Date Shroud. On said Brand New Egyptian Cotton Pillowcase.

I looked at it in bewilderment, and it stared back at me impassively. Obviously so because the thing had no eyes by the imprint of his face was now left with me. At this point I started to panic: Would the stains ever come off? Was it waterproof foundation or just concealer? (a hell of a lot of concealer, mind) What brand/make was it? (Because I'd heard from a girlfriend that the cheap stuff was normally more difficult to remove)

Then I relaxed and remembered that I could take it down and ask Maria at the lovely laundrette to remove the make up, but on the way there I felt embarrassed, like a teenager bundling the remnants of his wet dream into the washing machine.

So I did the only thing left. I washed the sheets on 90 degrees. And when the ghost mask still stared back at me forlornly I did the Next Best Thing.

I dyed the sheets Dark Blue.

And till today my rule when I go on dates* is that I'll always touch them lightly on their cheeks as if in affection, but actually checking if they're wearing any make up at all...

*Obviously not anymore now with Other Half around. And he doesn't wear make up, but I've been known to slap a bit of eyeliner on to complete my oh so cool, faux punk look.

The Neanderthal...

... is driving me nuts.

So far I think we (as in you and I) can establish the following about the Neanderthal:

• He is unreasonable
• He has REALLY bad taste in music
• His hallways are papered with ASBO's
• He wakes at 7a.m. and hocks up his lungs and performs his ablutions with great gusto for the whole neighbourhood to hear
• He has extremely loud sex

One thing I haven't counted on though is that Neanderthal's could be gay as well. Not happy gay, but homosexual gay...

This came to light when I was walking up the stairs the other day and I saw Grawp coming out of his cave with another Cave Man. Nothing out of the ordinary so I carried on upstairs. Later when I popped out to pick up some milk, Grawp and said Cave Man were coming up the stairs together, both looking a bit fidgety. This naturally I put down to the excessive consumption of marijuana I suspect that they have consumed, on the basis that with my window open at times I have my room fumigated with the scent of weed, which is very bad when you're trying to do some work.

Anyway, I get back from shops and make a coffee and settle down to some work when I hear grunting. From two male voices, then the rest follows: shouting 'Fuck yeah, oh that feels good' and then sounds like furniture being shunted around to some atheletic routine. This is followed by 'I'm cooooooooooooooooooooooooming!' then another one.

Come to think of it I've never seen a woman there before.

But the thought of not one, but two Neanderthals copulating makes me feel slightly queasy, although I can now rest in the knowledge that the inbred gene pool will remain that way and not be passed on to another generation.

When Other Half Is Sleeping...

... this Little Monkey will blog.

Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone who's happened upon this little Satellite of the Apes.

I'm not as young as most would think, what with uni coming to an end and me rubbing my hands in anticipation of being Marmoset, BSc, rather than Marmoset, Status Pending.

I once worked in the vagueness known as Media. I was a Media-Monkey. They played the jingles (in this case, my boss's raspy American voice, and I danced the Mhar-Moh-Shet) and I made Non-Fairtrade Coffee and took minutes (although it seemed like years)

Then they threw me the not-so-golden Banana and asked me to leave because they only had half a pack of Dry Salted left, and the zookeepers needed that to keep sane in order to discuss banana rations.

Then I became a Trader.

More specifically, Mary had a little lamb, well make that fleece.

So, Mary Ching technically had a little lamb, but then she decided that the lamb would feed her family nicely, and she decided the fleece needed to be tanned, dyed and fixed. So not only could her family eat well, but after that they could bed down sleep well too.

I'm not proud of what I've done, but it is NOT Silence of the Lambs.

*cue Hannibal*

Saturday Night...

... and I'll be sitting in with my journals. (Sing along to Whigfield, so much better)

Or not.

Other Half has Jet Lag. Three hours ahead of time and he's in bed at 22:00 hours. I don't begrudge him at all. If I had 3 hours ahead then I'd use my time wisely. Namely have another beer, watch a movie, have a fag, and a Grappa.

Oh,wait. I have.

Tonight was the first time I've watched Green Wing. If Medcine is anything to go by that, I'm going to work my Drama Queen socks off.

If so, the Library beckons tomorrow...

*off for another Grappa*

Need motivation.

See?

