So I get the mail and on top of it is an advertisement for some kind of sex shop or some junk. And big red letters spake thusly: Astounding intimacies on DVD. Lolwhat? Who makes those ads? How can you expect to make business if your ad sounds like a parody or like you stole it from a 19th century newspaper? Like, Silas' miraculous hair pomade! Mr Biggs patented home vibration device! Victor's 'Vitae'! An electrical fluid! Do your limbs and neither regions lack life?

At least lulz were had.

Personally, I rather celebrate the day of the old Babylonian fertility goddess Eostre that Jesus-on-a-stick-day. They old fart must've spied on me and my heathen beliefs because he let my modem die. No joke, the thing died on Good Friday (Why the hell do you call it Good Friday anyway? Isn't that a little ironic?) and unlike someone we know it didn't get up again. So I was cut off from civilization, my social life and my lulz. Thanks, son of the desert god. Hang in there baby.

So without internet I actually had to do stuff for university, like translating my middle German text. (Olga, you'll love it. So there's a king and he dies, leaving two adorable children, one male and one female. So one day the devil comes along like "Oh, two adorable and respectable young people, how boring, let's see a little smoke." so the prince dude decides it would be a bonny idea to sleep with his sister. So they have a child and put it in a basket and throw it in a lake and on the other side of the lake an abbot finds the mysteriously unharmed and unearthly adorable baby. Haven't gotten further yet, could be funny, though.) 
 And of course, there where relatives to visit. Bugger.

Anyway, I started out by having a wild quickie on Easter Sunday. You wouldn't believe how good sex can be if you do it in the name of the goddess. Fertility rites, remember? Okay, that was a little TMI but you know me.

  Anyway, so my grandma and my grandaunt show up. My grandaunt, I don't mind her, I mean she's half deaf and she's got some problems with her bones but at least she doesn't whine and complain all the time. Hey, she roams the theatres and spends whole weeks with her English friend in France. Pretty active for 85 years.
  And then, there's granny. I don't think anyone ever had a conversation with her that DIDN'T include whining and complaining. And she's actually proud of herself for throwing a mouse off her balcony.

  Story time: Granny had a mouse. Not a pet mouse but one of those feisty little wild buggers. Don't ask me how they got up to the 15th floor. Anyway, she insists we buy one of those traps that doesn't kill the mouse. You know those little box thingies that just locks the mouse in? That kind of thing. Frightens the little bugger out of its wits but at least it doesn't die. So mouse gets caught, rattles around, and of course granny can't take the elevator down to the first floor and release the poor thing in the park in front of the fucking door or something. So trap and mouse go flying out the window. Or more precisely off the balcony. What the hell, granny? What the hell? Don't call yourself an animal welfare activist, damnit!

  And as a kind of revenge we got mice now. Sweet-toothed ones. They got into our candy! They got ONLY into our candy! We already caught one (kudos to my father who actually walked down to the park and let the mouse free) but there is at least one more raiding the pantry on a regular basis. 
  So yesterday we went to visit my other grandma and my aunt. Boring, boring, boring and afterwards I was coated in cat hair. And I mean fur coat. So we got home after a looong journey (damn it, dad, make sure the navigation system works!) and the door's stuck. So for one moment I fear that the mice called the reinforcements and bolted the door. I can see them running around the kitchen screaming: "All your chocolates are belong to us!" No, just a stuck door.

And I've developed severe sleeping problems. Really, really severe.

So how was your Easter?

.... can't come soon enough. Please, whoever of you gods is listening right now, let me pass my exams. To quote The Smiths: Please, please, please let me get what I want.

Also, to-do-list for February:
- meet up with Nadine again (after, what, a month?)
- meet up with Olga and Niki
- second Perfektionsfahrt
- FIND A SODDING JOB
- study for exams in March

What is this vacation you're talking of?


Anyways, stress. Stress is awful. I should study. I really shouldn't stay up until 7 a.m. to write a sodding story. Every time stress comes around I get the most marvelous ideas and as soon as I actually have time to sit down and write, they're gone. Why can't they turn up during the summer vacation or something? But no, they rather have me pull an all-nighter. "Uh uh, lass, no sleep for you and no studying. WRITE US!"

I need caffeine.

Or cocaine.

So today, it was Olga-and-me day. 'twas great, because Olga is, like, the most awesome weird person I'ver ever met. And for some weird reason we always talk about porn and sex and drugs and mental instabilities. We're like the freakshow that was never meant to be. We're screwed.

