Umplety rumplety dumplety twatcrumpet

I'm quiet because I'm reserved, and not because I'm stupid or not fluent in a language. I often get the feeling I speak in a very academic/studied way that most people struggle to understand.

Since the age of 15 until I finished secondary school I've had English grammar shoved down my throat (unlike other teenage girls who would take cock with a cup of tea instead) and wrote essays on Shakespeare and Poe as light homework. The essays turned out to be completely useless in the long term, but were thoroughly analysed, judged and graded by people whose authority I resented at the time - and still do, except I no longer have to put up with it. In other words, my favourite reads, interests and opinion of the world go far beyond the newest issue of the Daily Mail.

I grew up learning new words like "obsequious", "contemptible" and "concupiscence". So forgive me for not feeling comfortable using "friendlier" language like "you alright me' luvvie?" and "what you done now me' darlin'?". And forgive me if I find it appalling when an English speaker can't spell the word "hygiene".

I will always be serious, reserved and formal until I get to know you because it's just the way I am. I can't talk about the bloody X-factor or join a group of women in a conversation about their lovely partners who used to help them shave their legs when they were pregnant.

This doesn't mean I am intolerant or hostile. I just can't relate to small talk. Or women. Or people. Sometimes I get quiet even during conversations I enjoy. That's my natural way of saying

I DON'T GIVE A MONKEY'S

or

MY RESPONSE TO THAT WOULD BE SO (tick as appropriate) COMPLICATED/STUPID/MEH/USELESS/OFFENSIVE I'M NOT EVEN SURE IT'S WORTH SHARING

I swear I wasn't made to be British. Or of any other culture/nationality whatsoever, as I can't seem to fit in no matter where I go.

Well, I'm starting my own country. With blackjack. And hookers.

Um, that four-letter word again. You know, that word

And no, it's not "fuck" :) tut, tut, dirty people.

It's what most people would regard as the opposite of it.

Love has a different meaning for everyone. Some people fall in love after a few nights out in a pub, others after months of being in a relationship, and others right after they've sadly parted. Someone may not love someone else back in the same way. His love is shallow and shared between several other lovers, whereas hers is selfless and exclusive. No gender discrimination intended in the example - men are sometimes more genuine and sincere if things escalate and turn into a deep connection where the physical spark becomes a catalyst and not the reaction itself.

Could that be one of the many possible ways to define it?

Most things people say about love are overrated and unbearably cheesy, but like I said, love has a different meaning for everyone. I don't fall for pick-up lines and cheap flirtation, and therefore will never be successful with online dating. I couldn't fall in love with anyone I haven't met in person. I'm still very confused as to what love means and feels like, although I might have an idea waiting to be challenged against any similar feelings I may experience in the future. It's already been challenged against the past, and went far beyond anything I've learnt.

Does love come only once in a lifetime? I'm honestly too young to even express an opinion. One thing I'm sure of is that the way you experience and understand love can change depending on your lovers, past and present, and that it is possible to love more than one person in different ways. I don't know whether you can love one person in the same way you've loved another, or love several people simultaneously and also genuinely. Maybe the more experienced of you can give me your opinion on that?

There's always something sad about love, something that makes happy couples a rare blessing, irrespective of their understanding of it - that's not for us to judge. As beautiful as it may be, love is rarely fulfilled and often incompatible with the long-term interests and welfare of those involved. Love creates and destroys, brings together and pulls apart; it is cathartic and heartwrenching.

Should we celebrate love? Should we despise it? Shun it? Long for it until we end up disappointed and wrecked?

I welcome it, no matter how rewarding or painful. I only have so much to live and an eternity to spend feeling (literally) nothing, so I might as well be happy and sad, heartbroken and complete - for a month, a year, five years or (if I'm lucky) happily ever after. I don't say goodbye to love, or hold a grudge against the love that severed.

What do you say to love?

Go away, fuck off, never come back?
Please stay, please don't leave, I need you, I will die without you?
Love me, love no one else but me?
Stay...?

No.

