Clubbing Girls: An Analysis

Having been in London for a while, going to a club in Kuala Lumpur yesterday came as somewhat of a culture shock (I was on the bus earlier that evening and that was a culture shock too, I kept mentally giggling as the bus doors opened before coming to a stop and the bus accelerating before shutting the door, sometimes with the conductor hanging out yelling places they were stopping at). 

I have separated the different types of girls in clubs into -

1. Skanky girls. Skanky girls are both hot and more commonly not , but creating a category for skanky and one for sexy/hot seems a bit banal and tedious (and subjective). Skanky girls can also be fat, so there may be a slight crossover between categories. Skanky girls need no description. 

2. Fat girls. Sometimes fat girls are just the accessory to their skanky girl friends, and in some cases lack the confidence to be as skanky. If a fat & skanky girl's fat levels are much higher than her skanky ones, she is in this group. This can be a difficult thing to weigh when she is very much of both.

3. Punk/Alternative girls. These are the weird tattooed fishnet tights flippy hair girls <-- I sound like I do, but I don't have a problem with these people. They don't typically get all up in your faces despite the stereotype. I have been to places both in Central London, Camden, and Shoreditch, so I have taken a rough average of this into account when categorizing. Sometimes these are fat too.

4. Average girls. Average girls dress nice, they can be revealing but they maintain a decent level of class, average does not mean average-looking so they can be quite good-looking, or ugly. They are not fat, they are not skanky, they are not alternative, but they can be cool (or not). So I don't really mean 'Average' as in 'Plain', but more like 'Doesn't try to be anything else (eg. punk/skanky) AND is not fat.'

Basically most people in each group will have qualities of another, but it is the predominant quality that determines one's category. All the categories I have outlined are as objective as possible. Fat girls are fat. Average girls can be cool/not, ugly/pretty, thin/normal. Alternative/punk girls are just that. Skanky girls may be very prim and proper outside the smokey darkened rooms..

And now the pie chart I have created for the clubbing girl demographic in London.

Drawing a pie chart in MS Paint on WinXP is no easy feat. In Win7 it is upgraded and much nicer, but I have downgraded myself to WinXP and the MS Paint blows. You can see here that Skanky Girls are the largest demographic group. I have erred slightly the proportions in the chart should have slightly more blue and slightly less pink-red. The second largest group is Fat Girls, then Average Girls, with Punk Girls slightly smaller.

Skanky girls in London wear a lot of fake tan and eyelashes, they often don't wear bras and freeze themselves half to death being underdressed. Side boobs are a common sight. Fat girls are commonly also skanky, but they are so fat it outweighs their skankiness. I don't want to bring race into this, but just by saying that I've brought race into it. Punk girls are commonly white, there are a lot more of these in Camden areas than Central London. The ones in mainstream clubs are not even that hardcore. The hardcore ones go to this club with very strict security checks... Average girls can be hot/sexy, but not overwhelmingly so and not in a way that lowers their class. The Average Girl group in London is much larger than that in Kuala Lumpur, this provides for a much more welcoming environment. Average Girl group also ascertains that it is okay to not dress super revealingly to fit in in a club. Also, some white girls can look really good without being skanky at all, but here would be referred to as Average. 

Conversely, in Malaysia the Skanky Girl group is massive. It's so massive, it's every tourist's wet dream. It's so massive, I think my chart doesn't demonstrate how massive it is.

Most of the girls are skanky, with a small sliver of Average Girls, with an even smaller sliver of Fat Girls. If you look very, very carefully there is a tiny speck of purple for Punk Girls, but it's really only there for show. 

One thing I realize is that most Asian girls are very skinny. Skinny Asian girls have a very, very, very high tendency to buy small, tight, cheaply made clothes from random boutiques, then pour into the clubs. Because their heads are about as wide as their bodies and they look like 6 year olds in their mother's heels, it makes them look like they have no class at all. Their skinniness virtually eliminates the Fat Girl group and gives them the confidence to reveal most parts of their body, effectively pumping up the Skanky Girl group size. They probably don't wear bras either, but no one can really tell. There are very few Fat Girls in clubs in KL. Firstly because there aren't many to begin with, secondly most of the ones that exist don't want to stand there like a giant totem pole as a daisy chain of pre-pubescent shaped women circle them. Then there are the Average Girls, and there aren't many because most Asian girls are so skinny they dress skankily anyway. 

When I told my brother I was writing this post, he said something about the Skanky Girls here dancing in their own group and not picking up guys although they dress skankily. This may be true, but I'm not bringing these factors in. Fat Girls and Average Girls can also drink until they cannot handle it, then pass out on the ground with their legs spread out. That is quite skanky. So for all intents and purposes, imagine people being put into groups when they walk in the door and not based on behaviour. 

Singapore is also interesting because their proportions are largely similar to Kuala Lumpur's, except that the Skanky Girl group is even larger and the Average Girl group smaller, and Fat Girl group almost non-existent, like that of Punk Girl in KL. Fat Girls are a mythical creature in Singapore.

Death Scene

I always imagine the scene of my death to be one possibly after an accident or at the climax of an illness, one with a doctor swarming around shrieking 'She could make it!' and a really handsome, age-appropriate man shaking me by the shoulders and begging me to be okay. 'Please! Fight it!' 'You just have to fight it!' 'Don't give up!' 'You need to stay alive!'. I'd stare back groggily, and he would go on, pleading and sobbing, like I mattered so much, like I made all the difference in his world, and then I'd say I'm sorry and close my eyes again and then die, and he would just weep desolately and everyone would say sadly how I could have made it. 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I'd like to make my exit. Unfortunately it will more likely end in a car accident (statistically speaking, I am a very safe driver/pedestrian :) ), or heart attack (I am very angsty), but the only way I could actually control it is by killing myself, and heck no I'm not doing that. And that makes me sad. Why can't I design my own death? Why? I didn't get to do birth, why can't I do death? Why?

If I've said it once, I'll say it a million times.

