Category: HATRED D:


EDIT: I hadn’t showered or caffeinated before this post – this is why it is epically pissy.

I realise I didn’t put any ranting on here yesterday… so brace yourselves…

I am having an “I don’t care about my degree” week (YET again) so all of that can go back to hell. I emailed two teachers, one on a pretty important subject; neither of them have responded at all, so YAY FOR SUPPORT.

My camera is shit, I must get a new one, except I don’t really use it very much.

My iPod battery died, my brother replaced it, now the headphone jack has fucked itself so music comes out of only one earphone. FUCK IT TO HELL. I ordered a Nano because a) iPhones are gimmicky pieces of shit and I already have a phone and b) I just want to have music in both ears again but don’t want to pay a fucktonne of money. But nooooo, Play were all like “YOUR CARDHOLDER ADDRESS DOES NOT MATCH YOUR BILLING ADDRESS NO iPOD FOR YOU :|” …SO? So they cancelled the order and I believe I’m just going to wait because fuck it.

I got back from home on Monday; bags were heavy, people were walking at fucking snails’ paces in front of me – particularly this short fat thing who couldn’t decided which side of the pavement to waddle on. Jesus. Someone touched my bag with what felt like great intent from behind and they got glared at. Even if they weren’t trying to get to my purse, they were too close to me. There are about five people who I am really comfortable with having right by me, this twat was not one of them. So this happened, and then there was a moment when the whole width of the pavement was taken up with slow fuckers, and I was trying to get by when this twat with Big Issues HELD ONE BY MY FACE. DON’T try it again, you cunt, or I shall chew your arm off, beginning at your sternum.

My laptop keeps freezing – or at least, it did yesterday, it seems (touch wood) to be all right today.

There are some people who I am quite sure I’d like to never see again. Fuck you.

Also I hate being twenty, between now and thirty is generally the decade society expects you to chain yourself to a guy and surrender your womb to parasites, woo and yay. The way I see it, you’re either trapped in a job you hate, grateful for one day off, or drifiting in an existence of total pointlessness, grateful for a day when you are required to do something. We’ll see what happens when I finish university. We shall see.

Um… SEAGULL tonight! I am genuinely excited, and it is the one thing I care about right at this second.

YAY AVATAR!!!!one!!!!

Let me make the point of this blog post absolutely clear:

Avatar is shit and I am going to have a rant about it.

You have time to stop reading. If you wish to continue, feel free to debate with me or whatever, or shut the fuck up. I shall be happy either way. I also would like to point out that I went into this film knowing nothing other than the fact it had blue people and film reviewers seem to like it a fair bit.

NOW. Let’s be clear on this: the plot of Avatar – henceforth to be referred to as SPoS, which stands for Steaming Pile of Shit – is Pocahontas dipped in facepaint. Not persuaded? How about the whole thing of the big bad guys wanting to mine valuable shit (like the stuff that this film is NOT made of) out from under the bare feet of the free-spirited hippy layabouts with stupid little braids and feathers and crap natives? How are we gonna do it? WITH FIRE.

You could watch Dances With Wolves through a blue sweet wrapper and get the same effect, I promise.

Yeah, OK, it’s pretty and whatever. But I don’t really care what shiny shit you throw at me, SPoS, no amount of sparkly jellyfish things can hide how abysmally thin your wanky plot is. Here’s the bit that infuriates me: the IPNA (look it up if you really seriously have no idea) suffered in the exact same way because of Manifest Destiny. Except they didn’t have flying bird monsters. Or if they did, no one thought to record this fact. But there was no great resurgence from them: they became a minority until they became zoo attractions. Then Stephenie Meyer got hold of one of them and had a bit of a fanwank over him, poor guy. SPoS cheapens the plight and suffering of such native groups and turns it into “IT’S OK GUYS, THESE PEOPLE WITH THEIR LUCKY CONNECTION TO THE CREATURES CAN WIN LIKE.”

OH yeah that too – that deus ex machina of “If I think how much I need help, THE RHINOS WILL FIGHT FOR ME FUCK YEAAAAAH.” That this sort of thing doesn’t happen until the Na’vi are totally desperate makes it both maudlin and way too fucking convenient.

I must thank James “No Imagination” Cameron for making me realise how overused and recycled and SAMEY fantasy elements are.

“DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE BIRD.”
…Oh like not blinking when facing a Hippogriff?

“YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE HIM, AND HE HAS TO CHOOSE YOU.”
…OH, like the wand choosing the wizard?

*Epic flying swoopy bit with bird monsters*
*Epic flying swoopy bit with Hippogriff*

Can we not think of ANYTHING new? I admit, that tentacle tail thing the Blue Man Group had going on was promising… until it was used for convenient things. Like controlling that big bird thing that tried to eat them but could be controlled by THE ONE. O FATE YOU ARE SO FICKLE LOLZ!