I don't send love away, nor do I beg it to stay; I don't lock it in a box and keep it to myself forever - most certainly not if it belongs to someone else. Love comes unexpectedly and often goes in the same way. I can't keep love in one place or force it upon anyone.

So I say thank you for stopping by.

I wish I were stupid for one day...

...so the only thing I'd care about would be the upcoming episode of Geordie Shore and Jennifer Lawrence's tits. Stupidity and ignorance make you immune to the disappointment in mankind that naturally comes with maturity, intelligence, wisdom or whatever you want to call it.

Last week I had my induction training for my new job. Healthcare related, loads of responsibility, not for the faint-hearted, yet one of my colleagues there (a person who had supposedly submitted a decent application and passed the interview) couldn't even spell "hygiene" and was moaning that copying information (i.e. the process of alternating reading and writing) was very difficult and "made her brain hurt".

In the same way breathing and talking at the same time is excruciatingly tiring. I would advise those people to stop doing one of them - one thing at a time, y'know. It would make life much easier for everyone. Multitasking isn't always ideal.

By that point I was feeling increasingly worried by my employer's code of practice in recruiting staff. Everyone at that table was either of average intelligence or not very intelligent, but practical... except for this particular specimen who couldn't even write in her own language, yet was signing up for a huge amount of responsibility by dealing with, ehm, !!!LIVING PEOPLE!!!, including assisting with medication and filling in charts (surely the names of the medicines would make her tiny brain pop, as they are more complicated to spell than the word "hygiene", just saying).

Should I worry about that? No, I haven't hired her and would have never done so if it had been up to me. But I am. I am worried and disappointed. Every day, every minute, every second, unless I find a good enough distraction such as:

• Making everyone who wants to be my friend pass a spelling test
• Being in cuteness heaven with fifteen fluffy cats
• Reading books that make me loathe humanity even more than I already do
• Moaning about it on the internet... oh wait, that makes it even worse
• Contemplating my future achievements - very inspiration, successful as fuck
• Mentally killing everyone on my blacklist
• Creating new characters for my epic soon-to-be-written novel that I'm always too lazy to actually write. I also make them have sex. Very often. Maybe I should crack on writing those chapters first...
• Jennifer Lawrence's tits (just leave the woman be, will you?)

On the other hand, seeing all of these stupid people succeed keeps me motivated and less likely to underestimate myself - if they can do it, why couldn't I do it too? 

What makes the stupid successful?

The more intelligent you are, the harsher and more critical you are of yourself (doesn't work the other way around, I'm afraid). This makes the majority of intelligent people very insecure; therefore, the less gifted usually end up in leading positions in the workplace and boss the former around.

The idiot thinks highly of himself as he is too ignorant to acknowledge his own faults, let alone be humble about them or turn them into real insecurities. The idiot is ambitious and (most importantly) very persistent (oh my word, you would be amazed). The idiot doesn't care about other people's opinions of himself and the world, and will not accept that he is an idiot even when bluntly made aware of it.

If you're stupid, you don't know you're stupid. Easy as that. This makes the stupid successful.

How do I protect myself from stupidity?

Read. Never take anything for granted and always doubt every piece of information you come across until you've had the knowledge to validate it yourself. It's like wearing an intellectual condom :)

Whatever is you want to do, think it through. Think what you could have done better, ideally without beating yourself up over mistakes or turning mistakes into insecurities. Otherwise, the stupid might win. And last, but not least:

Random wise notebook from Asda

I'm mainly happy with the person I've become. I've changed so much during the past couple of years I can't even recognise myself looking back at the adult wannabe I used to act like in the old days. It's for the better. I may have the life experience of an older person, but fear not, as I'm still a child to everyone who gets to know me.

Mehr!

What is it about money that turns people into greedy, antisocial maniacs? Ever since the concept of trade was invented in antediluvian times everyone has been slowly developing the obsession of getting maximum value for minimal effort, often at the expense of those who are too meek or decent to rise against exploitation.

Sadly, money is happiness, usually only for those who consider they don't have enough of it (and to a neutral third party, this belief rarely turns out to be realistic). A homeless man may believe he doesn't have enough money, but so would a middle class Londoner sharing a shoe box apartment in Brixton with his significant other, and so would a Wall Street businessman with a high set of personal standards.