Okay, okay. I know I said I would a ton of times, but I'll really try to blog properly again. It's just that my life was completely torn apart at the end of July, and was kept in tatters for the entire month of August, but in September I started putting it back together. I'm still working on it, but for the most part it's functional. 

I had a pretty cool November. Between 5th November - 5th December, I went to 6 (that's right, mofos!) different countries, literally on opposite sides of the globe. First I went to Brussels, then back to London. Then to the English countryside of Devon/Somerset (a signboard in one of the towns said 'area of outstanding natural beauty'), then a quick stopover in Abu Dhabi (I'm cheating by counting this as a country, but I'm compensating by not emphasizing on the separate locale of London and Devon), then Kuala Lumpur, then Melbourne (Hi Albert) then Surabaya. Unfortunately only one of my journeys counts towards my airline miles, but fortunately it is the longest one.

The only way I could give that month a run for its money is if I spent an entire month going around continental Europe, but I think I would just get bored and angry. When I first got to Brussels I was mad no one spoke English and then wanted to eat McDonalds, then some fellow tried to pick my pocket and I got angry, then I kind of liked it, then I got bored of it again because there wasn't anything to do. That is a lot to go through in 3 days. I don't know what the backpackers do when they go to India for months. INDIA? MONTHS? WHAT THE TOOT.

Mr. Moneybags

I'm not going to go into detail about all the various aspects in which this guy was completely wrong for me, but focus more on the financial situation & personal approaches towards money-spending habits and respect for other people. Z and I used to date last year, and he lives outside London (not even in Greater London like most people, just not London). This made it quite expensive for me see him, because the train was about £11 each way and the bus £7.50 (he would insist I visit and not vice versa). Sometimes he would give me a portion of or half of the bus fare, and sometimes rant about how I got so many perks by going up (free lodging - as though I didn't pay rent already, free food - as though he was a good host and actually fed me instead of lazing around playing EVE Online).

Anyway point was Z was not only a selfish douche, but a highly stingy one. He would make me buy my own drinks, and on Christmas Eve made me go to some fucking lame fucking expensive buffet at a Chinese restaurant, after forcing me to bail on the family friends who are bloody nice to me. As though I want to overpay to eat food I know can be much better. But okay whatever, it's all water under the bridge, I can brush it off as him not having much money at the time either, not really having a job and all. The fact that he was much more willing to spend loads of money going out with his friends negates that a bit, but for argument's sake I'll let that slide.

Fast forward almost a year, he now has a job, a car, loads of hours, loads of money, twice my hourly wage, twice my hours. I honestly stopped being interested in him, but he'd still [kinda] chase me, and so we started hanging out - not really seeing each other again. Let me take it from the top.

The first time we hung out he had made a whole big pitch about picking me up from London then hanging out at his place then driving into London the next day and going on about buying us both travelcards to get around because I said mine would have expired by then and I wasn't going into Central London that weekend. This changed to picking me up late at night, hanging out at his place (watched Despicable Me and fell asleep), driving to St. Albans and saying we weren't going to London anymore, then asking me for £10. I was like wtf, and then he made a whole big deal about how he'd 'driven me around for two days and was going to buy me lunch'. HUH? DRIVEN ME AROUND FOR TWO DAYS? I said 'you haven't driven me around for two days', and he said 'one and a half, whatever, it's still 50 miles and bla bla bla bla bla'. I didn't ask him to get me did I? It was his idea. I don't make suggestions to people then act like they're inconveniencing me after they accept my suggestion. Also have since found out that he goes to London loads of times to hang out with his friends, some of whom are girls he hangs out with one on one, one of whom he went to meet in Amsterdam and have some whatever weekend trip together. I bet he doesn't ask them all for money.

Fast forward. I stop expecting the slightest bit of anything at all from him, but he invites himself over and eats my food a couple of times and spouts romantic insincere drivel and paws me. 

The most recent time I saw him, he'd been inviting himself over and then the day before we'd agreed he would come, then like half an hour before he was supposed to pick me up asked me if I wanted to see him, because he'd forgotten what we'd decided on. I wanted to go to the pub and I said he could come if he bought me lots of drinks and he said okay. Fifty minutes later he picks me up from work. We park on my street, to walk to the pub later, and I figure since we're on my street I'll drop my bag off and tell him so. He says 'Don't forget your wallet.' I say 'You're not buying me drinks?' and then he says 'Maybe. Just one. I'm not buying you drinks all night.' I never really drink more than 2 anyway, but whatever. Appalled at his rudeness, I'm not sure why I didn't just go in and lock the door behind me. Add one to the list of things to kick myself about. What peer actually says don't forget your wallet? He's either 1. Blatantly telling me he isn't getting me drinks. 2. Suspecting me of being sneaky and wanting to purposefully leave my money behind so I don't have to pay (I always carry money. I have money in my Oyster card holder) or both.

I don't want to go to the pub anymore but I still want to drink, so we go to the off-license. At the off-license I pick out a Magners cider and he faffs around. 

I ask him if he's getting anything and he says 'Are you buying me drinks?' 

I say 'No, are you buying me a drink.' 

He says 'Depends, how much is it.' 

It's a cider at a fucking off-license, how much can it be.

'£2.29.'

He doesn't say anything and looks at the beer display.

I say 'Whatever, I'll just pay then' and walk off. He doesn't follow. I am not surprised, but why should I be. When he comes over to the counter I am still getting coins out and he still doesn't offer. Then he buys four beers which adds up to more than twice the amount my cider was.

Fast forward the rest of the night where he eats my food, we watch Horrible Bosses and he spouts farcical mush about how amazing and beautiful I am and when I come back he 'wants to take steps to make me his girlfriend.'

Fast forward to today, several days later, and a few days after we talked about going to eat at this place tomorrow. I ask if we are still going and if he is treating me. He says yes and we are splitting the meal. I said I'd pass.