Rubbish Date (1)

There was a time in my life when I used to go on random dates with people I'd met off the interweb and before the interweb I'd actually placed an advert in the LonelyHearts columns where they had a 'free' message pickup service once a week. I'd also go on dates with random strangers I'd met in a club/bar when my rosé tinted glasses were topped up to the limit.

Some of these dates have yielded good friends and people that I still see lots of and we go out and have a laugh. Some of these dates I have actively erased from my memory, and some just linger there in my subconscious and every so often pop into my mind and makes me shudder/cringe/laugh/blush...

So lets call this one Mr Small Hands.

This was one of those cringingley bad dates where you're both trying to think of what to say and um and ah quite alot. He was some holistic healer and had lied about his age, to the point where it wasn't just a few years, but more like a few decades.

After 2 sips of his wine he launched into the whole 'I'm looking for someone to settle down with et al' and it really freaked me out. I'm talking like MAJOR FREAK and I start to plan my escape. He then starts ruminating about living in the countryside in a cottage and does this 'steeple' thing with his fingers. And then I notice his hands.

They are incredibly small, like a childs hands. For some reason I find this funny and I giggle nervously, but then the idea of these Small Hands start to freak me out.

Cue, glup down drink, go to loo and ring friend to ring me back and pretend its an emergency.

I go back to the table and right on time, the phone rings. I try to look apologetic and he says its okay. Then he stands up and these creepy Small Hands are coming towards me.

I think I must have flown out of the door...

I Was Wondering...

... when my life started to get so hectic.

When I was 14 my only worry in life was to get prep done on time, try to get out of sports on as many occassions as possible, and not to fail exams.

I was also extremely bored most of the time and even started writing a novella which featured a very urbane and erudite male vampire (inspired through angst driven readings of Anne Rice) who was broody and charming to his victims. The only cringeworthy thing that makes me turn red when I re-read my teenage perceptions on what construed real grown up charm and the rest is that my character was called Kevin.

Oh the shame of it...

Anyway, in amongst the hustle and bustle of life and all the work I am doing, I take time out to blog, because its very therapeutic getting all your thoughts out of your head and onto a space where everyone can then comment on them. Like a coffee possé, but without all the chatter and hiss of the Gaggia espresso makers, or the annoyance of baristas that always give me the wrong coffee.

Blogging has become addictive and I have become compulsive, and I trawl through the pages of some while I'm supposed to be doing other things. And then I moan that I never have enough time to do things. Then I realise and shut myself up.

Went out with a friend last night, one that I haven't seen for a very long time and it was nice to catch up with him. I've been commissioned (tentatively) to create a piece of artwork for his new flat, and I'm looking forward to doing it after exams. Made me realise that my creative streak has been sapped and replaced with equations and physiolgical ion balances et al.

I'd like to write another short story, or even a novel. Something light and frivolous. But then I realise that blogging fulfills this functions, and I don't have to create characters and plots.

And certainly not make up names that make me cringe.

Woohoo, Another Même...

Stole this from Random Bovine. Why? Because I'm bored.

Ten Things About Me

1. I radiate extreme amounts of body heat
2. I like cooking but can't always be bothered
3. I once checked myself into rehab after I'd been doing too many drugs and was on the drink way too much
4. I like to sing in different languages because it disguises the fact that you don't have the proper accent to speak the language properly anyway
5. I like watching movies on silent and then making up the dialog as I go along
6. I once ate too many space cookies and lost 4 days of time
7. When I was 7, I stuck my fingers into a lamp bulb socket and flew halfway across the room
8. It's a bit of a chore having to remember to eat healthily all the time
9. I'm attached to my wonderful hairdresser/therapist
10. I like buying funky underwear from H&M

Ten of my Heroes

1. Batman (Christian Bale version)
2. Deng Xiao Ping
3. My Mum
4. Nigella Lawson
5. Tom Ford
6. Sir Magdi Yacoub
7. Professor Tipu Aziz
8. Jeremy Paxman
9. Alexander the Great
10. King Kong (there's got to be a monkey in there...)

Ten Great Movies You Should Watch

1. The Shawshank Redemption
2. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
3. Shadowlands
4. Muriel's Wedding
5. Strictly Ballroom
6. Crash
7. The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things
8. Remains Of The Day
9. King Kong
10. Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?
    