There were times when I had a lot of money, and there were times when I barely had any. Adapting to the latter was horrifying, and so was becoming aware of the cruel social differences between "rich" (I prefer the term "wealthy"), "middle class" and "poor". Of all places I've lived in, London reflects it best, which is the reason I would never live there again. Well, unless something very bad happened and I would become indecently wealthy AND ignorant at the same time.

Everyone's value is measured around their possessions and labelled accordingly. In the utopia that we will never be fit to occupy, the most hardworking are always the richest, which fits the original purpose of economy, initially based on the moral precept of trading your own goods or tokens in exchange for other goods - in other words, earning a living.

We compromise our health to earn a living, and spend our fortune to earn it back when we fall ill in the attempt to move poverty out of our way to happiness. The luckiest and most corrupt are often, but not always the richest; however, they always claim the place of the most hardworking.

Would poverty and homelessness exist as a well-deserved punishment for laziness in a perfect society where people would be rewarded fairly for their work? Would the talented be wealthier than the hardworking? Would the privilege of being born in wealth motivate the wealthy to be hardworking in turn, even if their parents' and grandparents' fair earnings will have provided for generations to come? Would charity be then regarded as immoral?

Is money a token of our honest work, or is it a result of the arbitrary works of the universe society perceives as "luck"? Or is it a measure of how utterly ruthless and immoral one can become in their pursuit of happiness - but personal happiness at the expense of others is just a means to an end in the eyes of the machiavellian.

I have more money than any human being on the planet could dare to dream of. I've seen every bit of the world, tasted every sin there is to taste, gave my fortune to others in repentance, and have plenty more left to give. What is left for me to do, if I have done everything I thought would make me happy? I will make peace with myself and continue living a life that is left without purpose, now that I have fulfilled all of my wishes. Or I will let my mind replace them with more ambitious aims, like fame, appreciation and love.

I am never myself. I am never complete. I can never settle. I will never stop looking, don't know what for, but I won't. I am never truly fulfilled.

Human nature makes us forever dissatisfied with who we are and what we've achieved. We will always want more. And more. And more. Until we die of old age, helpless and miserable, or drive our race to extinction, fueled by our own selfish, idealistic ignorance.

Our current economic system will fail in any kind of past, present, future or parallel universe you place our people in. Money is not the problem. It's people.

Do you agree with the use of our cookies?

Not really, no, but do I have a choice?

Oh yes, of course I do. Find another blogging platform that uses no internet or is about to shut down due to the lack of insight that comes with the lack of cookies. My consent doesn't really make a difference, but thanks for asking anyway. Surely no one's mad enough to say no to cookies, sometimes even when they know they've been poisoned. Worth the nice taste, although some sort of warning would be ideal.

In a perfect world people would disclose any unpleasant aspects of an activity prior to its commencement. This is commonly known as "honesty" or "fairness" and smart people (like scientists and shit) reckon these two are useful traits of any civilised, functional adult. Pffft.

I would have grown to love the people from my job if they'd warned me about the cruel lack of professionalism behind it; however, I had to subsequently discover this on my own, be stupidly surprised and marvel at the repulsively cunning nature of our kind. I hate being strung along in any way, shape or form and there's nothing that makes me more psychotic than uncertainty.

I'm extremely, entirely, totally, absolutely psychotic right now, as you can probably tell. I despise people in a way that's made me completely disinterested in getting to know anyone and spending time together pretending that we both care about each other's lives in blissful alcoholic ignorance. Everyone I trust is or will be very far away for a long time, and a fair bit of that was my choice. My choice of a bitter cookie that's slowly becoming stale and insipid as the rest of me gets a little bit more numb every day.

I'm quiet and nice, but I'm not an idiot. Most people take a while to understand that, if they ever do.

I like to see the best in people no matter who they appear to be, which might be an indirect cause of my anxiety. Never have any expectations from anyone until they've proven themselves and you'll never be disappointed.

I might actually have this cookie.

