Looking back at my childhood, I realize I never fitted in any group. I wasn't the most popular girl at school, neither did I ever get bullied. If there was anything wrong than it was me being pretty much invisible. I never seemed to get noticed, and the moments I did scream or was stubborn and cheeky or aggressive, the teachers were so shocked, they just moved on not knowing how to react.
For some reason the worst and most violent boys were always protecting me. My mom told me when I was in Kindergarden, one of the boys always wanted to be around me and defended me saying I was not a girl. Amusing. Then when I was in highschool the boy with the most problems was always incredibly nice to me and involved me into the school activities. He was of all the scholars the nicest person to me.
I wasn't into sports, but I am a fanatic which means whenever I'm forced into doing some sports I at least give it my best. That in combination with me being invisible and not quite weak enough resulted in me skipping a bit through those gym lessons. Beside that, I'm someone who's not very willing to let the bullies have their fun, so when they picked on me I acted as if I didn't understand and just ignored them. After a while they gave up. I do remember taunting quite a bit older girl, because I'm just not having bullying, and we had to run cause I angered her quite a bit by bullying her back. Thinking back at it, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but we were close to home so the girl didn't dare to follow us up into the appartment where my friend lived.
That's the thing with me. The bullying always left me unimpressed or I just bullied them back in such way it left them shocked, cause no one expects a tiny wee little girl going into it full force.
I don't have the illusion I can win a fysical fight. I know I've been quite a bit lucky for quite a few of these times I simply taunted them back or beat them in their own games. I only have my mind and the will to always win and the passion to detest being bullied.
No one bullies me and gets away with it.
Monday, September 27, 2010
This Thing
This morning I spent a great deal laughing. First at Alan's message to David. When I managed to control my laughter I read David's reply and lost control again.
I'm not even sure why it amused me that much. Is it because Alan suggested a fictional character 'menaced' a real life person into plugging a show the alter ego of the fictional character had written? Probably. And the answer accordingly just as irrational, or the fact that I can't see Mark Corrigan nor David Mitchell ever accepting crack from Super Hans? Probably. I don't know.
I think I really only tricked myself this morning into believing everything is questionable.
Friday, September 10, 2010
I Can’t Say I Care
My world has been revolving around catch phrases. I have a few even though I don’t acknowledge them as such. First was an episode of QI I hadn’t seen before. Stephen Fry told us the show hadn’t had a catch phrase up till that episode, but that was going to change that particular episode. Every panel member chose his own catch phrase:
Alan Davies: “Has your mother sold her mangle?”
Clive Anderson: “Who are you?”
Rich Hall: “You’re dumber than a bag of wet mice.”
Reginald D. Hunter: “Do what you do best.”
Especially Reginald put his catchphrase to good use.
At some point Stephen Fry came to talk about the Duke of Wellington’s trousers, because once the Duke was refused to enter a club because of the trousers he was wearing. This leads to Stephen making up his own catchphrase: “I can come in any trousers I like”.
After a while they get to talking about the word “Saurus”, which is Greek for “Lizard” and was ancient Greek slang for “Penis”. “Thesaurus” means a treasure house – in the case of the book, it is a treasure house of words. Alan claims you could refer to your backside as a treasure house, which leads to Stephen coining a new catchphrase: “My bottom is a treasure house!”
Brilliant, but way more information about the catchphrasy episode of QI than I intended to give. It still makes me laugh though.
Last night I stumbled upon a stand up show of Sean Lock. He was also saying a few things about catchphrases, but I can’t remember what. I should look that up.
The reason I decided to write this little piece has everything to do with how I express my level of care concerning pieces I read; it may be blogs, columns or separate messages. Usually I skim through the comments to conclude: “I can’t say I care” meaning every word of it. It usually also means the end of the reading or even thinking about it. Today I realized that’s actually my catchphrase.
I realized it after reading a few comments on Charlie Brooker’s latest column. I already had some trouble getting through his piece, but it was during reading the comments I lost interest completely.