OH and the length. The length. Ouch.
I’d like to point out that I can sit through a four-hour film and not get bored – when it’s well-made, clever and endlessly entertaining. (See this gem) But 2+ hours of half-assed fantasy crap painted with glitter glue and chocolate sprinkles swiftly becomes tedious. No amount of fizz and sugar could make it better. I tried this self-medication. Repeatedly. My bladder paid but my eyes and my intelligence were paying still harder.

And the hilarious dialogue. Me speak English.

I don’t have anything against fans of the film. I DO have a thing against people who are now obsessing over it as if it’s the greatest piece of filmmaking ever. For future reference, those who I know will ask, I prefer stuff like Lucky McKee’s May. That’s got guts and smarts, so to speak. And it’s genuinely funny. But SPoS is too preachy and long for a kid’s film, and too big and dumb to be an adult movie. James Cameron, your ten years were wasted, please read some books and stop feeling so self-important.

SO

Back here, back into a largely apathetic slump concerning this degree, which can go to hell if it wants to.

I’m supposed to do a Music essay by next week. It’s 2,500 words. I can’t be arsed. Yay for fail.

Um… usual Facebook addiction as always, meaning five hours of refreshing status updates and whatever, and no work or reading gets done.

Tried this Twiet thing (writing everything you eat on Twitter to shame yourself into eating less). I liked the masochistic idea of people I’ve never met asking me what the fuck I think I’m doing eating Monster Munch at 3am, don’t I want to be society’s idea of beauty, blah blah blah. Social experiment, or something. I think it’s left over from too much Secretary. No I’m not giving you the link, it’s stuff like, “Had a sandwich. Thick white bread should prob. be substituted for brown. Hm.”

ANYWAY the women who follow me are actually earnestly dieting and desperately trying to lose weight.

PREGNANCY WEIGHT.

ALL OF THEM. ALL OF THEM CAN BLAME THEIR EXTRA 40lbs OF WEIGHT ON A BRAT.

If that’s not incentive enough to stay childless I don’t know what is. (40lbs? That would take me up to 13 1/2st. WHAT.)

But it’s not enough for these cuddly mummies to Tweet/Twat how many flakes of Special K they had this morning, oh no. Every Tweet/Twat that’s not about food is about their kid(s). Every. One. Some of them even blog about their kids, 24/7. They’ve lost their identity and become mirrors to reflect their precious dribbling kids’ every moment. And they’re always so happy. Less than five hours’ sleep and they’re CONSTANTLY CHEERFUL. I’d be killing fluffy animals with a plastic fork by that point.

BUT IT GETS BETTER (worse). I, out of sick curiosity, followed two links. The first turned up a blog about a guy who’s just become a sucker dad. One of his closing sentences says that he wants to cuddle his new bundle of genetics and fat and drool and “watch his Mommy sleep.”

Have you shuddered at the weirdness of that sentiment yet? I wouldn’t even let David Tennant watch me sleep if I knew he was doing it. Go away, you fucking creepy penistrolley.

If you think I’m overreacting, fair enough. I tend to do that. But the second link was worse. The second link led to a Twitter on which a mother was Tweeting about how her baby son was slowly dying. Blow by blow.

I’m not even fucking kidding. I wish I was. I almost cried reading this woman’s shit.

From when he was hospitalised to when his conditioned worsened to when he swelled up due to some dangerous system failure to “He’s dying,” this bitch shared with the world how her baby was suffering for days on end before finally dying. Maybe even worse, she found time to blog about it too. And she had the – I don’t even know what it is – to say, “God knows what he’s doing. God is good.”

If someone filmed a puppy being kicked to death over the course of an hour and stuck it on YouTube they’d be arrested. How is it right for someone to spend their son’s last days INFORMING STRANGERS ABOUT EVERY MEDICAL DEVELOPMENT OVER THE FUCKING INTERNET?! Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, or something. But what the fuck happened to common decency?

I dunno, you might think it’s a good thing that she shared details with the world. Maybe it’ll make people appreciate things more, or something. Go and read it: http://twitter.com/natalienorton Look out for the super-special moments when she pimps out her blog. Oh, and be sure to smile whenever she puts a smiley face! ‘Cause there’s light at the end of the tunnel! 😀 😀 😀

Fucking people.

EDIT: For anyone who’s still curious after that, the Twiet is fairly pointless: I haven’t eaten Monster Munch at 3am since last summer.

Fuck it. (But not quite.)

EDIT: All these bad feelings have dissipated as I have had human contact, now I’m cheerful again. Please ignore. Or read for the lulz.