Ten Books You Should Read

1. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
2. The Kitchen God's Wife, Amy Tan
3. Dry, Augusten Bourroughs
4. The Little Prince, Antoine de St Exupery
5. The Art Of War, Sun Tzu
6. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
7. Vile Bodies, Evelyn Waugh
8. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
9. Kafka On The Shore, Haruki Murakami
10. Take One Young Man, Vivien Kelly

Now its your turn, but let me know as I'm nosy and would like to check out the results...
Kitchen Witch, Brummie/FastFingers, Arbroath, She Weevil, Rain and anyone else I've left out.

And Let The Voting...

...Begin.

Sunday a.m., Small Flatmate lounging on my bed, we're doing the Flatmate Cry (actually its only between the two of us, as we're mental enough to make noises like Squaking Chickens or Strangled Kittens) and generally minding our own business when the doorbell goes.

Normally I'd answer the door, but my phone rang at that very moment and I was about to hop in the shower so I had a towel around my waist over my birthday suit, so Small Flatmate went to investigate.

Now, I can see the front door from my room, albeit a bit of an angle off, and I see a jolly old man with windswept hair and a tweed jacket on holding a clipboard. Small Flatmate looks bewildered and I'm gabbling away with my mum a trillion miles away.

Anyway, manage to shake Mother Dearest off by telling her I was semi-naked and there was a strange man at the door. Just as I ended the call Small Flatmate yells for me. I stumble out, towel around me and smile brightly at the old man who I now see is sporting a Jolly Big Yellow Rosette. I'm thinking if perhaps he's come third in the Local Best Grandad Competition (bit blind without the old speccies, you see) and he blanches, his Jolly Smile now becoming a Jolly Frozen Smile and I'm starting to feel the chilly wind circulating through the flat.

It was a Lib Dem representative and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on my face as I tried to secure the now errant towel around me. Asked me a few questions and if I was going to vote LD, and as a friend is very involved with the LD's, and as my towel is slipping further down, I say yes.

Jolly Grandad looks Jolly Happy and asks me my name.

Here it is: German Flatmate has a Very German Name, Small Flatmate has a Very English Name, and Big Flatmate has a Very Asian Name. And I've got a run of the mill Monkey name. He asks me if I am German Flatmate, to which I say no, and then so and and so forth until he gets to my name, and I say yes. And then he asks me if I am Big Flatmate, to which I say 'no' again.

Finally gets my name right, my towel is saved, I am saved, his embarrassment is saved.

Then Big Flatmate goes through the same rigmarole, although Big Flatmate is fully clothed. But Big Flatmate has never voted before and this would be his first time, and Jolly Grandad turns out to be Jolly Deaf as well, and to compound matters further, Big Flatmate mumbles.

And so, I have my shower, come out, get dressed, and go to the Kitchen. Big Flatmate is still at the door.

Small Flatmate and I have a scheduled cigarette and a bit of a giggle.

*Flatmate Cry*

That signals the end of Jolly Time and back to doing the Not-So-Jolly Dissertation.

Oh la la...

... I have my French Orals tomorrow.

Other Half is still away and so I can't practise my verb conjugations and negations with him, and to be frank I was a bit pissed off with him for not bovvering to ring and say hello. Excuse: It's too expensive.

So skint Monkey here desperately wanting to know that Other Half hasn't lost himself on Safari or being chewed to a pulp by mosquitoes picks up the phone and rings Kenya to speak to him. Brief chat and 2 minutes later I have to hang up before I end up spending my next Student Loan instalment on Telewest.

Cheeky sod has the audacity to ask me why I didn't get a phonecard instead.

*fuming in frustration*

I just hope he gets the message and brings me back Duty Free from all the money he has saved from not ringing me...

Dissertation Update: I now have most of my references typed up before I fine tune the rest, and they're the worst to type up, so.. many numbers 4ND l0ts of 'comma's' and punctuation marks..:?!!

Heart Attack...

... or cardiac ischaemia.

I sat down to do some of my dissertation then couldn't find my pages and pages of handwritten notes outlining the structure and most of the content.

Went searching, found nothing.

Panicked.

Panicked some more.

Looked all over.

Found them in a completely different place to where I thought I'd filed them in the first place.

This Little Monkey Brain is being fried from being on the mobile way too long...

I'm Really Livid...

... after we had a representative from EDF trying to sell us energy on Monday.