I realized it today when I realized I was thinking the exact same words the day before when reading through some of the comments made on David’s soapbox. Neither did David’s rant really interest me, even though I was pretty much disagreeing with him; it just didn’t seem worth it to even say anything about it. I just didn’t care.
So there, I have a catchphrase; “I can’t say I care.”
(Side note: I really don’t, I just felt like writing a blog and this seemed a suitable subject.)
Sources:
QI’s Comedy Guide Page Series F, Episode 8 (Fashion)
Charlie Brooker’s Phone Hacking Column
David’s Soapbox about Kid’s tv
Alan Davies: “Has your mother sold her mangle?”
Clive Anderson: “Who are you?”
Rich Hall: “You’re dumber than a bag of wet mice.”
Reginald D. Hunter: “Do what you do best.”
Especially Reginald put his catchphrase to good use.
At some point Stephen Fry came to talk about the Duke of Wellington’s trousers, because once the Duke was refused to enter a club because of the trousers he was wearing. This leads to Stephen making up his own catchphrase: “I can come in any trousers I like”.
After a while they get to talking about the word “Saurus”, which is Greek for “Lizard” and was ancient Greek slang for “Penis”. “Thesaurus” means a treasure house – in the case of the book, it is a treasure house of words. Alan claims you could refer to your backside as a treasure house, which leads to Stephen coining a new catchphrase: “My bottom is a treasure house!”
Brilliant, but way more information about the catchphrasy episode of QI than I intended to give. It still makes me laugh though.
Last night I stumbled upon a stand up show of Sean Lock. He was also saying a few things about catchphrases, but I can’t remember what. I should look that up.
The reason I decided to write this little piece has everything to do with how I express my level of care concerning pieces I read; it may be blogs, columns or separate messages. Usually I skim through the comments to conclude: “I can’t say I care” meaning every word of it. It usually also means the end of the reading or even thinking about it. Today I realized that’s actually my catchphrase.
I realized it after reading a few comments on Charlie Brooker’s latest column. I already had some trouble getting through his piece, but it was during reading the comments I lost interest completely.
I realized it today when I realized I was thinking the exact same words the day before when reading through some of the comments made on David’s soapbox. Neither did David’s rant really interest me, even though I was pretty much disagreeing with him; it just didn’t seem worth it to even say anything about it. I just didn’t care.
So there, I have a catchphrase; “I can’t say I care.”
(Side note: I really don’t, I just felt like writing a blog and this seemed a suitable subject.)
Sources:
QI’s Comedy Guide Page Series F, Episode 8 (Fashion)
Charlie Brooker’s Phone Hacking Column
David’s Soapbox about Kid’s tv
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
My *Peep* Life Continued
This morning I had two dreams, because I kept drifting in and out of sleep. The first was the most curious. I was "celebrating" my birthday and some family were attending. I didn't pay too close attention to who was there; I honestly have no clue. Thinking back in an awake state of mind it rather felt like strangers pretending to be my family. The two most surprising visitors were Robert Webb and David Mitchell. They were both quiet and almost not even present. I did get to talk to Robert on my mother's garage's floor. Why the hell we choose to sit down there is beyond me, as is the fact I'm celebrating my birthday in the summer; it felt like summer in my dream. The conversation was rather pleasant; it took me less effort to talk to Robert than to David. I don't think, once again, I exchanged a proper word with David. I do remember trying to get closer to him and in the end the words we exchanged were only greetings for he and Robert were leaving. I think I thanked him for attending. That was it, then I woke up.
The second dream was about a friend who I planned to go on holiday with telling me she actually didn't like going to the theatre and therefore decided to cancel on me leaving me with a spare ticket. I told her about this dream this morning during our smoke break. She assured me she was looking forward to it and there was no way she was going to cancel on me.
Even the weirdness of my dreams are sort of boring, annoying and incredibly uneventful. I gained two new "friends" and I lost one. What the hell am I supposed to do with that. The real friend laughed in my face this morning when I told her those two from the DVD boxset were on my birthday party. By now she must think I'm a crazy obsessed lunatic, which is accurate.