So, Olga's moved in her own flat and it's cool - literally. Why the hell am I freezing so much? Anyway, I guess Sandy Claws oughta have some furniture in his sack for her. So, we go buy baking stuff and start to make cookies because we're teh greatest bakerz EVAR. Yeah, first load of cookies burnt, second load okay, third one... well... The dough was like... well, Olga said "It's like digging into human entrails". Yeah... didn't taste well. Bloody British recipes. Cockmongers.

So then after our kitchen mass destruction we watch Donnie Darko, with Olga repeating "ZOMG he's so beautiful!!!110ne" every five seconds or so. And she's got this weird comic about a mexican vampire mafia and trisexual cocksuckers and shit and OMG SO MUCH COMICS!!!
So after Donnie we watch the first 45 minutes or so of The Boondock Saint and I'm still not convinced that the twins are having a go at it every night. No really, didn't see any gay twincest.

After that we're off to the cinema to watch Burn After Reading, a movie without start, without ending and without actual plot and everyone sleeps with everyone and in the end everyone is either dead or in a coma or in Venezuela or has plastic surgery. Yeah, well, weird.

Yeah, what's new? Er.... lemme think... uh.... so... it's been nearly a month of university and... uh... oh yeah, I'm horny.... and well, I had sex in four different positions today.... and no, I don't know were my sense of shame went... probably hitchhiking to Florida... and uh... oh there's HALLOWEEN around the corner. And I don't know WHAT THE FUCK TO DO. I need some volunteers to dress up as monks and then we'd chant gregorian chorals and hit ourselves with wooden boards. Or dress up all in red and jump on passers-by and yell "NO ONE EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!" Yeah, that'd be fun, but where to find the fun people? Every time I suggest something people back off to what they deem to be a safe distance.  Soooo... what am I gonna do on Halloween? Sitting around watching Disneys Halloween speacial or Nightmare Before Christmas for the gazillionth time? Walking around with a skull under my arm, which really isn't funny after the third time? Getting arrested for lighting a bonfire and dancing around it "clad in sky"? Gnah! Gimme something funny to do, people! What are y'all doing on Halloween eve?

This is madness! Madness? This. Is. SPARTAAAAA!
Ahem. Yeah, anyway. I was about to attend my first elcture this semester. A German Studies lecture. And what do you know, the information in the Vorlesungsverzeichnis was WRONG! Fucking lecture starts next week! So I'm sitting in this giant lecture hall among two hundred people and we waste 40 minutes of our lives waiting for Prof. What's-his-face. Yeah. Because the people administering the Vorlesungsverzeichnis didn't put the "starts 14.10.2008" in until today! RAAAAAAGEEEEE!!!!! Madness!
I swear, next time he's late I get on that stage-thingie we got in that hall and do my comedy program. Then What's-his-face'd show and and I'd be like: "Meine Damen und Herren, Mesdames et Messieurs, ladies and gentlemen, I'm done with my program for today. Now give it up for Prof. What's-his-face! Thank you! I'm here all week." Then I'd whisper "difficult audience" to the Prof and take a seat. That'd show him.

Oh and dear hobo hanging out at the main building: Pull up your pants. No, seriously. No one wants to see your skinny homeless ass. You're new here, ain't ya? I don't care. I don't care you're e'd out of your little bonce and talking to your invisible friend Harvey. Get the fuck out of my sight.

And dear people on the subway: Yeah. I accidentally dropped my bag. Gravity is my arch-nemesis. I'm sorry I riuned your lives with my misfortune. However, a bag dropping on the floor is NO call to stare at me like I was some kind of fair ground freak. Yeah, I pissed off gravity. Get over it before I put bullets between your eyes!

What other colour, huh? Well, nevermind, I'm back and maybe I'm doing a full account of my journey but not right now. Anyway, I'm back, woopdidoo, hope you had fun Olga how was your birthday and all that jazz?, yadda. Oh, and I'm calling a university girls meeting. I've got things for you, mwahaha. And postcards. Yeah. So, tell me when you've got time.

Just so you know (in case you don't know already): I'll be in London for the next week and be back on September 1st late at night, so no, I won't call in to say I'm back.  And since I'm not much of a postcard writer (in fact, I kind of hate it; it's so slow and I never know what to write. Why's there no electronic postcard you can write at the hotel or something  with pictures and texts to choose from? Would be so much easier.)  I'm not gonna write you, but I'll bring you some postcards if postcards are your kink. So, whatever, stay alive, break a leg, enjoy your phantom, au revoir.

