Procul o procul este profani!

Ave you beautiful people!

It’s been a while because I was dragged to R’lyeh and held kept as housewife for Cthulhu. That’s the only lucid explanation I have, the real story is far more disturbing and I honestly don’t want to talk about it again.

It was just slightly amazing when I was diving through all my unread e-mails telling me that I wouldn’t answer the phone.

How am I supposed to answer the phone when I am not even close to it? What do you fuckers think? That I am sitting at home waiting for trhe phone to ring so I can ignore it? I know some dipshits, it never cease to amaze me!

Anyways, I am really pleased with how everything goes. I will be a part of my music schools Christmas concert in December and play a piece from Ferdinando Carulli on my brand new Yamaha C40M (it’s a “beginners” model, but the sound is fantastic), met some great people and their dogs (it’s a pleasure to spend time with them), and had a great time with the girls in Rome (“That would be far more interesting if Ezio was climbing up that building…”)

Back from the abyss, looking marvellous, ha, fuck you, motherfuckers!

And between all these things I have some That Guy issues. That Guy… that actually means there is someone I have a huge crush on (and vice versa), but unfortunately he works in a store close by, so my windage is limited to the checkout.

Which also means that danger is all around me, when I do my errands there.

I have to avoid all lady bits errands – it disturbs me that he could actually have a detailed picture of my vagina in his head judged by the tampons I buy.

Unfortunately this guy lowers my conversation skills to caveman mode – a dagger thrust for that little glimpse of hope I dare to have when it’s about getting to know him.

My friend Jessica noticed my affection when we bought special offer vino in said store when I was moaning about the fact that reincarnating as a mermaid would be my worst nightmare. That Guy was there, he was smiling like an idiot, I was smiling like a retarded chicken.

She cannot understand my hesitation when it comes about hitting on him (because I could buy my sanitary protection somewhere else, I guess) Let me tell you: It ain’t easy when your vocabulary is limited to “Have a nice day!” and “Receipt please!”

Last time I saw him I had my little bro (10) with me, who was babbling without any breaks. That Guy was laughing about our conversation and flirted with me in a delicate way. My brother later told me, that That Guy has an enormous crush on me, he could tell because he noticed that special look.

He also said that I would not have any chance with That Guy because he is way younger than me (I am 29 and he is about 25…)

“You are too old!”, he said with a darkly triumphant.

“I look way younger than I am!”, I replied and asked his friend Big D (10) how old he thinks I am.

Big D was looking at me in a very serious way and than he replied: “Hmmmm…. Don’t know, maybe 34?!?!?!?!”

After my friends keep annoying me and even my brother’s friends started trolling me I pulled myself together and manned up and went there to get the facts straights. I told myself that I am a wild boar, that I am unstoppable, a titan, a raging wild boar titan.

I went out with a bag of cough candy.

I have not seen him since ages. The lesson I learnt is that hesitation is a bitch. Even if you just want to buy sanitary pads.

At least I am back to sit at home ignoring phone calls from people who can kiss my ass.

That totally frees my mind right now

Crush my heart into embers

Ave everyone,

So it has come to this. After I had successfully avoided everything London related (ex-boyfriend issues) in the past few months I started playing Mass Effect 3 and oh the surprise…

The last battle takes place in the shades of Big Ben, yay, oh yay! Add salt to my wounds, you stupid fags!

So basically every fucking Reaper that came into my way had the face of my stupid ex-boyfriend. The result? Headshot combobreaker.

But she… oh she…

Commander Shepard makes me seriously question my sexuality.

And this is basically an announcement for the next deep and ambitious entry Fifty Shades of WTF?! coming as soon as my blood pressure is back to normal and the galaxy safe from harm.

Between the dying and me

Hail to you beautiful people!

I have been flowing within a wonderful current until my arm start aching again.
Medical outcome: Tendinitis / Carpal Tunnel Syndrom

A G A I N ! !

It’s the third time this year that I am suffering from that shit! I can neither play guitar right now, nor gaming, nor working on my novel, nor going to the gym, nor whatsoever I do in my free time (not to mention my military career).

My doctor mentioned that I might have a chronic problem here – on the left arm. I am f*cking right-handed. So why does this bullsh*t always hit me on the left?

You can imagine that my mood is below America on a scale between Zero to Ten. My friend Jessica dared to surprise me with this:

“Alduin” Plaster! Yay! That honestly made my day!

But nonetheless it seems that I have to be operated on my wrist. Double yay. I could live without it.
But at least I have a nice royal blue bandage this time.

How to say no

Ave you beautiful people!

Today was one of those bless-the-oh-so-great-Lord-Vosges-Whitebeam-days – I had an appointment with bank manager. I dearly despise those appointments with all my heart, since my bank always tries to sell me buildings loan contracts and other funny stuff like an increase of my overdraft – yeah, sod you, you bank people! You and your mathematical miracle-calculations when it comes to interest charging (I almost operated a decade in red).
Anyway – I created a bank book back then to have money for my mega-ambitious United Fucking Kingdom relocating project. Which miserably failed due to circumstances. I changed everything into a super awesome Ukraine relocating project which A L S O failed due to other circumstances.

Today – in a nutshell – I finally had the possibility to terminate that darn bank book, but was a little scared that they might talk me into investing that money in parcel of land somewhere in Syria.

Yes, that has been bugging me ever since. My bank manager always reposed in his leather armchair throne, while I had to kneel on a wooden bench, not knowing if I will have to dance and sing or juggling with six eggs in the pedestrian area for a loaf of bread, because he just appointed me to be the proprietor of farmland in the Mongolian desert.
But this time, I promised myself, they would play by my rules! Dance, my puppets, dance!
Thus it happened that I prepared myself for the glorious appointment with all my grim will of iron – as soon as my bank manager would get of the track and deviously tries to lure my money off my wallet, I would invocate the pure and immaculate fury from the depths of my inner abyssos hosted by a superior satanic-666-apocalypse-rage-rubberducky, and say:

Simple! I trained this little word of freedom till oblivion.

So after the regular small talk with my bank manger – who is unquestionably labeled mother’s loll – he put on this mischievous trap grin, which promises illusionary wealth and financial peace, and said: “Now, Mrs. Zarges, sign here please to confirm the termination of your bank book…”

That provoked the following reaction – accurately reflected by this arty mashup

Me: “How dare you, you inferior deworm? I will summon Ctulhu from the deepest depths of R’lyeh to drag your wretched and pathetic soul to the abyss of all infernos, where ferocious entities will tear it apart in the shades of Baphomet until forever before they’ll spit you into the greedy gorge of Netherworld. Go to the Deuce, you… what did you say?”

BM: “Just sign here…”

I actually celebrated a great success until my phone rang, and a young woman introduced herself as my new bank manager. Looking forward to humbly take care of all my belongings, she said. I should be interested in big landowner, she said.

When she suggested a new appointment, I just hung up.

5 3 3

Merhaba everyone!

I am currently suffering from something that possibly is a Nigerian Veldt Flu united with Tropical Swamp Fever and also two broken toes.

Luckily my friend Jessica is a nurse. She brought me chicken soup and also some dubios meds. She appealed urgently to me to never – but really never – combine those meds with Diet Coke.

Well, yes – I had to try it and was blown into a wonderland full of sparkling miracles, mermaids, and enchanting sonorities:

 

That pretty much sums up my weekend activities and pretty much punches back all my plans for the upcoming week(s), since I am currently just hobbling around like a lollipop- tadpole summoned from the depths of the deepest abyss.

F*ck you very much, o marvelous summer of 2012. And now excuse me, I have to sneeze again.