I'm having an emotion

What I'm about to say sounds a bit callous, but I'm still going to say it given that having a blog is a one-way ticket to being publicly judged and scrutinised anyway.

I'm tired of people at home clinging to me. 

There.

As flattering and comforting as it may be, you can't really know how emotionally exhausting that is until you've been through it.

I like knowing people who trust and confide in me. At the same time, I'm terrified of having others depend on me when there's only a small part of myself I'm sure I can rely on to satisfy my own vital need of basic personal comfort. And that small part of myself is my sanity. It's not intact, but it works. Most of the time anyway. 

It's difficult to make others understand your life has changed quite a bit while theirs is still the same, and that you're ignorantly floating in a blissful bubble of self-sufficiency that's working out for you even if you've no idea what you want to do with your life. It's difficult to make others let you go, and assure them you will always hold on to the values and social conventions they've taught you.  

While there are definitely some things I'm happy to put behind me, none of them involve turning my back on anyone I care about.

I'd like people to know I care about them even if we don't cling to each other, despite I'm very bad at expressing my emotions at the right time and/or in the right way. I need reassurance too sometimes. We all do. But not all the time.

Now go ahead and appreciate my honesty and all that.

Romanian encounters - episode one, but not the first in the series (this was the appropriate number to begin with because I honestly lost count)

You know you're in Bucharest when a shop security agent gives you a suspicious look and alerts his colleague through the walkie talkie because he noticed you opened your bag while you were browsing the perfume section. You know you're not Romanian enough if you choose not to confront them and sulk over being taken for a thief and an idiot. 

I opened my bag to look for my phone, ffs.  

My heart was filled with content as I walked past the security beepers, though - more silent than a dead baby squirrel brutally sent on a journey to our lord and saviour Jesus in all seven heavens by a drunk motorist. Or as our fellows in 'Murica would say, "it's just a wee baby roadkill now". May our lord and saviour cleanse you from all your sins (and according to our overqualified security agents, that includes myself for shoplifting, apparently - where do I queue for repentance?).

I bet they had their handcuffs preparing a demonstration of true Romanian law enforcement, them badasses.

If I wanted to steal the perfume, I'd obviously leave my fingerprints on several bottles before throwing a random one into my bag right under the nose of a security agent. Yep, this is exactly how I'd do it, especially in a store that's packed with security cameras to protect the precious profits from potential criminals like myself. I felt uncomfortable when they took my picture and fingerprint for my passport, God damn it.

Because I'm planning to become a criminal, obviously. And Romania's going to need overqualified security agents to catch me.

The person who did this is a creative genius

I know it's a tedious job, but if they keep treating every customer like a potential thief, the store might end up getting less profit than it would if everybody shoplifted.

Or not. Because if you get used to being Romanian for too long, you might end up thinking this sort of attitude is normal.

P.S. A piece of advice for all shoplifter wannabes out there - if you hear the security people talking about you on the walkie talkie while still inside the shop, simply go ahead and go through the beepers with the stolen thing in your bag. It's definitely your only way out of a criminal record.

Things I love about Bioshock Infinite

For those of you who don't know me very well, I'm also a big fan of clever video games (though I'm not technically a gamer) and possibly a bit obsessed with the BioShock series. I'm already used to the fact that all BioShock games are incredibly immersive and built around a solid and creative storyline, but Infinite was definitely one of the most intense gaming experiences I've ever had - along with Amnesia the Dark Descent, of course, which gave me nightmares for weeks and made me shit my pants in my own house even when I'd take a break from playing (which was every ten minutes). 

I'd definitely place BioShock Infinite in my all-time top five favourite video games, although it can't be properly compared to the environment in its two prequels (they're very similar and very different in a way that makes it impossible to tell which one would be "better" or "more immersive" as an overall gaming experience and, you know, food for thought). 

But the thing is I'm simply in love with it and I've annoyed the hell out of everyone by praising it on every suitable occasion. And I'm obviously going to take the opportunity to do that around here as well.

Minor spoilers/plot details to follow.