P.S.: While I'm gone you should read "The Pahntom of the Opera in fifteen minutes", it's really funny. Oh, yeah, and tell Olga I love her. Mwahaha.


Oh yeah, Olga. Happy birthday in advance, because I won't be in town. So... Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy borthday dear Olga, happy birthday to youuuuu. I'll kidnap Cole Mohr (sp?) for you, lace him up with pink ribbons and send him to ya.



P.P.S.: See you at your graveside, baby
I'll meet you in London, maybe

I slept approximately 17 hours today. I kid you not! I think I'm slowly turning into a cat like Simone Simon in Cat People and I don't even need to be angry or horny. I mean, it was a hell of a good movie and Simone Simon used to be a hot piece of tail in her time but... I don't wanna be a panther D: House-cat, alright, but purlease no panther, kthxbai. And the thing is: I'm tired again!

And I'm high as shit! Sleep depriviation really works, man! You know what I just thought about? Fanfiction. Not the normal kind of fanfiction. Hey, what's normal with me? Anyway, what about a crossover songfic of Mamma Mia! and The Phantom of the Opera? Just imagine the Phantom singing Mamma Mia over Christine or the Persian singing Dancing Queen to cheer the moping Phantom up. Oh, oh, oh, awwww Christine and the Opera Ghost singing SOS! How bout that? Gawd, I'm crazy and need sleep.


tl;dr.: Here I go again! And I can hear a bell ring, but there's no one at home.

Really I am. I could fall asleep on the spot! I didn't even get out of bed this morning (oh, well, morning... 1 PM) without my boyfriend half carrying me.
  Other news: I'm at home and my parents are on their way to Luxemburg (sp?) to attend the wedding of some friend's of family's daughter to some rich guy. Yeah, well, I'm not taking part in this. I rather do the babysitting. Well, grannysitting. Havta take care of granny. Now I'm at home with my boyfriend and my beloved stove and I bake like crazy. You know how much I missed this? Maybe I should bring some cookies around tomorrow when I'll be trying to meet up with Olga and Niki. Trying = Let's see if I can get out of bed before noon. Heck, I wanna sleep. Maybe take a nap later.

Maybe some of you will remember me swooning about a particular lecture about Chaucer and so on. Well, eat this: I sat the exam and I got A-grade! A one! A Sehr gut! Whatever the heck you call it, the best mark possible! Yay me! I'm so full of win!

Ahem. Yeah. Well, I send away the first holiday newsletter and I've received quite positive feedback on't. So, I'm off to get stuff for the next one! Yee-haaaaa.

I'm having a bit of a crisis now. Life's fucking unfair! I hate being a girl right now! Guys have it easy. They can fuck around without worrying about getting pregnant. They can have fist fights with deep hits without worrying about never in their life getting pregnant. They can sleep around without being called a slut, the can walk the streets at night without getting raped, they can drive as bad and reckless as they want and never get in trouble for it, they can watch porn, they're allowed to talk to their dicks and talk about tits and all and swear and drink and it's considered perfectly normal. I WANT THAT KINDA LIFE TOO DAMMIT! What's that uterus good for anyway right now? Can't I just store it in a bank or something until I actually want kids? And why am I expected to care for the brats? Because I happen to pop them out? Why can't I just sneak away and never pay alimonies and get away with it like thousands of men do? NOT COOL!

Sometimes I just fucking want to be a boy! I'd like to be were-boy. Every full moon I'd turn into a guy and then I could get my hat on and roam the streets and bars and get a baseball bat and prepare for the ultra-violent. But no. I have to be a weak little girl who lifts weights (pointless, I'm a girl, I'd only get muscles if I trained a hundred years or so) never leaves house without pepper spray. Life's fucking not fair!

First exam down, three more to go. And a coupla other ones in fall, but I don't worry about that...yet.