I've spent some time thinking about it, and really. Seriously? Really? Seriously? I'm quite possibly one of the least materialistic people out there, and I genuinely like buying little things that make people happy. 

I saw a little buddha statue in Camden Market the other day, and while it holds no value to me, I know that that abusive psychofest I dated (not Z, E.) would have liked it and I was a little bit sad we were no longer on speaking terms because I really wanted to get it for him. Because that is what I'm like. I got the sorbet flavour he wanted more. I got him sesame snaps when I was at the supermarket. I got him a can opener because he was opening his cans with a lame can opener that he couldn't turn and had to open things by repeatedly punching holes in them. I don't spend loads of money on clothes either, as a matter of fact quite recently I got home from work one day and on the bus developed a compelling feeling to create an inventory of all my clothes, because I feel like I have too many. I have 30 pairs of tops, not including  my two Heattech tops and Marks & Spencer thermal tank top. 4 bags. 8 pairs of shoes of all kinds, 7 of which are black, 4 of which I never wear. This could go on.

The point being, I'm not a materialistic person. I also don't spend a lot of money. It's not in my nature to spend loads of money to travel to see people (unlike Z who did loads of London trips, just not to see me) nor to say I'm going to do one thing and do another, nor even to expect whoever I date to shower me with things. I appreciate genuine, proper genuine emotion, and wanting me to be happy. If Z, who clearly has loads of money to blow, judging by his Asos wardrobe and bragging 'I took out 100 quid a couple days ago I've no idea where it's gone', and heaps flowery words onto me and him and 'us', cannot even scrounge up the willingness to buy me dinner. Then really. Seriously? No hard feelings, I'd just rather spend my money in better company. 

If there's one thing E has taught me, it's that I'd rather be alone than be around something that didn't make me happy. If I had learnt this the first time I'd dated Z, I could have saved myself the psychofest of E. But it's not to late to leave Z again.

Yum.

I was in the Portrait Gallery earlier today and I don't remember who it was, but this guy who revolutionized farming or whatever said that he thought of sheep as 'a machine that turns grass into mutton'. Haha. I love that.

I've had enough of artificial people who pretend to care about things for a hook, for an angle, to feel superior, and I don't have room in my life to act like I care. My generation is raping the world? So be it. 

Screen pattern lock.

I used to have one of those swishy pattern lock things on my new Android, and the first time I used it in front of Rachel she shrieked 'So cool!', but unlocking it at regular intervals too many times proved too boring (although I did the easiest and most condensed-area pattern I could think of) so I took it off. I also have single-digit passwords when allowed. I can't handle too much technology.

August

It's almost October, but August. Wow, August. Augusts are an okay month, a month preceding my four favourite months of the year, namely September, October, November and December. I always expect the end of the year to be better than the beginning, starting with a neutral August. This August has been the most insane, traumatic, stomach-churning one I could ever have, so much so that I have an entire novelette in the making based on it. I don't know whether to thank you or hate you, August of 2011. But I guess you were a part of my life and I have to accept you.

I'm not a player, I'm not even in the game.

I recently found out this guy my friend has been dating, Jabeer, thinks that I'm a player and that I'm a bad influence on her, and well, it irks the hell out of me. First of all, I met this person once for like five minutes, and the only direct things I remember saying to him was hi and asked him what version his iPhone was and whether he had games on it, to which he said no and kept typing on his phone while my friend defended him and said he was working. Then I complained to my friend about how my ex is being a stupid fucker and ignoring me at the event we were at - I mean we still lived in the same house at the time and said we were going to be friends and he couldn't even have the decency to say hi to me when we came in (but said a very friendly hi to my friend standing half a foot away from me). I think that is being quite a stupid fucker indeed, but it's all water under the bridge now, and she said me saying 'fucker' is part of why Jabeer thinks what he thinks about me.

Wow! I could start expounding on the many ways that he really is a fucker, but this isn't about me or him, it's about Jabeer. 

1. Jabeer openly admits to my friend that he used to be a player (I don't know if he's playing the 'but I'm changing for you' card, but it seems like a possibility) and he seems to think that admitting it/having being it seems to make him some sort of good judge of character on who is and isn't a player. No Jabeer, it doesn't make you more or less ignorant. Being a player is being a player is being a jerk.

2. I can count and name and date (to the month) every person I've ever kissed. Can you do that, Jabeer? Not even my friends no one would think to call a player can do that ('that' being counting and naming, dating is a bit excessive I know).

3. I have only ever had two boyfriends, but the error in judgement on the second one is a mistake on my part, probably from having not had a boyfriend for three years got to my head a bit. That's as much as I've messed up, but doesn't make me a player either.

4. I take everyone I date very seriously, and I never lead anyone I'm not interested in on.

Unfortunately Jabeer seems to be small-minded and is of a religion that encourages small-mindedness, so I don't really know why my friend is still seeing him. She goes on and on herself about how it would never work, and when I encourage her to do X thing that would find out once and for all whether it would work or not, she won't do it and keeps saying "it's not going to work out", and when I ask her to break it off she won't, and his player moves has even forced her into doing some sort of two-month trial thing the last time she wanted to stop seeing him.

On a last note, she doesn't want to have sex and he does, and when she refuses he says things like "it means you don't care about me much." W.T.F., JABEER? I THOUGHT WE LEFT HIGH SCHOOL A WHILE AGO.

Oh and she also said Jabeer thought I was flirty. -__- I would rather flirt with a can of soup.


Update: She told him she was out with me, and he said 'going clubbing?'. This was at 8 pm, and I've only gone clubbing with her ONCE, on NEW YEAR'S EVE. Can this douche be any less judgemental? 

Asshole At The Mall

I was walking through the mall earlier today, and I think most people would agree that although there isn't a correct way to walk through the mall, the majority of people would walk parallel to the row of storefronts, like people walk down a riverbank, which is what I was doing. All of a sudden, this guy veers in from the right and cuts closely in front of me and walks right past, so abruptly that our feet collide mildly, but not hard enough for either one of us to trip. I am annoyed that he walked in such a douchey way and am staring at the back of his head, appalled, when he gets to a decent distance and turns around and goes

'At least say sorry!' angrily.