Fuck the fact that my stomach sticks out as far as my breasts, and this either mean I have a really fat stomach or really tiny breasts OR BOTH.

Fuck this essay that’s still not finished and its many, many footnotes crying out for attention.

Fuck the children who SCREAM on buses (not literally, that would be disgusting), and fuck the parents who don’t do anything about it (again, not literally, because then they’d give birth to more foul spawn).

Fuck the trip into town where I have to swap part of my brother’s Christmas present because he neglected to tell me he’d got it a week ago for no reason at all.

Fuck my bank account, it’s empty and needs filling with something.

Fuck the lack of overdraft, which doesn’t exist because having one wouldn’t make me responsible about money. Fuck it, I’m not reponsible in any capacity.

Fuck everybody except Tom Waits.

Can someone enlighten me…

…as to why the House of Night series needs TWO authors?

Great Expectations – one author
House of Night – two authors

…which one’s better? OH YEAH.

The things “young adults” end up reading are actually abysmal, and I sort of want to cry. And when someone writes a vampire book to rival Dracula, promptly inform me so I can kiss you full on the mouth in gratitude.

essays and english degrees

i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them.

still resentful of not being allowed to take drama.

Angry Post

I CAN SMELL DAMP. EVERYWHERE.

My “double-glazed” window is COVERED in a sheet of water droplets – I just tried wiping them off with a cloth and the moisture immediately slid down and pooled on the sill. It’s fairly disgusting.

My dehumidifier sucks up A LOT of water, and I have to have it on basically whenever I’m in the house. It fills up over the course of a few hours, is emptied, and still gets filled up again. WHERE IS THIS WATER COMING FROM?!

I tried airing clothes in my room – they smell slightly of damp. Great. A tumbledrier would be a fucking bright idea right now.

You know what really gets me? The fact that my landlord apparently called my mother “a nightmare” after she’d phoned to ask for some changes. What did she ask for? A jacuzzi? A hot tub? A treadmill hooked up to a giant stereo system? Did she fuck, she asked for a new bed for me because the other had black spots of damp and mould on it and a dehumidifier to take out the damp. This is because her sister stayed in a similar sort of room when she was younger, and now has attacks of bronchitis every winter without fail. Yay.

Now, my mother’s ability to piss people off is really quite fucking something, but asking for two things to preserve my health? Wow, that’s REALLY out of order, isn’t it?!

ALSO someone keeps using the downstairs toilet, which has no sink, and then WASHES THEIR HANDS IN THE KITCHEN SINK. I can hear them. I have no idea who they are but I can hear them. I’m sorry, but basic hygiene? Please?

The bathroom’s design is also comprised of fail. Even though I shower with both windows open and the extractor fan on, little spots of mould are still appearing. This is because the main window is too far away from the shower itself to be useful, and before the steam gets to the window, it gets to the wall. The wall is not all tiles. The wall is subsequently suffering.

Long story short, I cannot wait to move out next year. It’s a shame because I have brilliant housemates, but the house itself drives me a little bit more insane every day. At least I know what I’m looking for in a house next year.

Baww

If you don’t want to read the emo bit, skip to the non-italic bit at the end of the journal.

I keep starting and stopping things, then moving onto something else without finishing the first. I hate it. It’s like my attention span is continuously getting shorter. I feel stupid and thick – I swear I was never like this at school. I can’t keep my eyes on the reading for longer than half an hour before I get bored and try and find something else to do. I AM GOING TO FAIL.

Also yesterday I had a great surge of self-hate all because I didn’t get a part in any of the plays this term. I actually get the feeling it’s to do with the way I look. Acting is always the thing that breaks up the monotony of everything else I do, like it was the only thing I really looked forward to in college, and now that I haven’t done it for an entire year I feel like I’m stuck in a grey area with few distractions.

Also, to the couple of people who appear to be ignoring me, either bother to reply to me through whichever medium I’m trying to speak to you or forget about talking to me ever again, because I’m not fucking running around trying to maintain contact with you.

Stephen Lynch has a fucking ANNOYING face, this is actually my new obsession and it’s making me angry.

Um…click?

Also, if you don’t like Rocky Horror, I DON’T GIVE A FUCK. Click on the link anyway.

– – – – – – –

EDIT: after I posted this journal I went into the shower and managed to razor off a strip of my skin whilst shaving my legs. When I inspected the razor, the limp piece of skin looked like a soggy piece of carrot peel. Yummy.

The weeping wound is now washed and dressed and, for some reason, I feel better. That is all.

Spam comments can suck my invisible cock, they’re fucking annoying and, if you’re going to post them, kindly contract something nasty and wheeze yourself to death. Thank you.

