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Saturday, 24 January 2004

Looking for Flies in the Ointment

Now Playing: Tricky - Maxinquaye

I paid a small fortune for my new Temporary Abode today, and five hours later, my paranoid fantasies have fixated on the key clue: the bogus landlord was too nice. We ended up down the pub, today, setting the world to rights. Nobody connects that quickly, and that comfortably with a stranger, surely? Patently, it's part of her conman's patter, was merely minding that flat for a friend, and is off to Hawaii on my savings right now. Laughing.

Fuelling my paranoiac mood swings are the omens of ill fortune, which are coming thick and fast:

Omen 1: no sleep. My lesbian neighbours have houseguests. Loud, raucous houseguests who take full advantage of London's nightlife, then find themselves locked out in the small hours. The logical solution is to lean drunkenly on Vanessa's doorbell for fifteen minutes solid when you're locked out of your house at four in the morning, isn't it? Two days in a row?
Omen 2: dirty corporate sneaking around. Harv asked me to spend today taking sneaky photos of promotional displays of Uncle Ben's rice in a variety of supermarkets, for a German marketing firm. Paranoia already twitching, I decided to wander round with the camera at waist level, idly scratching the button as I repeatedly stroll up and down the pasta aisles. Accidentally switch camera onto video record. Start checking what I've snapped in checkout queue of supermarket number 3, and find it's a swooping, tumbling, rollercoaster death ride of horror, only in a supermarket, and with pot noodle artillery bombardment. Video replay shows that the cleaning lady by the spatchcock chickens spotted my subterfuge early on. Still, I didn't get arrested.
Omen 3: stalker. About six years ago, I had an underage stalker - used to follow me around with a camera, bother me all the time, ineffectually, ring me up constantly, and tried to break into my house to see me. I told her to leave me be, and all went quiet. Walking into the supermarket near Temporary Abode, I ask a portly assistant where the cat food is. Cue lurid technicolour intro to Cape Fear playing behind my eyes, as stalker wearing a supermarket uniform turns round. I chat politely with stalker. "So, how's the stalking going? What've you been doing with yourself? Got much time for stalking these days?" She's been working here four years. Seems aggrieved at me about this. Fair enough, I'd rather stalk me than pack rows of tights onto shelves as well.
Omen 4: plunged helplessly back into a pre-telephonic era. BT telephoned me to demand overdue payment. I explained the by now familiar get out clause: "I know it seems unreasonable, but Tybalt packed it into one of several thousand boxes, and I can't find it unless she starts speaking to me again." It didn't work on the boss at work, but seems strangely hypnotic for BT guy, who sounds like Liam Neeson.
I start panicking because I've forgotten to stop paying for dial-up access, since getting a broadband account with a different company last July. Temporary Abode has no phone line, but does have cable. Will I be paying for three different internet connections by the end of the week?
Seems not: the minute I upload 400 blurry photographs of Dolmio / Uncle Ben's / Pot Noodle / my hip, my broadband modem breaks. Argh. Am forced to rely on chinese takeaway and pistachio kulfi for amusement until I remember I can still use the dial up.
Maybe they're bad omens. P'raps I'm just a cynic.

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Vanessa/Female/31-35. Lives in United Kingdom/London/East London/Bow, speaks English and German. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection. And likes Literature / Movies/Food / Eating / Drinking.
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United Kingdom, London, East London, Bow, English, German, Vanessa, Female, 31-35, Literature / Movies, Food / Eating / Drinking.

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This page graced by sarsparilla at 11:03 PM GMT
Updated: Saturday, 24 January 2004 11:26 PM GMT
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Sunday, 25 January 2004 - 2:34 PM GMT

Name: Jack
Home Page:

Who was it that said, "if it weren't for the bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all"? Been there. Oh and by the way, welcome to the secret society of luckless cynics. You're invited to the annual meeting. Of course, you won't show up; nobody does. ;-)

Sunday, 25 January 2004 - 6:02 PM GMT

Name: e
Home Page:

Practically every one of your entries makes me laugh out loud. I only hope that you find your slant on life as funny as the rest of us do-some therapy if you don't...

Monday, 26 January 2004 - 2:20 AM GMT

Name: Anne
Home Page:

1. Why can't I find any lesbian neighbors? More specifically, a single lesbian neighbor who's lonely, looking for love, and doesn't mind me coming over in the middle of the night to "water her plants" in my sexiest negligee... Hmm maybe the doctor was right about verbalizing my fantasies...
2. Taking subversive photos of rice? How Fellini-esque
3. Not ultra-smart dearie. Funny as hell, but not smart.
4. I want a Shakespearian nickname. Hmm how about "Nurse"? Is that taken?
Ok I'll stop being a wise-ass now. The urge leaving me...

Monday, 26 January 2004 - 7:16 AM GMT

Name: Vanessa

Bizarrely, I've had loads of lesbian neighbours, over the years, and whilst they're over helpful if you're locked out dripping wet and wearing just a towel, they generally just represent a load of annoying people who don't fancy you, and the music you overhear is f|ucking awful.

I think Nursie sounds better...

Monday, 26 January 2004 - 10:20 AM GMT

Name: Looby

You couldn't make it up! If surreptitiously filming rice displays after being awoken by drunken lesbian neighbours were an episode in a film people would be turning off because it's not believable :)

Monday, 26 January 2004 - 6:21 PM GMT

Name: Vanessa

Do you know, I'd never thought of that. My life lacks naturalism. Heh. :)

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