Tonight I'm going to look into getting Charlie Brooker to my house. We could watch tv and he could add stupid comments to our watching tv agony. Or if I want a steady laugh I could try to get Alan Davies do a standup routine or play with the cat I haven't bought yet. Or I could have Charlie reviewing my *peep* life and Alan poking fun at it. That sounds more like my traditional dreams, though in my dreams they would both go incredibly silent. I might just as well invite Robert and David back for a cold silent night in my mother's garage.
The second dream was about a friend who I planned to go on holiday with telling me she actually didn't like going to the theatre and therefore decided to cancel on me leaving me with a spare ticket. I told her about this dream this morning during our smoke break. She assured me she was looking forward to it and there was no way she was going to cancel on me.
Even the weirdness of my dreams are sort of boring, annoying and incredibly uneventful. I gained two new "friends" and I lost one. What the hell am I supposed to do with that. The real friend laughed in my face this morning when I told her those two from the DVD boxset were on my birthday party. By now she must think I'm a crazy obsessed lunatic, which is accurate.
Tonight I'm going to look into getting Charlie Brooker to my house. We could watch tv and he could add stupid comments to our watching tv agony. Or if I want a steady laugh I could try to get Alan Davies do a standup routine or play with the cat I haven't bought yet. Or I could have Charlie reviewing my *peep* life and Alan poking fun at it. That sounds more like my traditional dreams, though in my dreams they would both go incredibly silent. I might just as well invite Robert and David back for a cold silent night in my mother's garage.
Friday, September 3, 2010
*Peep* Life
Two blogs in one, because I can't be bothered to do 2 posts.
J&M and the Vending Machine
A load of bullcrap is going on in my life. In the meantime I keep up the diligent daydreaming and obsessive fandomming. I had a crap day yesterday. People sick, workload I can’t reduce and a mind that’s confused and tired. Yesterday I could cry. I didn’t. Instead I dumped it all over people I work or don’t work with, but who happen to work on the same floor as I do. I spent the whole afternoon talking. I haven’t done anything constructive since yesterday morning. I feel a bit useless, inactive and not very efficient. I don’t know how these words go together, but they do.
Today I checked my twitter account, which I also started doing quite diligently since I started following Charlie. The happiness came from Robert Webb though. He only retweeted a picture one of the writers of Peep Show tweeted. It was a picture of the new season of Peep Show of Jez and Mark standing in front of a vending machine. I don’t know why, but it made me incredibly happy. I love those sorry bastards and they nearly made me cry. That’s the paradoxal world of Peep Show. That’s the paradoxal world of me. No wonder I feel so at home with them.
DM Fandom Unconscious Acceptance
Tonight, or actually this morning, I remembered my first DM dream. Not that it is such a big deal, but it always seems to be a very significant point for a new fan; it launches you into the deep depths of fandom of the particular person and generates sympathy, or agony, with your fellow fans. I think it’s fairly innocent; it’s workings of the brain you don’t control. Apparently, something about it keeps your brain occupied and you need to work that out. Mine was really just wistful thinking.
I dreamt I had to go to work so I left for the metro station like I do every morning of every weekday. When I arrived at the station I noticed something unusual and weird was going on; the metro station was rebuilt into a swimming paradise for a day. It was some kind of event with big publicity. The weirdest thing about it was it had presenters presenting something; one of the presenters was David Mitchell. I have no clue what the hell he had to say, because I wandered around the station trying to find my way wondering if I should go back to the main area to see his part. In the end I was too late. Neither did I go to work, instead I decided to go back home, because it seemed impossible to get into a metro. Also, the possibility to meet David was too tempting.
When I was leaving the station people were already cleaning up the whole swimming pool and waterfall area which caused me some trouble getting back down and out of the station. I managed in a flurry of dizziness and met up with some people who were involved in the whole organization and I found out David was about to leave and he should join us to leave to wherever. He did, I saw him, even managed to get to walk right beside him. He seemed nice, a bit quiet and timid, distant even for all the right reasons. I understood and only tried to make some funny comments which only made him smile politely. Even I recognized I failed miserably. We really didn’t talk, and I think, if that was real, by the time he would drive away in a bus to the airport, he had already forgotten about me. Then I woke up.
