We're rooting for you, Andreas Melbostad.
3:29am.
Perhaps, if I were among the masses of the norm, it'd be appropriate for an under-the-duvet moment.. but that ain't teenager-esque. It's 30 minutes past 3:00. There was a period, back then, when I'd look over my shoulders-- a sign of insecurity, with curiosity clouding over: "Demon witching hour. So, am I here alone, or am I here.. 'alone'?" After a while, it faded. Thank the Lord, for that. For I am secretly a pansy, but.. don't tell nobody. A-ha, for a few days straight these legs have been flexed vigorously (almost in a self-destructive manner.. awkward) but the end results take the "No pain, no gain" tagline true to word. Consider this a form of exercise to sinewy, warrior-esque limbs? Christmas for me was: salivating (it was.. borderline literal) over accoutrements at Miu Miu, battling vexation in the form of.. people (includes kids that think knocking me in 4" kicks a hilarious occurrence), scoring a cobalt-hued double-breasted blazer by tricking Sister into swiping her card thus cementing me as a legit cunning genius, Torrenting films.. and downing that mac-and-cheese thing from KFC. F-cking fattening. Fat thigh in a box, goddammit. Elsewhere, shit was stirred but.. knowing me, things are better left unsaid. The Chels drew Birmingham at their home turf, a goalless one at that (first game where Chelsea failed to score.. but that's not a kick-ass achievement at all?) and an impending bleak future ahead. Drogba and the ever-shite Kalou leave for African Cup of Nations tomorrow, Anelka's sidelined with a knock and the options up front for vs. Fulham is.. Sturridge. And Borini. Who the f-ck.. Sturridge's been a product in development, but Borini (who's got a name of a f-cking pasta sauce?) leaves me in jitters. A-ha, and I tip Villa to spank the Gunners tomorrow night to complete the Top Four pawnage. Kops down, Mancs down, Chels down, Gunners.. next? Other sad news: French Ligue on winter break. No Gourcuff for two weeks. F-cking disgrace. 4 to go to 2010!
[MUSIC] She & Him - Sweet Darlin'
Aha, that is, indeed.. a Sinatra song. Shuffling them old-school at the mo'.
I dance for no reason
for reasons you can't dance,
Call me an activist of
intellectualized circumstance
You can't learn my steps until
you unlearn your thoughts
Spirit, soul,
can't be store-bought.Saul Williams, "Amethyst Rocks"
Uhh, hello.
Excuse the inevitable attraction towards living objects with a fag stick in hand (cue picture to the left). For me, it's been long since I sipped one of those.. bad, retard-baby-producing things. [That was dedicated to Midg.] But, 'nuff of that shit, on to things else! Slow progress on alleged channeling of a hedonist. The week, though, was awesome in the highest levels: spoiled with a birthday lunch at Bubba Gump Shrimp & Co. with Madre/Sis. Afterward, at night, dinner with Le Gang at TGI Friday's.. where I single-handedly tarnished my own dignity.. for a whipped cream-topped ice-cream. The things I do for Godsent desserts, sigh. Later in the night, the lads decided to get some flavored smoke in their lungs instead of the cancer-producing ones (loud cough). Hours on that one, then headed to Em's, where I crashed on her couch to wait for the 4am kick-off of Birmingham vs. Blackburn. People who care about Birmingham are a rare occurrence, hence might as well I give a shit.. and watch 'em rake a 5th straight win, makin' history. That's not a f-cking disgrace at all. Aha, slow news week indeed. Apologies on that. Sent in pictures for the Spring/Summer 2010 booklet. Tripod and I equals to picture fail. It's a bit of a mess with deadlines and (ahem) camera incapabilities of mine but, fingers crossed for kick-ass outcomes, si?