If you've played any of the first BioShock games by now, you already know game events take place in a desolate, gloomy environment - corridors, parks, abandoned shopping districts and plazas that haven't been tended to for years. Therefore, the city's structure is gradually falling apart, in spite of the history and profound emotional imprint of the areas that are still relatively intact. In the first of the two installments set in the mid-20th century, the player (an airplane crash survivor who discovers a mysterious lighthouse in the middle of the Atlantic) ventures into the underwater city of Rapture, built by megalomaniac Andrew Ryan in the attempt to escape the legal and moral constraints of the modern society, which counted, in his opinion, as the only impediment to the evolution of the human race. 

Rapture's carefully selected citizens, the great who were no longer "constrained by the small", had lost their minds due to the excessive use of plasmids - genetically engineered substances that altered the human DNA, offering various enhancements/abilities to anyone who had the means to pay for it, at the same time causing them to become mentally and physically wrecked ("too spliced up") in the process. 

Bioshock Infinite daringly breaks the pattern and takes the player to the floating air-city of Columbia, with game events to be set in the early 20th century. In a similar way to the previous games, everything begins with a lighthouse and a man sent to set things right - a man whose face, voice and identity are revealed to the player from the beginning, unlike Bioshock 1 and 2. 

Hope you're getting an idea of the kind of stuff I'm talking about. And I still haven't got to the part where I explain the reasons I'm so in love with it.

1. The recurrent theme of dystopia and the player actually being able to explore/interact with the environment before everything went downhill

Columbia is opposed to Rapture's gloomy atmosphere/art deco architecture and unsound citizens the player is presented with from the very beginning (not sure if it's just game art or the fact that they re-built the engine from scratch, probably both). Most of the exploring and shooting takes place in open air, at different times of the day, and the player is given plenty of time to familiarise himself with the environment before the city starts going to hell in the proper sense (which means everything gets completely messed up right before your eyes while you're out there shootin' stuff).

Also, you can ride the skylines at different speeds, which is pretty fucking amazing

2. The fine blend between American Exceptionalism and bigotry

I was impressed by the surprisingly wide range of enemies in BioShock Infinite. Among angered policemen, funnel-headed schoolboys and rioting citizens, we also have to deal with the pestering motorised motorized patriots - psychotic George Washingtons firing crank guns at ya while shouting extremely disturbing things in a creepy mechanic voice (e.g. "The Lord judges, I act"). 

Levels that were meant to reveal more about the history of Columbia are very well linked to the history of the United States, which Columbia had been a part of, and you can notice the fine traces of ancient 'Murican pride (and freedom, of course) in every banner and advertisement throughout the city. Also, from the most useless of props to the most random voice logs you can play to reveal the plot or gain insight of the evil machinations going on in the dystopian city, the level of detail is one of the things that make BioShock games so immersive. 

Like I said, a fuckton of detail

3. The brain-bending paradox of the time-space continuum fitted into the story of a flying city led by a delusional self-proclaimed prophet (apologies for the high density of adjectives)

Honestly, too many spoilers required to give more details. Just to say that these two are some sort of eternal, multi-dimensional entities able to travel to any point/moment in space-time only to troll the hell out of you and create even more confusion to compensate for the otherwise useful hints they provide you with.

4. No matter how many times you've played it before, you'll always notice something new at some point if you give it another go.

That one's self explanatory.  

Well, that's pretty much everything I can share without revealing massive plot details for those of you who'd actually like to play it someday. All I can say is the ending's not very predictable, so from that point of view, it's totally worth the effort.

I'll be back soon with more awesome games to bore you with - in the meantime, try not to get yourselves stepped on by a Big Daddy, would you kindly.

Ballantine's Day special

I've probably said it a thousand times: if God does exist, he's pure evil. See the Epicurean paradox for more details, especially if you're looking to start a Facebook war where the religious and non-religious sides of your friend list shall battle in comments. Excluding the general contradictions I'm not planning to expand on at the moment, and the more serious global issues that could definitely use a divine intervention (e.g. poverty and starvation), God is having a hell of a good time watching people try (and fail) to be happy - provided happiness would be the closest thing to any purpose we may have on this planet. 