Lots of baby pictures have been appearing on the old Facebook feed of late. Dear new parent(s), your brats are hideous and squishy. They would be quite nice on toast, I expect, but other than that they’re uglier than Brundlefly and twice as productive in the vomit sector. Therefore, kindly stop assailing my eyes with photographic evidence of your active genitalia.

My life is being wasted thus. It’s driving me to distraction. I am in love with those little pink blocks that symbolise all my frustration and hatred.

I’m not doing Italian as an elective anymore, YEEHAW! It was really starting to bore me. Too much grammar and, even after a year of doing it, the sparse Italian I can speak was learned from phrasebooks and the internet, and not the course itself. Someone needs to address the way we approach and teach languages in this country – it’s a failed system. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: no wonder Europe hates us. We’re a lazy single-language island of fail.

Instead, I’m looking at operas and film scores. And next term, CHARLES I YAAAAY. Though not as hot as his son, and shorter than even me, Charles I is still groovy. “In spite of his intelligence and cultivation, Charles was curiously inept in his contacts with human beings. Socially, he was tactless and diffident, and his manner was not helped by his stutter and thick Scottish accent, while in public he was seldom able to make a happy impression.” Bless him. Awkward Scots for the win.

Heeeeee. :3

My corset came, it makes me thin, I am so happy.

The five pounds of weight I thought I gained were actually errors by my scale, and I have in fact lost an extra pound rather than gained anything during the time I’ve been here. Still considering joining the gym. Still agonising over the cost and whether I’d actually go or not. Pole dancing starts soon. I am excited.

I have a Magenta costume. I qualify as being cool.

My seminar groups and teachers are all good, with intelligent people rather than idiots who think they know it all but actually don’t. Huzzah.

I have a four-day weekend. Even bigger huzzah.

…the fanfags of Burton’s Alice in Wonderland update. Just go on the IMDb board for it. Go on, I dare you. You have to try and read all the posts without sinking into a violent fantasy world in which you’re dismembering the scene kiddies with hot pliers, minus anaesthetic and a valid surgery qualification of any sort. Please let me know if you’re successful in this, because I sure as hell wasn’t.

She loves Lewis Carroll so much.

I shouldn’t hate these little darlings for wanting to discuss their absolute favourite thing in the world, should I? They’re just expressing their opinion about it. And arguing with each other over it. And ejaculating over their favourite actors in plain view of the rest of the internet and oh Jesus, you know what? Sod freedom of speech or whatever, somebody gag these children and lock them in their bedrooms with some intelligent books – some Shakespeare, some Wilde, some Gaiman, Clare, Allende, Banks, Sebold – until they’ve safely passed puberty and can contribute to society without trying overly hard to be “dark” and “different.”

The pen is mightier than the Paramore, you know.

(Unfortunately, some may remain dark little bunnies into adulthood. Case in point is, unluckily, me. Although I should point out that this isn’t due to overdosing on Tim Burton, not like these disgusting little worms [I like ‘Corpse Bride’, just not a great wanky amount]. It’s due to the five-plus years of physical and emotional bullying I endured in my formative years, coupled with the fact I was an overweight, acne-ridden, bespectacled child with braces. You couldn’t make up a character to rival how awkward and nerdy I was. And being cornered by a boy three years older and repeatedly whipped with an elastic band doesn’t really make little girls into happy adults who openly embrace attention and affection from the opposite sex.)

Women who post birth videos on YouTube.

Apparently, this is a popular trend now.

Erm…

What the fuck?

Why would you expose yourself in that manner TO THE WORLD? What’s WRONG with these fruitcakes? What possesses them? What makes them think, “OOH, you know what the internets will love? My mucus-covered black hole of a vagina!”? These women need to be told that, look, YOU think birth is a wonderful, sensuous, beautiful process; some of us (i.e., ME ONCE AGAIN) do NOT. In fact, we feel sick when you lumber towards us, doing a brilliant impression of Jupiter, whilst we’re trying to eat, and then you and your…spawn-in-progess lounge in plain view while I attempt not to projectile vomit at your swollen feet. I don’t want to see your livid stretch-marks. I don’t want to hear about your overwrought bladder. I certainly do not want to witness your brat slithering out into the world whilst you bellow like a heifer before snotting all over your hospital-issue gown because you’re so emotional.

“Don’t search for the videos, then!” I fear they’ll cheerfully tell me, should I be unfortunate enough to enter into conversation with these breeding cretins.

No.

DON’T POST THE DISGUSTING THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, say I in this hypothetical exchange. Keep it behind closed doors. You know, like a normal human being! That way, you’ll only have to pay for your husband’s therapy. Cheers.

…I’m actually too angry to write anymore. O world, you’re full of lovely individuals!