Diary of a Suburban Squeen

So, I know lots of people have friended me recently for fic (hello!) and I thought, hmm, should I do some sort of vague introductory post as Katie did recently, but then I thought FFS don't do that nobody cares because it's for fic, but then I thought, but I love talking about myself, why would I deprive myself of the joy? Because NOBODY CARES, I thought. Then I thought (further), well, I could compromise, and write an introductory post about me and PUT IT BEHIND A CUT. Huh, I thought, very cunning. Thanks, I thought.

Then it turned into a pome. About me. And I can't possibly, possibly, under any circumstances, lj-cut a pome about me.

A POME ABOUT ME
or, You Can Tell It Will Be Awesome

Life began, I here narrate(y)
In nineteen hun-der-rud and eighty
When doctors from around did come
To see the baby's coal black bum
You see, it's true, I'm quite contrary
I'd come out backwards (very scary)
I had red hair and eyes of blue
Which turned to green as these things do
The place so blessed with this glad tiding
Was Leeds, in Yorkshire's great West Riding
I stayed there but a year, I'm told
To Birkenhead we went (vee cold)
At which point my story saddens
As a boy-child my parents gladdened
It's true, worse luck, they'd procreated
From '82 was my nemesis dated
(His name is Chris, he drove me mad
Though I now admit he's not that bad)
From north to east (oh Essex lair)
And thence to that Manx island fair
Then on to Tunbridge Wells in Kent
And off to boarding school I went
Next up was Yorkshire (South this time)
And lastly Derbyshire (no rhyme)
My parents yet abode there now
(Step up, darlings, take a bow)

Enough of them, now back to me
I'm off to university
I went to Oxford (truly, really)
But soon got sad and very dreary
I had a thing and went all weirdy
But not - be glad - remotely beardy
I came to London (happy day)
And started honest work for pay
And that's the truth, s'welp me Lord
I hope you haven't all been bored*


*Ha ha, I lie, I know I'm awesome
Shit, nothing rhymes with that but foursome
Fuck, I'm cornered, what to do?
I really wish I had a clue
Change the subject, there's a plan
I just cooked mushrooms in a pan!
Ha! They'll never I see I faltered
My poem has been barely altered
Oh God, I'm brilliant, it's so true
Shut up! It scans! I hate you too
Fine, piss off, I'm going now
Bye.




No, wait, there's more, it's scarce begun
Come back, it's pretty rude to shun
I like books and comics (not too freaky)
I like hot soup that's very leeky
Joss Whedon's God, I don't deny
Fuck you FOX, I loved Firefly
The West Wing, too, was not all shit
Blackadder, also, full of wit
Star Trek, Stargate, Atlantis too
Plus Buffy, Bones and Doctor Who
Fine, that's enough, I'm getting bored
I HAVE NO GOD, LIFE'S GRAND, VOTE GORD*


* I really wouldn't that believe
I HAVE NO GOD, LIFE'S GRAND, NOW LEAVE

I almost just wrote a haiku about pim2005's tea choices, but inspiration failed me at the final moment. Let us all mourn.

Kath-er-ine
She's better than Anne-Bol-eyn
She's great with a chick-er-in
Cuz she's tops in the kitch-er-in
Though she's too fond of snick-er-in'
O, Kath-er-ine

Happy Birthday, bookwormsarah! Hope you have been having a nice day. Sadly, I could not fic for you, but have written a WW pome instead:



( A Pome upon the Wonder of the West Wing )

♥ I hope the Lords do vote not to pass the proposed legislation which will make it possible to hold people without charge for up to 42 days. I will be so ashamed of my country if this becomes law.

♥ Katie yesterday introduced me to The Hush Sound, who are really great, so you should bop off and have a listen.

♥ Off to see Avenue Q tonight, which I am really excited about, even though I keep forgetting that we're going. Woo! They had a bit from it at the Royal Variety Show a couple of years ago, and it looked really funny; it's taken us this long to actually go and, in fact, we weren't even the ones to organise it. We suck. Katie: we totally need to actually use some of our theatre vouchers and get tickets for Cabaret. Is that even still on?

♥ I am wearing make-up today. It's like a tiny miracle.

♥ Because I am an attention ho, I put one of my NCIS fics on the Pit of Voles, as well as the first part of A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue. I have come to the conclusion that I would do almost everything for feedback. I am, to all intents and purposes, an actual ho.

♥ Another avant-garde verse for Helen:

Helen
First I lied about you and melon
(Because you don't dislike melon)
But then I compounded
This confounded untruth
By being uncouth
And not singing
'Ring-a-ling'
Or more to the point 'Happy Birthday!'

O Mnemosyne I must confess
That every day brings less and less
The mem'ries that o'er time I stored

Is there something I have done?
Some fleeting prize I have not won?
Of my sweet past did you grow bored?