Pushy little thing he was, deliberately not taking 'no' for an answer, even after I had repeatedly told him that we were not the home owners and it wasn't up to us to deal with the change of electricity suppliers.

Perhaps he played dumb with his accent and pretented not to understand, but the long and short of it is that he's well and truly fucked up the electricity meter, and as a result the meter is running at almost 5 times the usual limit.

I've tried calling numerous numbers to complain and to try and figure this out but no one seems to a. be helpful or b. be bovvered...

I'm almost crying.

Day 4...

Time set to do work (70 hours), work done (8 hours), time wasted (62 hours), time spent sleeping (30 hours), time spent drinking (10 hours, including water and tea), time spent smoking (6 hours, v good as in lieu of working on dissertation in getting creative juices flowing), time spent eating (rest of time, although body fuel required to keep warm in stupidly cold weather at the moment)

Blast this. Tomorrow is St Patrick's day and am going out to celebrate, because I like the Irish (dated a few) and also v like Guinness.

Sod it, there's always the weekend, especially Sunday when I wake up and feel all sanctimonious and I have breakfast while trying to decipher Le Monde under the fug of a hangover.

Ponderings...

... if I can shoot the Neanderthal downstairs and claim it was for the benefit of the world.

Last night I fell asleep at a reasonable time and was woken up at 1am. Loud grunts, more loud grunts, followed by screams then a throaty 'I'm cah....MEEEENG....!'

Then silence.

I hope to whoever is in that Great Big Expanse of Sky up there that Groog downstairs was vasectomised while in prison, because surely the last thing that a country needs is continuity in the gene pool of convicts, ex-convicts and unreasonable neanderthals...

Anyway, on a different note:

I've been reading a few other blogs because a. I'm temping this afternoon and have nothing else to do, and b. because they are very good blogs and deserve a look-in.

FineArtist and Rain In The Sky. Hugs go to both: Rain because she's had a mortality flash before her and FineArtist because she's having a bit of a rough time and there's not enough expletives to convey her frustration.

*hugs both*

Makes one realise there is a lot more going on than trying to deal with blocking the image of Cave Men having sex...

*shudder*

Monkey See...

... monkey do.

You've All Made Me Feel...

... like a natural blogger... (Celine is in the background tearing up her lungs...)

Thank you all who have left lovely lovely comments. It's been a real boost knowing that someone might stumble across this little Monkey Realm where I reign supreme. It's the cyber-version of throwing Cyber-Nuts to the Marmoset when it has been posted: DO NOT VISIT, MARMOSET DISSERTATING.

I've been holed up in the library trying to figure out where the neuron connects to the synapse, and the synapse connects to the axon, and the blah blah blah connects to the...

*hrumph*

I wish Ikea made a manual to life.

Connect your life marked 'RUBBISH' to the inlet marked 'DEBTS' and insert part marked 'sh1tt4BANK' in outlet to drain out the container that was fitted on in part 2 marked 'ASSETS'.

And the Emergency number will ask you to dial FUCK-OFF for the 24-nothing helpline.

Out Of Africa...

Other Half has gone to Kenya on work.

In the run up to the trip, he has been extremely excited. Lists were compiled over what to pack, how much to pack, when to pack etc.

I used to travel for work a fair bit back in my working days. As a result the general motto is Less is Better and when you're constantly on the road for 2 weeks and living out of a suitcase, you generally manage with half the amount of clothing and get everything to be done by the hotel laundrette.

So while Other Half was deliberating over how much linen to pack and picking off lightweight garments off the rail, I was trailing after him trying to dissuade his notions that he needed so much stuff. Finally after what seemed like an eternity we settled on a relatively modest packing list and carried on home with some new purchases.

The next day, Other Half rang while I was in lectures so I returned his call when I'd finished.

OH: Do you think I should buy a mosquito net?

Me (scathingly): Darling, you're going on an Acme Work Related Trip, not bloody Meryl Streep doing Out Of Africa.

OH: Oh, okay then... *hangs up*

I've Been Tagged...

... by my wonderful and lovely Blog Muse .

Problem is I'm not sure who to tag this to but I'll try anyway... This should be an eye-opener.

What were you doing ten years ago?

