A Freakout on Performing

In my last post I said I was a performer. Though I am not a performer. Not now. I am thinking about doing something about that.

I was recommended to go study at École Phillipe Gaulier in my final year in Swansea by our Bouffon teacher. I am considering taking that advice. However, it wouldn't be right now, and I would like to make completely sure I am not going to study something else should I do so. I would hate to fund it myself as it is Expensive with a capital E.
Like... I could probably get a loan for a house with those money. Not... Obviously not buy the house with that money, it's not that bad, that was more on a Swansea level, because that shit was crazy expensive... But I mean... Money, man.
I want money.
It trickles in so slowly and disappears so quickly!

It's like it's a spell or something. Every time someone gets money they get the spell cast that screams "SPEND ME YOU DOLLOP!!" and drives you insane if you don't.

Honestly, free money would be good.
I could use some free money. I would enjoy the free money. Laze around all day, spending it... Making sure I took care of my own sanity, because, I mean, I wouldn't want to go insane.
That would just be silly.

I was thinking about voice over work when I first moved here and I really should start thinking about doing interviews or auditions or whatever. Because that would be a lot of fun. I am so grateful that Jamie - a fellow student of the Swansean variety - mentioned it, it being his dream. I wouldn't have thought about it otherwise. But it sounds like a ton of fun.
I am, however, a massive coward. I have filled out the forms several times, but I genuinely can't make myself send it. I feel like such a fraud. I don't know why, I have 3 years + another shit year at a folk high school. Though that barely counts. Was fun though.
This is a little nerve-racking.
I don't have any contacts here either, which makes it even worse I think.
I think, though, that sometimes not knowing anyone is for the best. In this sense it might not be, but I hope it can still be good. I really should go for it.

I wish I was a Gryffindor, I might have the guts to do it right now!
Aaaaaaaaaaaa!

The Little Shop of Horrors.

When biological needs take us to the shops, we go past this amazing place. It is a place where dreams come true and nightmares are made.
Yes.

Ok, this needs to be listened to this whilst reading to set the mood. I am doing this because I am A PERFOOOORRRMAAARRRR. And PERFORRRMAARRRZZZ need to set the mood. 

BEHOLD! 

If this isn't the creepiest thing you've ever seen, then I would really like to know what is. Because this is truly amazing. I don't even know what more to say other than WHAT WERE THEY THINKING.
It says Lilleaker Fysioterapi. Which means Lilleaker Physical therapy or Physiotherapy. Whichever you prefer. 

We have this hypothesis that whenever you enter, you never come out. And another doll will be added to the collection.

Yes, I am a firm believer in this story of course. Because I made it. And I am everything. I mean... Creepy ambience. 

The creator of Lilleaker Fysioterapi has researched the art of Voodoo. A voodoo that makes even seasoned Voodoo priestesses whimper in fear. Because even they would never even utter its name! The name of this Voodoo. Of Voodooness. 
They get possessed too, in the process. Which makes it, like, a million times more creepy. 
The proof is in the pudding. Or in this case, the picture. There is never anyone there either. Which makes this Creepy Shop of Creepy even more creepy. Why are there nobody there? Well.. Because they get turned into dolls... But still, why isn't the dollmaker there? Maybe the dollmaker is afraid of getting turned into a doll herself? Maybe the place itself is haunted? 
Maybe whenever you step into the establishment you get turned, unless you, like the dollmaker, has made a deal from The Other Side? 
Oh yes.
The Other Side.

Creeped out yet? Because this shit is creepy. 

Yeah, this place is and forever will be haunted by the screams of the turned dolls. The dolls will always hear you, they will always see you. And you will never escape the horrors of Lilleaker Fysioterapi. 

Right... RIGHT!? It's so creepy! I love this place! Everytime I walk past it, horrormovie soundtracks play (all of them at once. Which makes it extra creepy) in my mind and my heart soars with happiness. I really want to go inside. But that would involve spending money. And I don't enjoy spending money on things. Unless they are games, DVDs, more games, books, CDs, stuff, other stuff, tea... OK so I love to spend money. But not on that. Right.

Cheerio tatterbutts!

The Great Escape!

This was originally written at the Eve of the Great Move (29th of April. The Holiest of Holy dates.). So timeline is a little wobbled. I can't be arsed to change it though. Sorry. I felt it was notable enough to post though, seeing as I am a raging narcissist and love to hear myself talk/type. Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY NORWAY!! WOOHOO! GREAT JOY OF JOYNESS!

OOOOOO Lawdy! I cannot even begin to express my utter joy, utter happiness, utter utterness regarding this move.
The Genius has now filled our flat to the brim with shit from the others who will move in. I think Genius has forgotten we still have another day left on our contract. Genius is also forgetting we need to move OUT our stuff. Which is possible, but sort of difficult now. What a lovely thing to be rid of. The Genius I mean. Not our stuff. I'd like to keep our stuff.

I will post pictures when I am set up again. Hopefully tomorrow. (Wasn't "tomorrow", was rather over a week later.)
Literally only this one night left! I am so happy!! Then it hopefully won't be necessary to lay eyes on the skadouche again.

Right, the pictures. Above we see our ex-entrance filled to the brim with some of our stuff and a lot of their stuff.

Second picture is all their stuff. Literally. Over half of the livingroom space was their stuff. It's not that good to see in this picture, but I actually had to lean on the kitchen top to get it all in one picture.

Last is our stuff. And some of their stuff. The black bag is theirs. From the TV to Russ 2007 is ours. I mean talk about being helpful.

I really liked this flat though, so I am a little sad to go, but if it means not having an immense tosspot of a flatmate, then I am more than happy to leave. Allthough being able to wake up half an hour before work was pretty fucking amazing. Will be around half an hour way to work now, instead. Well worth not gazing upon the glorious stain. It turned out to be more of a slam-post than happy-go-lucky than I had hoped. I will cease the slam dunking.
The slammage has halted! The line of Slamson the Dunk has ended! There will be no Slamberg Jr! Nay!
The tale has indeed been suspended! Slamaroonies have been served at the Slamborg of Slam..nderson! (Saved)

The Slam has gathered in the pits of a dead deer. The Zlamboni has been discontinued. The Slamgetti was served, now it is out of stock.
The Slamrengeti held a Great Migration of the rare Slamnation breed. Witnesses still, to this day, claim it was the most majestic migration to behold. Or just the most majestic thing to behold, full stop. Because the Slamnatives are indeed a majestic sort.

New flat! Yay! Happiness!