Pray tell me, muse, why you decree
That I be shorn of memory?
That no soft whisper strike a chord?

Cuz frankly, darling, I am fucked
Out of my head all thoughts are plucked
I can't remember anything
And of this woe I cannot sing
And Katie's getting really mad
And I am getting really sad

Hel
N
She is great, fantastic, eve
N
Though she’s not a one for mel
N
Her tax party stories are really leg
N
Dary, though not as much as her hev
N
Ly tales of dislocated hips

Given that it is, as Xanthe reliably informs me, National Poetry Day, I thought I would write a pome and share it with you.


One day God
(Sitting on a log)
Thought “I’ll have some fun
And create a sun.”

But then God
(Still on the log)
Thought “Why stop there?
I’ll create a pair.”

And then God
(Jumping off the log)
Thought, with a curse
“A fucking universe!”

So now God
(Far away from the log)
Creates new worlds
(And lots of girls)

Only God
(Back on the log)
Thinks “Still like to see
What dude made me.”

Oh dear, sweet Lord on a pogo stick. I’m sure you’re all now well-acquainted with the fact that for someone who is, objectively speaking, really very clever, I am amazingly, inconceivably stupid most of the time. It is the tiny tragedy of my otherwise joyous life. I do stupid things all the time. It’s like there’s a tiny bomb of stupidity located approximately 6mm north-north-west of my right eardrum which explodes on a regular basis, causing disruptions throughout every electrical circuit in my brain and leading to idiotic decisions and half-witted speeches.

“Shut up!” I hear you cry. “Or at least give us some details of your latest idiocy so that we may mock from afar.” Very well. I shall oblige. My story begins thus: I awoke this morning, as I do most mornings. I climbed out of my tiny bed and went and wandered round the flat, had some toast and cereal, got dressed and so on. At quarter past eight (five minutes early, pray you note) I left to go to work. So far, so good. This is an excellent morning for me. Anyway, moving on. Caught my train. It was on time. I had a seat. Life was smiling upon me and frankly, at this stage, I should have suspicioned that something was going to go horribly, dreadfully awry.

Got to Waterloo (on time). I stepped out of the train and reached into my bag (I’m currently using my black Yorick bag, just so you know: nothing says responsible adult like a stylised Shakespearean skull) to get out my wallet.

This, my chickadees, is where the ghastly horror begins. Forget the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Discard the Amityville Horror. Cast the Exorcist from your mind. This is the good stuff right here.

No wallet. No fucking wallet anywhere, therefore no oyster card and no money. I remember that my wallet is currently at home, in the hall, coyly nestling inside a canvas bag. I curse quite a lot. I curse a bit more. I telephone Emma to let her know the sitch. She laughs at me. Quite a lot. I surreptitiously sneak off the platform, wander through the halls of Waterloo, and finally head towards St Thomas’ Hospital, where there is a bank. Get to the bank. It’s closed. Of course it’s fucking closed. I loiter in WHSmiths, looking, I fear, slightly suspicious. Bank opens. I ask for money. “Do you have any ID?” asks the bank lady. “No, I bloody don’t,” say I. “I LEFT MY WALLET AT HOME BECAUSE I AM STUPID! Ooh, Amazon receipt! Will that do?” “No.” Bugger. (I feel a disclaimer is due. This conversation was the product of my fevered mind. The conversation actually went thus: “I would like to withdraw some money, please.” “Do you have any ID?” “I’m afraid not, no; I left my wallet at home. Amazon receipt?” “No – do you have a driver’s licence, or passport?” “No. I have my cheque book?” “OK, you can write a cheque.” However, that is less intrinsically amusing, so I LIED.)

Anyway, blah blah, got money, got tube, got to work. Wrote a tiny poignant lament about how stupid I am, which I present forthwith:

A Tiny Poignant Lament on My (Literally Lamentable) Stupidity
~set to the enthralling music by Andrew Lloyd Bach, “Think of me, think of me fondly…” etc~