'You cut right in front of me.' I say, and wave my arm past my body in the manner that he cut me off in.

'Fuck you!' he starts saying.

'Fuck you!' I say back, matching each time he says it - for lack of a better insult because I don't want to start being racist - and give him the finger. I can't be bothered anymore and turn away.

'What did you say? What did you say? What did you say?' he keeps saying, and crosses back over and starts following my friend and I. 

'You cut right in front of me, now stop harassing me.' I say, still walking.

'What did you say? What did you say? What did you say?' he says, jiggling his shoulders like he's so bad ass.

'Stop harassing me.' I say repeatedly until he goes away.

I know that it was bad of me to provoke him further, but he started it, and I refuse to let some misogynistic, low-class piece of trash throw a tantrum at me think it's okay. After what I've gone through so recently, some loser in a mall getting mad for something so pedantic isn't all that scary to me. My friend was afraid but even while it was happening I was aware that we were in the middle of a shopping mall and if he did want to break his gangsta out we could just run to a store with security guards. 

It's my birthday this month!

In light of how birthday present buying is usually an extremely difficult thing, I have compiled this wish list that I am sure no one will care about, and if anyone does it'll probably be someone who is not currently in the same country as I am and cannot get me anything. But I am doing it anyway because I may look back and a) marvel at how I wanted things I don't want anymore b) marvel at how I later got things I wanted.

Owning any one of these things would make me supremely happy, so it is not ordered in any particular way.

1. The Writer's Block (Amazon, also available in Waterstone's)

2. Wreck This Journal (Amazon, also available in Waterstone's)

3. The Lie: A Novel by Chad Kultgen (Amazon) 

4. Portable speakers (Amazon - on sale too!)

5. Earphones, because mine are starting to break.

6. Water filter. (Argos - I REALLY AM A STARVING WRITER, ALRIGHT? DON'T JUDGE ME!)

7. A medium thickness jacket with a hood - for degrees of approx. 5-10 C



Since I'm already compiling stuff anyway, I may as well throw in a list of things I need to get in order to aid my survival.  6 & 7 from above should be here instead, but I'm mildly wishing someone would put them on my doorstep.

1. Dishwashing sponges.

2. Dinnerware.

3. Phone.

4. Leggings.

5. Food.

6. Shower gel.

My head hurts really bad.

I am not sure why,

but I am sure that I do not deserve it.

Why Am I So Fat?

Why am I so fat compared to all these skinny Asian bitches?

Probably one of the reasons I'm staying in London a bit longer instead of going back to face the size negative waifs, three of which are my sisters.

This Woman At The Post Office

seems to be mildly racist in her own strange way. I've only been to the post office twice, and had the fortune of getting her both times.

1. I had an Amazon parcel that wasn't delivered because it couldn't fit through the mail slot and they didn't have the temerity to leave it by the bins, which I would have been fine with, so they left a card with the details on it. I could have reordered the delivery, but I'd feel a bit silly doing so since the post office is a 7 minute walk away (albeit uphill) so I might as well collect it myself. Anyway by the time I've gotten around to going to the post office I've lost the card, so I explain the situation to This Woman and she gives me a bit of paper to write my name and address on, and tells me to underline my surname. She comes back with an envelope with a random Asian name on it, with one word that starts with the same letter as one of my names and a completely different address. WTF??????????

2. I have to mail my visa application and I want it delivered ASAP, and there are different addresses for courier and postal, so I need to ask her about the quickest options and which address to write on the envelope. 

'Hi, I'd like to mail thi-'

'Hong Kong?'

'No, uh, Durham.'

'Japan?'

'No, uh, Durham.'

'Japan?'

'No, England..'

She starts peering at the envelope I have been holding in plain sight and sees 'UK Border Agency' written on it and gets it and gets on with business. She's as polite as they usually are and all that and I'm not really offended or anything, it's just a bit eeeehhhhh what was that?

You Work Or You Die

In retrospect I shan't comment too much on the London riots, as I will probably end up spewing a load of racist, elitist drivel. But I read a lot of articles about it at the time and one that I particularly remember was saying something about the government running out of money to give people - but in more intellectual terms. 

Of course the government is running out of money. Have you seen the teenage mothers trolling the streets? Have you seen the schoolkids rampage McDonald's killing time before they go home to their council flats? Every week there is an article on the DailyMail or whatever highlighting some stupid retard who is living off the government in a stupid retarded way. There was the 29 year old guy who was a grandfather because his 14 or 15 year old daughter had a baby, the guy who's had 13 children with 11 women, the mother who's proud of her daughter who took sexy pictures at 12 and is pregnant at 15. What else is new? Where is the money to raise these children who will most likely be working-class/unemployed for the rest of their lives and breed several more children going to come from? The government. The taxes. I've only lived here a short while and contributed monetarily to this country in a very small way, in sales tax and public transport and international student fees, but can you imagine how the people who have grown up and worked here their entire lives paying for these people feel? They must be incensed! I'm incensed just living around these people, steeling my ears shut as they scream on the bus and tube, ram against me on the street, throw eggs at each other in the cafe I'm sitting in. 

This isn't quite what I'm used to at all. You don't get a free house from the government if you have a baby where I come from. You don't get money to do nothing at all. You work or you die. No handouts for you. Unless you're Malay.. which I'm not so whatev.

I end with two more mini news headline snippets.

1. This Somalian family who came here seeking refugee were offered a large house outside London with a £1k+ rent to live in, but they rejected it because they wanted to live in London near their friends, so now they have an £8k mansion in Hampstead, a rather posh area. Say wha?

2. This woman has decided she doesn't have anything better to do with her life but be fat, so she is too overweight to work and keeps chugging more food to get fatter. Who's paying for this? No prizes for the right guess. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2026964/Susanne-Emans-bid-worlds-fattest-woman-52st-mother-2-supersizing.html

Google Map view of the attacked areas.

