Forever your girl.

c/o Yours Truly

You made me promises, promises.

Day 15 - still stuck on the couch. There is nothing but shit on TV, and I haven't heard a good song in a very long time. I'm so tired of the repetitive, unoriginal, predictable, steaming crap that bands come out with, and the clueless fuckwits that rave about how awesome the bass is or how insightful the lyrics are. "You're amazing just the way you are"; "Take a bullet straight through my brain"; "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag"; "Baby you're a firework"; "Where you came from, where you came from"; "Boom boom boom, even brighter than the moon moon moon". Really? Really? Come on you fucking wankers stop wasting your time taking drugs and write some fucking proper music. FUCK. "I just want to put some flowers right in your vase." HOW AMBIGUOUS! Like my dad always says: must have stayed up all night thinking of those lyrics. It might just be the fairy-floss shit that they play on Channel [V]. But I am not going to pretend to be a muso - I wouldn't even know where to look for up-and-coming artists or underground bands. That's where the talent seems to be, as much as I hate to admit it - because 'underground' has such a stigma attached to it. Only alterno-anti-pop-culture-hipsters who wear their grandparents' old clothes and big scarfs around their necks even in summer and black Doc Martens listen to underground music because they're too alterno-anti-pop-culture to listen to anything unless they are the first person to ever hear it. Well, I see their point. Mainstream is becoming more and more Mainfuckingterrible. Don't get me wrong though, there are some pop songs that are just so catchy you have to love them. I'm not ashamed to admit I rock out quite frequently to Kesha and Miley Cyrus. All I'm saying is, sometimes it would be nice to turn on the radio and hear something different, something that makes you stop what you're doing just to listen. Something you can classify as groundbreaking. A 21st century Bohemian Rhapsody, if you will. And then there's the pretentious fucks who write overly astute lyrics like  "Understanding is cruel the monkey said as it launched to space" and "Ignorance is bliss until they take your bliss away" that seem perceptive but are actually absolute nonsense. 

Jesus the creativity is never-ending today. "I'm here for your entertainment". Where have I heard that before... "Let me entertain you"? No.. no that's not it.. those are two completely different ideas. "Can you handle" and "Heat it up" and all the variants are very popular too these days. Oh god save me now Short Stack are on. Oz Artist of the Year? Fuck off. Watching their guerilla gig. They cannot play live. Maybe I'm pretentious. Maybe I'm just jealous, because I haven't got a creative bone in my body. Maybe I could be a producer, I believe I atleast have the ability to differentiate self-indulgent tripe from musical genius, and that's much more than can be said for the majority of artists I've heard recently. 

Come back John Lennon, Michael Jackson, Frank Sinatra. The music industry needs you.

Lover you shouldn't come over.

Salvador Dali is a genius. I absolutely love his works, concepts, ideas - everything that came out of that mustached mouth. His paranoiac-critical method was and is the height of avant-garde. I am trying to create my own surrealist work but there's not much you can do without a good camera or the strength to get off the fucking couch. Damn you, lymph glands!

Simply on my lips.

c/o Yours Truly

 

Entered

The end of the week already. And almost the end of the year. That's scary. I honestly feel like time goes quicker than it used to. An hour feels like 20 minutes. A month feels like a week. I'm trying acid for the first time tonight, and I'm nervous. Really, really nervous. But I know I shouldn't be, and I can't be, because that could lead to a bad trip. I want to have fun. But I don't want to end up with long term side effects. Shut up. Always so negative. Happy thoughts. My Michael Jackson collection is coming along nicely. I have 4 books, 2 DVDs, 2 videos, 2 CDs, 1 record, 1 magazine, 4 1986 trading cards and 3 stickers. And I will shortly be buying a ticket to the HIStory tour of the #1 impersonator in the world.

Tables, they turn sometimes.

I hate working in hospitality. Absolutely fucking hate working in hospitality. I would sooner be a garbagewoman, a debt collector, a sewer worker, than be employed under the soul-sucking, blood-boiling career umbrella that we refer to as "The Customer Is Always Right". Fuck the customers! What do they know? If you're such a fucking coffee connoisseur, why aren't you behind this counter hmm? I'll tell you why. Because these people are either the trophy wives of the Upper Class, or the retired 40-something elites or the unemployed. Generally, people who have nothing else to do except make us professional arse-lickers miserable.

Because you can't buy misery. It's an occupational position.

And someone's gotta fill it.

Look I'm sorry, I might be able to sense when the kitchen door is about to be swung into my face, or possess the ability to catch the three plates that are plummetting to the floor without spilling a grain of rice because your fat ass knocked them out of my hand because you didn't see me because you were too busy demanding to know why I didn't realise that when you said latte you actually meant half-full-half-skim-3/4-decaf-mugaccino-sans-chocolate. But did I mention, I am not a fucking mindreader.

Hospitality must be the lowest of the low professions, deserving absolutely no respect from the people we deal with. What else would give customers the impression that they can speak to us as if we are rabid, stray dogs who are trying to hump the shit out of their Chanel-suited leg when really, all we're doing is asking whether that order is take away or dine in. No ma'am, we don't fucking charge extra if you eat here. We should. Having to listen to your mind-numbingly boring stories of how Rosita hasn't cleaned the house properly makes my ears bleed and let me tell you, hospital bills ain't cheap.

It is my firm belief that it takes so much more of a conscious effort to be rude, impatient with, and inconsiderate towards people than it does to crack a smile (be it fake or otherwise) and just say "Please" or "Here, have a $200 tip for putting up with the soy-drinkers and the not-too-runny-not-too-hard-with-truffle-somehow-baked-into-the-yolk-of-my-poached-quail-egg-eaters of this planet. You've earned it." And you know what I'd say? I'd say "Thank you kind sir."

Because I'm just nice like that.