Oh, did I tell you about my crazy summer idea? Nope? Well, I'm gonna send a mail to everyone who happened to be careless enough to give me their e-mail address. Whahahaha. A fine, disturbing, maybe funny column, a report of my oh so adventurous life. Maybe I'll even include a picture of the week! And there'll be no way to unsubscribe from that weekly horror. But I'm willing to accept bribe^^

Whoa. Hattet ihr schon mal einen Nachmittags/Frühabends-Alptraum? Ich hatte mich nur kurz (so... 3Stunden) hingelegt und dann... whoa. Das war der verrückteste Traum den ich je hatte. Zuerst war ich in dieser Kneipe mit dem Falschspieler, dann in der Straßenbahn mit den zwei merkwürdigen Tussis, bin zum Handelskai gefahren, hab mich mit... wem getroffen? Es waren Nadine und noch wer. Und irgendwie sind wir in dieser Höhle gelandet, mit den Fledermäusen unf Professor Snape und Noch Wer hat die Fledermäuse beworfen und dann kam ein RIESIGER Schwarm Fledermäuse und wir liefen weg, jeder hinter eine Tür, die plötzlich abgeschlossen war und dahinter war noch eine Tür und da ging's in ein Badezimmer, so ein großes, wie in Restaurants oder auf Raststätten, aber ganz grün beleuchtet, gruselig grün, wie in einem Horrorfilm, und ich denk mir (wirklich auf englisch!) "Crunchy bathrooms are friends, right? Uh, no. Don't go in there, there's another door in there" Mach die Tür wieder zu, die Tür geht auf und quetscht mich an die Wand und ich weiß einfach, dass da ne blutverschmierte Chrirurgenhelferin oder Krankenschwester steht und ich denke: "Hau ab, hau ab!" und die Tür geht wieder zu. Dann gehe ich zurück in die Höhle, wo keine Fledermäuse mehr sind, und versuche wieder nach oben zu kommen, öffne eine andere Tür und dort gibt es verschiede Szenen, hinter Gitterstäben, ähnlich wie im London Dungeon, und die Dinge dahinter bewegen sich und reden mit mir und ich muss mich für eins entscheiden. Ich gebe den Souveränen und überlege unauffällig, wie ich aus der Sache wieder rauskomme. Da ist ein Skelett mit einem ziemlich coolen Rüschenhemd; Napoleon, kopflos, umgeben von Frauen; riesige Autos, die alle nicht seh freundlich aussehen; irgendein Tiger war da auch noch; und Belle aus "Die Schöne und das Biest". Sie hat die Klamotten vom Biest an und will mir eine Geschichte erzählen aber ich weiß, dass da nichrts Gutes rauskommt und dann fangen alle an zu singen und zu tanzen und das Skelett, das inzwischen einen Anzug trägt, erzählt mir, dass es heute Abend jeden Hund prügeln geht, der es jemals gebissen hat und...

An dieser Stelle klingelt das Handy. Nun, ich gebe zu, der Traum war interessant, aber ich bin doch recht froh, draußen zu sein. Warum kann man in seine Träume eigentlich keine Kamera mitnehmen?

So, I decided to take a nap and woke up when I heard yelling. Great. My parents fighting again. Well, we didn't have that for a while now, did we? It's like always, my mother's talking cryptic and my dad's overly factual. They talk at cross-purposes, not listening, but also not really saying a thing. Gosh darnit, kids, can't ya at least be interesting for someone eavesdropping at you at the corner to the living room? Ever heard of therapy? Marriage counselling? It exists, you know?
For some weird reason their fighting almost makes me cry. What the hell's it with that? I chose not to care almost fifteen years ago, now what? No emotions, kthx. None of my business. I just hope they don't come crying to me separately like they used to. I'm not your goddamn therapist! I'm your fucking daughter! Comforting you for not getting a divorce is not my fucking job!





Anyone noticed? My livejournal emote once more says: annoyed. Apocalypse is near.



Edit: I wish they'd stop already. I need to got to the toilet but I might meet one of them in the hallway. Life sucks.

Seriously, I see one more nutjob on public transport I'm not responsible for my actions. What the heck? Where do all those crazies come from? No, I'm NOT talking 'bout football fans. I'm talking about those lunatic homeless schizos running across the city. People talking to themselves, people screaming or no reason, people making strange gestures, people being drunk before noon, people smelling worse than the average tram on a monday morning. They gross me out. Honestly, what the hell are they doing on public transport?! Shouldn't they be, I don't know... somewhere far away from me? Doctors here are quick with commiting suicidal teens to mental institutions but they let those schizos run free? What the hell? What about the rest of the citizens who would feel a hell of a lot better without running into some nut muttering crazy stuff? They're humans, yeah, you got that right. So are people locked away for downloading music. Get your priorities right, state!