Well, a lot of people want to know where I am in relation to the London riots, so I've print-screened this Google Map view of London. One of the worse bits, Croydon is too far South to be on the map, but there was a huge fire there last night. My position is the blue/purple flower thing, and directly to the right of that, N-- Park and ---enham, are actually Wood Green and Tottenham. These are the areas that were attacked the first night. My friend Rachel got stuck in Wood Green on the way home and they stole her phone while she was using it. It was sick. In Wood Green they smashed shop windows and cars and stole a lot of stuff, because Wood Green is a major shopping area. I don't know much about Tottenham, but they set buildings on fire. Tottenham is the heart of it all, where the residents are mad that some guy got shot, but I suppose in their small brains they thought the best reaction was to completely trash their own neighbourhoods and plummet its value. The riots now raging all over town, I suspect, are due simply to the unemployed youths from working-class backgrounds and single parents who had them for the housing and monetary benefits going batshit insane. More on that later.

The Great London Riots of 2011

Oh my god, new places just keep being hit everywhere. I can't believe I live in London. I can't believe these places actually mean something to me. I can't believe I've been there. I can't even BEGIN to start expounding on my thoughts, because once I start something else I know gets attacked and completely blows my mind. I was in Camden Town 5 hours ago, and now buildings are on fire and my favourite clubs smashed. This cannot be. Can this be?

Bad investments

Shouldn't rule your life forever. I consciously let go of one, and now I'm more awesome than ever.

From the movie True Romance

"Amid the chaos of that day when all l could hear was the thunder of gunshots and all l could smell was the violence in the air, l look back and am amazed that my thoughts were so clear and true. That three words went through my mind endlessly. Repeating themselves like a broken record. You're so cool. You're so cool. You're so cool. And sometimes Clarence asks me what would l have done if he had died. lf that bullet had been two inches more to the left. To this, l always smile. As if l'm not going to satisfy him with a response. But l always do. l tell him of how l would want to die. But that the anguish and the want of death would fade like the stars at dawn. And that things would be much like they are now. Perhaps. Except maybe l wouldn't have named our son... Elvis."

I Hate Chinese Food

I hate how working with food makes me hate that food. The first commercial shoot I worked on was for KFC. Although my hand made a national TV debut, it completely put me off eating KFC for about three months. There was something about watching the food stylist rearrange chicken pieces and herbs on macaroni and fake a mashed potato gravy that really put me off. But the worst one was when they were shooting the money shot, the one of golden fried chicken tumbling downwards. Watching fried chicken being manipulated and thrown around for a couple hours was just so unappetizing, plus the incredible amount that was thrown away after.

But anyway, the point I wanted to get to was - god Chinese takeaways are so disgusting. I've seen the cooks drop chicken balls on the floor and put them back on the table. Sometimes I have to touch the customers' food when I put the lid on and the cooks haven't pushed the food into the plastic boxes nicely. I try to use the lid but sometimes you really need a hand. Today a dog sniffed the back of my hand as I walked down the street on the way to work. I didn't wash my hand. I feel a bit gross. But I never touch anything with the back of my hand. Today I saw the cook picking beansprouts out of noodles with his bare hands cause there were too many and shoving them into his own mouth. Probably touched his fingers to his mouth then back to the noodles. Gross. So gross. Saw boss cut raw/half-cooked frozen spare ribs with the same knife he uses to cut sesame prawn on toast after it's fried (i.e. cooked food). Constantly picking up cutlery that doesn't feel clean at all, but don't have time to wash it, end up plonking it in soup/soup in it to mask it. So disgusted. Reason with self that most people have immune systems that can handle it easily. Still disgusted. Hate working there. Hate that I eat it too. Hate that I do it too.

Life is a strange and elusive thing.

I know what you're thinking. What do you mean elusive? How can life be elusive, don't we all live? Putting it into context would involve thinking about the term 'get a life'. What does it mean to get a life?

Do you have a life if all you do is work in a factory line, go home, feed your dog, play with your dog and eat TV ready meals? What if you truly enjoyed it? Conversely what if you went out every night and met people, young, cool, hip, influential people, people who partied and drank and knew all the coolest things. Do you then 'have a life'?

At one point in my life I truly believed I would not go to and definitely did not need to go to university. But now that I have, now that I've gotten my mandatory Bachelor's degree (and a shit grade to boot, though completely my own fault), I'm faced with what I can only refer to as The Rest Of My Life and all I can say is, it feels like shit. 

I used to read Goosebumps books by R.L Stine when I was about 10-12, and a particular series was called Give Yourself Goosebumps. These creepy books had you picking pages to make different choices and if you made a lousy one you'd be faced with a sticky end. When you apply this to my life now - HOLY COW! I mean, no, really, HOLY COW WTF! Is there anything I can do that WON'T lead to the destruction of the rest of my life, be it complete destruction, material or emotional, or mediocrity forever? 

I have this persistent feeling of distress and antsiness, and I've come to theorize that it comes from two different sides of oneself. One side insists it has to get better than this, and the other is slowly coming to realize that it isn't. At my age, at my current life situation, at my current mindset, I am at my prime to be hit by this the hardest. When one gets older one probably gets better at causing life to be better than this and/or accepting that it's okay if it doesn't, leading to more inner calm but not necessarily happiness.

Life, you are such a strange and elusive thing. I wish we could all be apes again.

Natalie Portman

For all intents and purposes (intensive purposes - HAHA), I am a very straight person. I never fantasize about girls, I never watch lesbian porn, I never feel the slightest bit inclined to kiss a girl or see her naked or any any any any thing at all. But Natalie Portman. Natalie Portman is the stuff my dreams are made of. I want to be Natalie Portman. I want to be with Natalie Portman. I want to stare at Natalie Portman all day. I want to be Natalie Portman's baby. I want to be Natalie Portman's dog. I want Natalie Portman to rub my tummy and tell me I am a good girl.