For example:

Make two people who are perfect for each other. 

Allow them to get acquainted and experience an unearthly chemistry that's as confusing and nonsensical as it is enlightening.

Put them on two different continents with lots of oceans, ogre swamps, enchanted forests, Narnia and the dark land of Mordor in between, and limit their possibilities to travel or relocate.

To spice things up, make them both socially inept.

Have fun watching. Gawd y u do dis?

While we're still on the love part, could you please get over the fact that not all people who hate Valentine's Day do so because they're, ehm, "frustrated", miserable and unhappy? For some of us it's just a commercial holiday that devalues relationships, regardless of anyone's status. I hate VDay when I'm single as much as I hate it when I'm in a relationship. After all, it's quite unnatural for every couple's most special moments to take place once a year, at the same time as everyone else's. 

I'm celebrating love by spamming your inbox and profile with cheesy clichés to prove my love to you and to the rest of the world. Moreover, social conventions dictate that tonight we are expected to exchange presents, say romantic stuff to each other, have a candle lit dinner, then shag into the next dimension and go back to the boring routine on the following day. This isn't something we could do on a regular day, four times a week or as often as we like.

And then there's being single on Valentine's Day, which in some circles would be the equivalent of being some sort of outcast who's sobbing and masturbating in a corner while others are out there doing more exciting things with their bodies.

Please spare a prayer for the kind soul of Jizzie McFrankenfuck, who would gladly update her Facebook status to 'In a relationship with <you>' at the affordable cost of $150 (but for no longer than two weeks since VDay, mind you). She's there for you if you need to buy love (or at least the image of it) in rough times like these.

Nevertheless, who am I to judge. Only God can judge an entire civilisation by the sins of slitstruck Adam and mischievous Eve. Seems only fair.

I've just realised I've failed to come at peace with everything I despise and not focus my writing on satire. God damn it.

I am... awake!

I've run out of things to criticise. I honestly have. I'm usually known as the quiet one who has a problem with everything, but it I may have finally come at peace with all of the things I despise. Everything a wise man can safely criticise is limited to human stupidity and generally things that can be improved (the latter is commonly known as the 'constructive criticism' very few people understand or give a shit about). I realised I've grown indifferent to others' stupidity, or at least indifferent enough not to blog or rant about it on a regular basis. 

I've decided to make this blog more about myself and less about other people or their wrongdoings. I rarely share any relevant things about my wicked mischievous self (i.e. more than the fact that I love cats and my appreciation of dark humour), so as long as I feel comfortable doing it here, why the hell not. I'm not going to describe a regular day of my life in a pedantic or excessively poetical language, but simply insist more on introspection rather than satire. I have feelings, you know. And a lot of crazy shit going on worth telling. 

Who am I, to begin with? Someone different than what I appear to others. Everyone hides things as a precautionary measure or to protect themselves from scrutiny, and everyone behaves differently depending on the people they're with. However, I might be wearing more masks than the average person. I'm (too) nice, boring and have a bit of a bad temper, especially when things don't work my way. I've been the target of karma and unusual coincidences for a long time, up to the point where nothing in this world could surprise me right now, whether it's Peeves the Poltergeist or falling madly in love with someone who subsequently proved to be my long-lost cousin. I really don't believe in supernatural stuff, though - just in a certain order of things, and a small world of course (not to be confused with 'universe'). 

You're about to realise that I'm also unbearably stubborn and cynical, despite being very easy to get along with. However, I'm not particularly easy to connect with - I once gave someone the impression we were very good friends simply because we hung out and I was patiently putting up with her bullshit. I didn't feel sorry for her, as she had a very selfish/limited understanding of friendship and displayed a frightening intelligence deficit. Made my life a living hell for a whole year.

People love talking about themselves and I could go on for ages; however, I'm getting too bored for that at the moment so I'm going to stop here. I'm also very sleepy because I'm a night owl with mild sociopathic tendencies, and it's getting quite late even according to my standards.

Or maybe I'm mental in the proper sense. Who knows...

My alter ego