Ten years ago I was 15, so I think I must have been trying to be angst-ridden and trying to listen to 'hard' music like Bat Out of Hell and lots of Bon Jovi (hey, I lived in a remote country and music options were scarce). I wanted to paint my room black but was talked out of it after a Science lesson that said that black absorbed heat, which isn't a good idea when you live in a tropical country that is on the Equator... I think I was also going through my first skin-care regime with Clinique, recommended by my mother since her immortal words to me were 'beauty maybe only skin deep, but that's what people see first', so I dutifully stuck to the 3-step of Wash, Tone and Moisturise. I was also sitting my GCSE equivalents so was doing lots of work...


What were you doing one year ago?

One year ago I started the year with a new motto after breaking up with Bastard Ex. 'New Year, New Men' and it was also a caption for a Sunday Times Style spread with all the sexy actors and others. I was working part time as sub-secretary to the Under-Secretary to Lord Finicky... Met Other Half halfway through, had lots of fun, went to the gym lots, had a nice physique...

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Houmous and Taramarsalata on crackerbread
2. Penguin bars
3. Soft-boiled eggs with buttery soldiers
4. Chicken wings
5. Olives stuffed with anchovies

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. Happy Birthday To You
2. Take Your Momma (Scissor Sisters)
3. Nothing Compares 2 U (Sinead O'Connor)
4. Pictures of You (The Cure)
5. Vogue (Madonna)

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Set up a Foundation for Charity
2. Buy a country house in the South of France
3. Have a manicure every week
4. Go shopping
5. Travel to exciting 'Indiana-Jones' type places.


Five things you like doing:
1. Erm... *censored*
2. Writing
3. Eating
4. Taking long rambling walks
5. Finding fabulous new restaurants and pubs

Five things you would never wear again:
1. Body hugging black lycra top (I used to think I looked wonderfully sexy in it, mind you I was off my head so not much thinking involved)
2. Drakkar Noir
3. Hip-Hop trousers
4. Vests
5. Cheap costume jewellery (gave me a rash)

Five favourite toys:
1. My laptop
2. My handheld blender for making heavenly smoothies
3. My Shisha pipe (now broken though)
4. Scrabble set
5. Electric toothbrush

You're it!
Wulfweard the White

Mad Baggage

Not sure who else to tag...

I feel like the New Kid who doesn't know many people...

*wah*

Je n'ai rien appris...

Yesterday afternoon I was at home and looking at the state of the vegetable/fruit bowl that sits on the worktop in the kitchen, I decided to utilise most of the contents that were looking decidedly tired and somewhat fed-up of competing with the younger, fresher and more luscious purchases that were thrown in earlier in the week. So I made a very interesting Spanish Omelete with various vegetable varieties thrown in. Then I sat down with Small and Big Flatmates and we had a nice civilised lunch and chatted about nonsensical things as a distraction to the monotony of deadlines and dissertations that we are all facing at the moment.

After that I had good intentions of sitting down and doing work. Instead, now having somewhat worked out how to activate my wireless internet connection on my Superduper Laptop I went about surfing on eBay, looking at various things including speakers and sunglasses. I almost put a bid for a set of speakers then realised that I, a) Had no money and b) hadn't a clue how I was going to link them up to my laptop anyway and so I abandoned the idea of having Club-Quality speakers that would compete with those that the Neanderthal in the cave below had.

Later I got bored and started looking up lyrics to some songs, and set of which was from a song by a French Diva from the 60's called Marie Laforêt, of which whom I was given a CD by my friend when I was in Paris a few weeks ago.

After faffing around on the internet for a while I went into the kitchen for a scheduled cigarette break with Small Flatmate and I confessed to what I was doing instead of work. She then asked me what song I was singing along to.

'Oh, je n'ai rien appris...'

Which means: I have learnt nothing.

How ironic.

Papers are...

... coming out of my ears, nose and well, every other orifice at the moment.

Dissertation, 10k words.

type type type type.... type type type...

[coffee break]

type type type type... type type....

[cigarette break]

type type type.. delete delete delete

*sigh*

This is going to be a long few weeks and will be here sporadically. I wish my dissertaion would flow like my rambling thoughts on life. But such is doing a Science Degree and everything has to be so bloody precise.

PS. Few weeks ago I panicked and thought I'd sell my soul and do Law, but for those of you out there who gasped in incredulity, I am pleased to announce that my Bright Side has shone through and I'm going for an interview at a Medical School.

A Very Good One.