Anus

I went out with this Polish guy one time, and he was really nice. We went to one of the business people bars near Bank and he asked me what drink I would like to have. I said a Margarita (BONUS: I knew and briefly lived on a street called Margarita Place. Unfortunately back then I was much too young to know that I really like margaritas), and he went off. He came back a few minutes later all apologetic and asked if I had a second choice, so I said a Long Island Iced Tea and he went and got it and came back with a sob story on how the bartender didn't know what a Margarita was and he told him he was on a really important date and had to get it, hehe. We got on really well and yadda yadda and stuff and texted each other and stuff and one day! As a joke! I said something something 'anus' on his FB wall (his name is Eastern European and contains the word anus) and he just totally flipped out and never talked to me again. Oh welllllllllllll.

Amy Winehouse died.

I bet London killed her, I bet it did.

Getting hit on in a gay bar.

One of my friends in London (ooo I sound like I have so many but I really don't) turned 20 recently, and she decided that the best way to celebrate her maturity and the death of her teen years was to party at a gay club.

Lousy Tofu didn't want to go because he never wants to go anywhere with me, but then I insisted he did so he agreed to. We have our separate days then meet downtown at a pub. After the pub Tofu has convinced one of his friends to go to the gar bar too (he cannot suffer my presence alone) so we all go at stand outside G-A-Y at the designated time. Tofu does a very good 'impression' (put in quotation marks because it is part impression part reality) of a gay person with a gay lisp and has the gay bouncer put paper wristbands on us. He and his friend do an uncannily good performance of 'Sweet Transvestite' from Rocky Horror. I like it.

After 40 minutes no one has showed, and after a further 20 this guy we know shows up. We say we're waiting for everyone to go in and he says it's closing and he's just come out. All this time we've not been able to get anyone else who was supposed to go on the phone, presumably because they were on the tube. Gay bouncer confirms that it is closing, and we finally manage to get someone on the phone. They say they are going to another G-A-Y, with a slightly different name that bears no significance to me.

We meet at the G-A-Y #2, which is £2 to get in and has a really long line. We stand there for really long, and then two people from our group go in (one of whom is Clarence, and this happened several weeks before he was our houseguest), and when Tofu and his [boy]friend and I are in the front of the line, the bouncer asks how many people are in our group. Tofu turns around and counts the birthday girl and all her friends and there are 11. He tells the bouncer, and then he tells us our group is too large and tells us to get out of the line. What a douche.

We regroup slightly further away, and the birthday girl says to get in groups of 2 for the next gay bar. Tofu gets all ummm and aaahhh-y so I leave him and his boyfriend and ask another girl, G, to go in with me. We walk along and Tofu largely ignores me and I get rapidly bored, but also make conversation with a couple of other people, including Clarence. When we are at the bar I realize I've lost sight of G and then she's gone so I have to go back to Tofu and his boyfriend. We go through gender-separated security lines and regroup inside.

I see Tofu at the bar, and I ask him what he is doing. He says he is getting some water and I am really thirsty, so I say 'Can I have a bit?' and he says 'Why can't you just get your own?' 'Well can you ask for two then.' He refuses. I am appalled, then he starts defending himself about how he wants it and he feels bad enough asking for it in the first place and so on. I walk away, and stand around with the birthday girl and G, then Tofu comes over with some water and starts offering it to me. We argue a bit about why he wouldn't just let me have a drink of his instead of being a jerk.

Tofu and his boyfriend go off to the dancefloor and start grinding each other. I'm not nearly intoxicated enough to, the Smirnoff Cola I had on the tube like a delinquent fast wearing off. Clarence is standing around weirdly like me, so we go stand in one of the short arched hallways between the bar and dancehall that don't have gay people making out in them and talk and watch the others. Clarence has a torchlight and shines it on random people.

Tofu comes over and starts asking me to dance, but I'm not very inclined to be a third wheel amongst my own boyfriend and try to dance to Baby One More Time, so I don't. We start shouting at each other because it's very loud and we're getting annoyed. He leaves and Clarence asks if we are shouting because it's loud or because we're angry. I tell him about the water thing and another thing related to a house party Clarence was at too, quite some time ago which sucks balls.

Clarence & I go sit upstairs and find another dancehall, which has music by far better than the downstairs one. There are benches down the side of the room too, so we sit there near the door. A few people walk past, and one guy turns around a couple times and stares at me. Clarence wants to get water and asks me if I want anything, and I say no but he asks me are you sure? Just some water? and I say okay.

The guy who was looking at me earlier comes back and stands next to me.
'Hi,' he says.
'Hi,' I say.
He pauses.
'Uhh.. Are you gay or straight?' I say.

He says he is straight and I ask what he is doing here. He says he is with some friends some of whom are gay. I say I am with some girls some of whom I heard are gay but I don't know who. He says he is from Israel and we make some small talk and then I tell him how my passport is banned in Israel. He says it isn't, and I say it is. He says it isn't. I say it is, I'll show you right now! And he goes no no no no there is no such thing. He goes on to explain he works for an airline or whatever and 'we would love to have you in our country' etc. I start to feel meh because this conversation isn't interesting at all.

Clarence comes back holding two very refreshing looking cups of iced water, and I take one. Israeli Guy remains there and I don't know what to do but I don't really want to talk to him anymore. A couple of the girls who were with the birthday girl come up and tell me Tofu and his boyfriend are looking for me. I tell Israeli Guy I have a boyfriend so he leaves. Then I go to Tofu and his boyfriend and we leave.