And, because I am lifeless (but, still, awesome), couple months ago I compressed love towards the Chels in an e-mail, sent to the official magazine's editor. It's been far long hence I forgot about it, truth be told. A-ha. He.. replied. With an exciting notion. The normal reaction to this would be imploding into a catastrophic dance machine. And that I did. It's still far off the real deal, though. Off to a two-day vacation with The Blood-Bound on the weekend. Pictorials later, if I appear non-shit. Rare thing. A-ha. No pictorials then. Thinking off hopping on the coach for a night in Singapore next month, to catch, like, the Mr. Andrew Bird. I am quite the fangirl of his stuff, with his kooky instruments (and self, at that) but the depressing thing is none of the friends dig Mr. Andrew Bird. Most of 'em would scurry off to catch Paramore, or somethin' of that nature. Not Andrew Bird, not Cat Power, or St. Vincent. Thank God, Kings of Convenience are comin' here later. Dude pulling the strings on this magic thing are working on 65 Days of Static. Fingers, toes, legs crossed. Oh, and f-ck all else, I can't effin' wait for Sherlock Holmes. Guy Ritchie, and Robert Downey? Match made in cinematic heaven. Right, that's about it..
[MUSIC] Efterklang - Caravan
I know, there's words that
we will never speak,
and the questions can't be
answered easily,
but I wanted to be easy so..
nod your head,
if the plans have changed
shake it, love,
they stayed the same
smile at me, and I will stay
start to cry, and I'll go away
just please..
don't leave me guessing.
Bright Eyes, "Messenger Bird's Song"
What the..
Who calls for a proper, hard slap in the head to a (cough) certain goalie in neon orange? Fuck, I do. It's been offbeat for Cech as of late-- the last time Chelsea conceded at Stamford Bridge was (rather sad, and ironic) when Stephen Hunt nailed it (his last name rhymes with cunt. It's no coincidence.) The 3-3 draw vs. Everton at home turf perhaps didn't do much except the gradual growth of skeptics. It's sad, truth be told. Cech's phenomenal 78% of the time, except when it comes to corners/freekicks it's been of a f-cking maze in his head. And it's a bit frightening to come to a revelation that.. most of the time, the usual defender in the box (in corners) is Didier himself. That's a f-cking disgrace. To comment that the Terry-Carvalho centreback pairing is ageing without grace is semi-idiotic.. considering their twosome show of being a titanium-coated wall vs. United was kick-ass. Three of Everton's goals last night came from.. (cue theatrical music) set-plays. It's a f-cking disgrace. Cech were, sort of, to blame for most of 'em. On the counter-attack (or lackthereof), it's not as bad. Lampard laid a nice cross for Drogba to nick it in after Saha opening the score.. with a strange, awkward ricochet on Terry and off Cech's back. F-cking disgrace. Anelka made it two afterward. No kid, it's been a long time coming. Anelka's been orchestrating the magic with his passes near the box, and not being a selfish lad. This, is not a f-cking disgrace.
Drogba netted in for 3-2 with a sick-as assist from Ivanovic (who looks like a lesbian?).. and conceding to a Heitinga freekick/Saha header after that ordeal. It's a f-cking disgrace. There are a few blue-clad lads that were immense, though-- Drogba, for his all-round presence, defending and scoring; Ivanovic and his kick-ass crosses into the box (ace stuff, I've just realized); Anelka, for troubling Everton's defence with his quick legwork. Appreciated, thanks. The Chels take on Portsmouth on Wed, 16th (birthday gift, please?). With great respect to Pompeii, I demand ass-kicking on the highest level. The Mancs (in red, not pastel blue) lost to Villans, but we can't expect oppositions to drop points. We're f-ckin' Chelsea, man. (OK, that was a bit cheesy..) But, on to other things: (i) get well wishes to David Dunn, Bullard and Essien (who's crocked til' New Year). It's a bit bleak-- Blackburn without Dunn. Santa Cruz left, so there's no sexy thing on the pitch either. Spurs lost to Wolves as well.. fuck, I was shocked. To a degree where I almost choked on potato chips. Wolves? Huh? In Yoann Gourcuff news (should I make a segment?!).. Bordeaux take on Lyon tonight. Good luck, sexpot. Please win and undress. Santa, I've been a good girl.
[MUSIC] A Tribe Called Quest - Electric Relaxation
“We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens.”
Chuck Palahniuk