The weird thing about that dream is, it almost could have been true. Not the swimming paradise bit, but mainly his reaction to me. To him I’m just another stranger/fan who tries to connect. I didn’t even try that hard to connect and neither did he, and why should he? What I remember to my shame is me checking out how fat/thin he was. Strangely, he was something in between fat and thin, but not really either. That was too confusing so I decided not to look too much at him anymore. Just talk a little and sense his presence next to mine. I couldn’t believe my luck I managed to leave at the same time as he did. I hate how I couldn’t think of anything funny to say and said something incredibly lame instead; I don’t remember what I said, it were only fleeting comments. I realized quickly he was not really into starting a conversation with me so I let it go. I was just happy to have met him.
J&M and the Vending Machine
A load of bullcrap is going on in my life. In the meantime I keep up the diligent daydreaming and obsessive fandomming. I had a crap day yesterday. People sick, workload I can’t reduce and a mind that’s confused and tired. Yesterday I could cry. I didn’t. Instead I dumped it all over people I work or don’t work with, but who happen to work on the same floor as I do. I spent the whole afternoon talking. I haven’t done anything constructive since yesterday morning. I feel a bit useless, inactive and not very efficient. I don’t know how these words go together, but they do.
Today I checked my twitter account, which I also started doing quite diligently since I started following Charlie. The happiness came from Robert Webb though. He only retweeted a picture one of the writers of Peep Show tweeted. It was a picture of the new season of Peep Show of Jez and Mark standing in front of a vending machine. I don’t know why, but it made me incredibly happy. I love those sorry bastards and they nearly made me cry. That’s the paradoxal world of Peep Show. That’s the paradoxal world of me. No wonder I feel so at home with them.
DM Fandom Unconscious Acceptance
Tonight, or actually this morning, I remembered my first DM dream. Not that it is such a big deal, but it always seems to be a very significant point for a new fan; it launches you into the deep depths of fandom of the particular person and generates sympathy, or agony, with your fellow fans. I think it’s fairly innocent; it’s workings of the brain you don’t control. Apparently, something about it keeps your brain occupied and you need to work that out. Mine was really just wistful thinking.
I dreamt I had to go to work so I left for the metro station like I do every morning of every weekday. When I arrived at the station I noticed something unusual and weird was going on; the metro station was rebuilt into a swimming paradise for a day. It was some kind of event with big publicity. The weirdest thing about it was it had presenters presenting something; one of the presenters was David Mitchell. I have no clue what the hell he had to say, because I wandered around the station trying to find my way wondering if I should go back to the main area to see his part. In the end I was too late. Neither did I go to work, instead I decided to go back home, because it seemed impossible to get into a metro. Also, the possibility to meet David was too tempting.
When I was leaving the station people were already cleaning up the whole swimming pool and waterfall area which caused me some trouble getting back down and out of the station. I managed in a flurry of dizziness and met up with some people who were involved in the whole organization and I found out David was about to leave and he should join us to leave to wherever. He did, I saw him, even managed to get to walk right beside him. He seemed nice, a bit quiet and timid, distant even for all the right reasons. I understood and only tried to make some funny comments which only made him smile politely. Even I recognized I failed miserably. We really didn’t talk, and I think, if that was real, by the time he would drive away in a bus to the airport, he had already forgotten about me. Then I woke up.
The weird thing about that dream is, it almost could have been true. Not the swimming paradise bit, but mainly his reaction to me. To him I’m just another stranger/fan who tries to connect. I didn’t even try that hard to connect and neither did he, and why should he? What I remember to my shame is me checking out how fat/thin he was. Strangely, he was something in between fat and thin, but not really either. That was too confusing so I decided not to look too much at him anymore. Just talk a little and sense his presence next to mine. I couldn’t believe my luck I managed to leave at the same time as he did. I hate how I couldn’t think of anything funny to say and said something incredibly lame instead; I don’t remember what I said, it were only fleeting comments. I realized quickly he was not really into starting a conversation with me so I let it go. I was just happy to have met him.
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