Japanese Karaoke Night Club

I haven't told anyone this, but in my moments of despondency about my dwindling money reserve, I go on Gumtree and look at job ads. Sometime late last year, when I had a lot more money than I did now but was rather discomfited by the ridiculous amount of money it requires to live like a working class pauper in London, I sent my CV and picture in to this Japanese karaoke club. I was asked to go in for an interview, so I went all the way to St. John's Wood, Google Maps-ed my way to the place and found myself standing outside this green-lit door with no signboard with nothing else open nearby but a large off-licence/supermarket. I stood outside for something like ten minutes, very lightly pushing the door (which of course didn't open), then a very vampy looking woman with a floor-length dress and very heavy eye make up came out and stared at me suspiciously. I do like my black eyeliner but that was just too much, so I squealed like a stuck pig in my head and went back to the Tube and went home. I just thought about it now because last night I was talking to a girl I know vaguely and she said she was working at a Japanese karaoke club in St. John's Wood, and how many Japanese karaoke clubs can there be in St. John's Wood. She says you have to dress sexily and the customers can be gropey, so I suppose I do like my Chinese place that isn't too busy and I can watch King of Queens at. 

Some Guy.

Hey you, you left a pair of shorts that look like they've been dry cleaned or something in my restaurant about a week ago. You had an extra extra hot special fried rice and I remember that because it was an easy order and I love easy orders, especially when they are eat in. I hope you remember where you left them and come back and get them, because I feel so bad for you when I see them. I hate losing things.

Fetish Guy.

Rachel and I were walking down the street near the Pret between Leicester Square and Covent Garden one day, and it was a particularly frustrating day for her because she was handing out CVs and asking for a job at all these random places. Suddenly this guy in a white office shirt and slacks and briefcase comes up to us, his formal attire offset by a large bald patch and shoulder-length hair around it. He says 'Excuse me.' We say 'Yeah?'

He says something like 'We're looking for people to take part in a study to just go around and do things like try clothes and shoes on and it'll only take a couple of hours and you can make £100-200 in a day and  it's all very simple and would you be interested?'

We've both been very flustered about our depleting money situation for some time, and I thought it was some sort of mystery shopping - which Rachel later said she thought too - so we say okay. So he starts walking with us down the street and talks about how he's experimenting with pushing the boundaries of what people feel comfortable with and says 'fetish' and 'foot' a lot of times but not making all that much sense. 

Anyway so then he asks us to take our shoes off and walk down the street barefoot for £10 each, which we happily do. It's quite nice near Covent Garden because of the cobbled streets and stuff, but a lot of people look at our feet. He then starts asking if we'd be willing to let people suck our feet, so Rachel says no and I say everything has a price. He loves my answer and asks me to expand on it a bit, but there aren't many ways I can phrase 'everything has a price'.

His next phase is to ask us to pick out clothes for each other to wear, so he takes us into some cutesy lacey store in an armpit of Covent Garden and watches us touch the clothes uneasily. He says 'I don't mean to rush you but the quicker you get done here the more money you can make doing other things' a few times. We're still quite unsure about what he wants, to we ask him again and he says he wants us to dress each other, like properly pull the clothes on each other. Which we say we don't want to do so he says okay and we leave the store.

Outside he asks what we'd do now, and since Rachel has already bowed out of having her feet sucked he focuses on me. I do think it's a bit gross, but I'm sure I've stepped in things more disgusting than someone's mouth - on that day alone from walking barefoot in Central London. I don't see why anyone would want to, but if I were getting paid for it I'm willing to detach myself enough from my feet for a couple minutes to let them be sucked. I ask him how much it would be and he says either £10 or £20, I've forgotten which since it's much too low for me anyway so we get on with our lives.  

It's very dubious and disgusting since he had no papers or whatever supporting his 'study' and didn't explain it very well at all and I didn't lose any organs or anything so it's all good, people, it's all good.

Clarence The Houseguest.

My friend Clarence* is homeless. Although he has an inheritance and student loan, he is 'unable' to find a short term place to let while he is in between leases. I live in a storeroom with a bed in it. My friend Rachel was homeless for a week, so she was staying with me at the time. It's a massive room with stuff all around it and a double bed in the middle.

The first night Clarence stayed it was supposed to be a one off thing, and I hemmed and hawwed about it and told him how my friend was staying and I didn't want my landlord to see so many people there. This was very strategic because I was okay with him staying now and then, but not all the time, especially not since I myself am in transition. But then Tofu** got stoned and started telling him how if he couldn't find anywhere else - just ask, man, just ask. Then when Clarence was going to bed at approx. 5-6 am he kept talking to Rachel until she had to go sit in the kitchen. In the morning we had to ask him repeatedly to get up and fold the bedding we'd set out for him before he did, thus leaving about an hour later than we'd intended to.

The second night Clarence brought a cat. We had him sleep in Tofu's room instead of mine because Rachel is allergic to cats and I don't want her to be uncomfortable in more ways than one. Didn't hang out much that night, partially because he only got there pretty late, maybe 11-12ish. Much later when Rachel and I were asleep Tofu came in and said Clarence kept laughing and he couldn't sleep, so he slept with us. Which Rachel's on-off boyfriend was rather mad about, haha. Went out before Clarence left, came back and Tofu said he only left at 2:30pm. And the cat pooped on his blanket.

THE THIRD NIGHT, Tofu and I were in the park after work when Clarence called at about 12:30 am. He asked stuff about whether he could stay tonight/tomorrow night and whether he could leave some stuff at my place. I said he could leave his stuff and stay tomorrow night, and then he said 'What about tonight?'. I said 'Tonight's not so good.' and he said 'Why?'. Having just drank a bit I didn't have the clarity of mind to say that I didn't have to explain to someone why calling me at 12:30 am if he could stay at my place wouldn't work so well for me.

So I mumbled some stuff about it not being convenient and really late and my friend still being there. He persisted some more, and we gave in. Then comes the problem of asking him where he was. By this time I'd gotten sick of talking about it and Tofu started talking to him about which tube station was closest. This went on for a while until I pointed out that he might not make the last tube. Tofu, being rubbish at knowing about public transportation, made me talk to Clarence again. He finally told me he was near Old Street/Shoreditch - an AREA - as opposed to the name of the street he was on when I'd asked him earlier which I wouldn't have any clue about. Tofu and I both breathed a sigh of relief when I told him to just get the 43 bus from Old Street. He says okay, and I tell him to call when he gets on the 43.