Weep with me
Weep so damn sadly
Promise me you’ll cry

Wail with me
Wail like a banshee
Emote and flail and sigh

For I am sad
So really very sad
So sad my heart is bleeding tears

Because I am fucking stupid
Weep and wail with me

♥ You know how I posted a day or two ago about Katie getting trapped by Jehovah's Witnesses? Well, I felt a bit bad about it, because she said they were quite nice (which they were, though I had to struggle to restrain myself from shouting out "she's a heathen!" when they asked if she'd thought much about the Bible, but I was wearing a towel and didn't want to involve myself). Until some anonymous bod replied that I could learn something from the Bible, the self-righteousness of which made my instinctive response "fuck off!" Because whilst (a) I believe that there are valuable moral lessons to be learned from the Christian doctrines, viz being nice, I think that actually that's fairly universal and I don't *actually* need the Bible to tell me and (b) um, whatever, stop touting your deluded personal fantasy. I'm sorry, I think people can believe and say what they like about stuff and I'm with Voltaire on the whole not necessarily agreeing but fighting to the death for your right to say it (only, admittedly, less noble and thus only really willing to fight to the mild discomfort and/or slight personal embarrassment), but when it comes down to it I don't believe God exists and therefore any "relationship" anyone has with him is entirely in their heads. Which, whatever, if that works for people, but keep it to yourself (which most people I know do). It's not like I try and involve people in my personal fantasy (viz being secretly descended from the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia and thus heir to the Russian throne, as will be proved by my Romanov jewel, purchased very reasonably, and even more mystically, at the Kingston H&M). Well, OK, except for Megan, whom I almost managed to convince. Yes, that's right. I abused her childish trust and belief in me by making her think that one day my £1.99 necklace will fall open to reveal a Faberge jewel that will cement my claim to Russia. Heh.*

♥ On an entirely different note, a new poster has appeared in Baker Street (northern Jubilee line, should anyone be interested. Not that I can really imagine that. Moving on...) for the film The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. There is a little box on the poster considerately telling me that the film contains scenes of Holocaust, Threat and Terror. Well, thank fuck they told me, frankly, because the picture on the poster of two boys on either side of a CONCENTRATION CAMP FENCE didn't give that one away or anything... FFS, how stupid is the public assumed to be these days? Pah, I say. And I say it vehemently.

♥ Have read a great number of comics recently, including majority of the Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive storyline (really like the Batman comics - can anyone recommend any good Batman and Nightwing fic? Not slashy, necessarily, just sort of angsty family stuff?). Also, latest issue of Fables - two very enthusiastic thumbs up!

♥ Anyway, you might be asking yourself what I've been up to recently. (Or you might not, but I can't cope with that possibility of no-one caring, so will pretend it could not exist.) So, yep. Um, not much, actually. I tidied my room a little while ago but since then I developed my current art project (a sort of collagey-wall-hanging thing) which is half-finished on the floor, with every single vaguely craft-related item I own silting up the room. The odds of it being spoiled are increasing exponentially (not literally, that was a little bit of hyperbole). So, there's that. We're going to the Bad Film Club this week to see Robocop III which should be a little bit of a treat. That's about it. Ooh, we had a BT line installed on Friday, that was a bit of excitement in the week.

♥ Bah. Mid-September already. Must remember to fashion the remains of Grandma's birthday present and send it. Re my little plan to bop up to Sheff and surprise her, I surreptitiously floated the idea to Grandad and he was dubious on account of Rosie etc and not knowing what they're doing in advance. So on the one hand I want to post it so she has her present for her birthday, and on the other hand want to save it till I next go up so I can see her little face. *making see-one's-little-face-when-receiving-present gesture*

♥ Ooh, totally forgot to mention that on a whim we went to see Tim Minchin at the Bloomsbury the other week, which was really ace (though there's a funny story there, cuz I saw a thing in the paper about it on the Friday, and had a little email conversation with Katie about let's go tonight! and we agreed to do that, and I bought the tickets and was quite excited and we were making plans about meeting etc until I realised that in fact it wasn't till the following Friday, so that was side-splittingly funny but fortunately worked out OK despite my own stupidity and inability to know what the date is), though I was nearly late because the Gower St Waterstones is there, and I got sucked in by the books. So, yes. Tim Minchin. Katie discovered him back when Mark Watson made the world substantially better and made me listen too. He writes songs (and then performs them. Obviously). They are funny. And ace. And on Youtube. Go and watch. Or go and see him live, which was much better. Also, I wrote a pome (which was nice, on account of having lost my pome-fu! 0.o Like my fic-fu and my computer-genius-fu... I am fu-less. Fu-free. Sans-fu. Tragique), because that seemed an appropriate medium:

( Pome, or, I tried to think of a genius title but failed )

My god, I actually will one day become the next poet laureate. I can see it now. Please don't interfere with my personal fantasy by commenting on the pathetic attempts at rhyming with words that don't quite fit. Or that it's crap. I just want my fu back!! *g*

( Also, I have a little confession... )

Anyway, I'm going to go to bed again. I woke up at about two in a bit of a bedlinen tangle and couldn't sleep, but I've gone tired again. I'm never going to be up in time in the morning, and Emma will have yet another reason to bully me. I didn't mention, did I, that in the course of my day's BT-man-leave on Friday, she called me three times merely to bully me? You've actually got to give her kudos for the kind of persistent hard work she puts into it... *g* Apparently Roman brought in jaffa cakes, and I missed them. :(




* Actually, I must sadly confess that I didn't entirely succeed in making her believe my little tale of intrigue and romance. She remained mostly sceptical till the end.