And what the hell is it with people today? They either hit me or smile at me. What the fuck? Some old man rolled his cart over my foot as though ist was the most perfect normal thing in the world. Some stupid fuck hit me with a suitcase. Another one hit me with a bag. One hit me with a fucking door! And then I get home. Smiling young man at the door. Smiling semi-old woman when I get the mail. What the hell's happening?

Oh and Don't.Fucking.Stare. I hate that! Don't fucking stare at me, fuckwits of Vienna!

And, oh yeah, when I last met Nadine she greeted me with "Hello, my anorexic friend!" I'm fucking not anorexic! Last time I checked anorexic people tended to be thin. Skinny, even. I'm not. I'm sorry you put on some weight and need to go up a size. I don't mind, you're still my pretty one. But that doesn't make me anorexic. I'm not. I wish I was, though.

So, 112 course has finally come to an end, I get my stuff together and get out, and out of the blue the girl who's been sitting next to me for the whole term says: "You're wearing only black, aren't you?" Apart from the fact that this is a high school level question it is also kind of stupid. I kind of like her so I put on  a smile and say: "Wow, you got that fast, after only half a year. But thank you for sharing the results of your research, Captain Obvious." Stupid question is stupid. So I make an additional comment: "Well, actually I'm a nun incognito." Well, it amused her, but seriously.
  So for the record: Yes. I do wear a lot of black. I prefer dark clothing. Your chance of seeing me in anything other than black or grey is considerably low. Get over it or prepare yourself for sarcasm and creative excuses.














An assortment of excuses, explanations and alibis for "Why're you wearing black?"

• "I'm a widow."
• "My hamster just died."
• "It's part of my religion."
• "Black is the new black."
• "I'm a secret agent. You realize of course now I'm going to have to kill you."
• "I'm not. There's something wrong with your eyes, dude. Cantcha see I'm wearing pink?!"
• "I'm a villain from an old movie. They're always dressed in black."
• "It's a new law. Didn't ya get the memo?"
• "Got a black cat. You know how to get black cat hair invisible? Wear black!"
• "Well, I'm sorry you can't hit on it."
• "Because you're not."
• "Someone has to do the job."
• "I'm a homicidial sociopath. This was your cue to run. C'mon. Get going before I eat your intestines."
• "Why, that's because I'm the leader of a satanic sect. Would you like to join? We're looking for a living, bleeding sacrifice for next saturday?"

The short loves are the best ones. They spare you fights, pregnancies and parents-in-law. One of this kind of perfect, non-physical loves is that what I call Public Transport Love. It happens to me frequently and then I forget about it, but still feel kind of happy. So today I walked into the subway wagon and my heart went WHAM! There's nothing like pretty girls. A small well-formed brunette with even more well-formed huge breasts caught my eye and held it captive for the rest of the ride. So I sit down and can't concentrate on my book. I glimpse at her every now and then and every time she looks at me I fake interest in my book. And all the time there are The Smiths in my ears. She got off at the same station as me and when she walked past me our eyes met shortly and she actually smiled at me. And Morrisey purred into my ear "There is a light and it never goes out" over and over and over. If that isn't love I don't know what is. 

Did I tell you about Marina? Marina is in one of my German Studies courses and she's kind of cool. I suspect her of being a vegetarian but oh well. She didn't try to convert me so far. Anyway, she laughs at almost anything I say. Either I'm kind of funny or she never met a joke before in her life. Only today she wouldn't, because she didn't feel well. Turns out she's meteorosensitive and get's headaches and all  when the weather can't decide (means: is unsettled) just like me. So, topic in class today was advertisement in media and we also have to write a perfume ad for homework (which kind of sucks) and the professor tells us we should make the ingredients as exklusive as possible, with searoses yielded at full moon or something. I whispered under my breath "water from the Himalaya" and Marina started giggling. Then I went on to rant: "How the hell would I know anything about perfume? I'm allergic." And Marina goes: "What, you too?!" - "Yeah, every time I go shopping at Müller [A store in Vienna that sells almost everything possible, but the ground floor usually contains the perfume section. Which is huge] I have to hold my breath while passing the ground floor." - "Does it also give you headaches?" - "Yeah?" - "Me too!"
Whoa, yeah, EXCITEMENT! Finally someone who's body is just as fucked up as mine! Whoot for overactive immune systems!


Also: You! Yes, you! You out there! Whoever you are, start listening to The Smiths! Do it, man!