We spend the next hour not knowing what is going on, but struggle to stay awake. At 1:40 am Clarence calls, and say he is at London Bridge. FUCKING LONDON BRIDGE. He took over an hour to get a fucking small distance in the fucking wrong direction. I'm in Muswell Hill, which is North London. Old Street is Central London, but slightly to the East. London Bridge is in Central, but borderline South London. Fucking A.

I am starting to get really Pissed Off at this point. Tofu and I get up to get the bedding from the room Rachel's sleeping in. We watch an episode of King Of Queens but I fall asleep near the ending because I am so tired. I tell Tofu he is going to have to let Clarence in. He starts complaining strongly because he 'got up so many times already'. He got up three times.

#1. He got up because he had to pee. He wanted to watch King Of Queens and I was too tired to want to watch it enough to get it, so he tried to. Rachel leaves her computer on to play episodes of King Of Queens while she falls asleep to it, so it was playing. He is terrified of Rachel so he runs away, leaving both her door and his own door open.

#2. He has to get up to close both the doors.

#3. We both get up to get the bedding for Clarence, and I get my netbook.

Which makes it completely unfair that he keeps going on about how he had to get up so many times, which I keep pointing out and saying 'You. Had. To. Pee.' He whines again and again about how many times he had to get up, and I keep repeating the reasons behind why he got up. We start getting louder, and all he keeps saying is he had to get up so many times, and I keep pointing out how HE HAD TO PEE AND HE HAD TO GET UP AGAIN BECAUSE OF HIS OWN FAULT AND AFTER THAT I GOT UP TOO. But now it's reached the point where he keeps shushing me and telling me to shut up and stop in the middle of my talking. And I stop. And he doesn't respond to ANYTHING I just said, so I repeat it again. And he shushes me again. And I wait again. And so on. Thrown into that is that whenever I complain about how rubbish Clarence is, he keeps defending Clarence. Which branches into how he is always on other people's side and so nice to everyone, except me. Which he refuses to listen to at all. Then I get so mad I sit outside and read for a while.

When I come back he tells me to go to sleep and that he'll let Clarence in. It is 2:40 am.

Clarence shows up at just past 3 am. Tofu lets him in, I am half-asleep but I can still hear them. Clarence asks if we've been sleeping. Tofu says 'not really' and he says 'Why not?'. I am SO tired that I am unable to start yelling at him about WHY WE DID NOT SLEEP. Clarence messes about a bit more, telling Tofu he has to go brush his teeth or some other unimportant rubbish he should shut up and do instead of talking about doing. Then he says 'Where should I put the cat?' and I am so fucking sick of it all I say 'What the fuck.' loudly, while Tofu says 'You've still got the cat, man?'. Clarence then says he is joking. I somehow get even more fucking sick of it than I already am and pull the duvet over my head and whine very very very softly to Tofu to please make it stop and he comforts me slightly.

After some time Clarence stops and I fall into restless sleep.

In the morning I wake up at 8:40 and my body aches and feels like I'm sinking into the bed with exhaustion. I force myself to go back to sleep. At 10 something Tofu and I start waking up and blowing farts on each other, and Clarence says [as a joke] 'I think you guys should leave the room.' Which isn't fucking funny at all.

Tofu starts Skyping his mother and I eat with Rachel. Tofu eats and hangs around and refuses to sit in my room because he doesn't want to leave Clarence alone although he is sleeping. I shower and get ready and Clarence finally gets up. Tofu and I tell Clarence he has to put his bedding back, and he just dumps it back in a messy pile without folding it. Despite being here before and seeing and unfolding and refolding the same old same shit the previous two nights he slept over. Tofu goes back to his room and Clarence is hanging around mine and I go tell him he has to tell Clarence to fold it. I come back in and Tofu is folding Clarence's fucking shit and Clarence looks at me and says 'I didn't know I had to fold it.'

I don't know who I am madder at. I know Tofu must have told him something like 'Claudia says you have to fold it.' because it is typical of him to villianize me like he always fucking does. If someone rams into me while I am standing still in the supermarket he snaps at me to 'Watch out!/Get out of the way!'.

When we are on the way out Clarence suddenly realizes he doesn't have his phone. He searches my room, Tofu's room, his bags about three times each for about fifteen minutes. Tofu and I get bored of trying to help this scatterbrain so we stand in front of the full length mirror in the kitchen (haha) and check ourselves out. Clarence comes in and says he can't find it, and I say are you sure it's not in here, and poke the breast pocket on his shirt. It feels hard, so I reach in and pull out his missing phone.

Tofu and I were going to Camden that day. Clarence didn't have anywhere to go and figured he would go to town, so he took the same bus and then later evolved to getting off with us and then kept walking down the street with us but really slowly. When he finally went off we started walking very quickly because I was very hungry. The End.

(There is more about his odd phone call and our soft-hearted concern about his abode for that night as well, but it's best to just leave it at that.)

*Not his real name.
**Not his real name either.

PSW

Sometimes I don't really want to apply for the PSW and stay here a couple more years. I'm craving some damn good hawker food and the Chinese/Indian/Malaysian/whatever places here just aren't hitting the spot, despite having some damn good burritos I love. But then I know people who desperately wish they were here and I've heard about the things people do just to get into the country and they aren't pretty. I've heard that one thing people do is fly in and tear up their passports (so they can't be deported) on the plane and get arrested at customs. They then get released some time later and seek asylum. I also has a friend who desperately wants to stay but she finishes university next year when it won't be available anymore, so I suppose it seems like a bit of a waste if I don't stay.

Haha.

I guess the reasoning behind my unimaginative blog title and URL is that "haha" is my go to word. I type it when I have nothing else to say in a typed conversation, at the end of sentences I want to trivialize, when I am actually laughing at something. I mumble it when someone makes an unfunny joke, I laugh it when someone makes a funny one. I also never say the world 'lol'.