Chez Maria. (aka, Maria's crib)

Woah woah woah! Welcome to my crib, cuz! Aaaa-yeah!
Today we have a... Nah I can't be arsed on taking that "crib joke any further". It's a little exhausting.

Anyway, let us begin. ALLEZ!
MY ROOM! I am well happy with my little cave. My "woman cave", as I'd like to call it. Because I am classy like that. My Classy Hole, if it were. Because it is so tiny.
Tiny, tiny class-hole. Like in WoW! They will be getting class holes. Not like mine, but not TOTALLY unlike mine.

So I just set up that black plank-shelf-fuck on the wall the other day (thank you Erika!) and it's totally crooked and if anyone has any tips as to how to make it less crooked, please tell me. I need the answer to that life-riddle! Such riddle, much amaze. Anyway, that was my hole. My hole is a little messy, but that's OK. It's only on the internet.

Outside is the kitchen and dining room. Easy access, you know. With the night-feasts. If you know what's good for you, night-feasts are definitely it. Feasting upon unhealthy (or healthy, depending on what kind of freak it is) food at ungodly hours of the night? Best thing ever.
Speaking of... I think I need a snack. Nay, a feast. A feast for the soul.

Or maybe not. Making food is a chore. I want a personal chef. I am petitioning for a personal chef. That wants to cook for me for free. I wish slavery was allowed.... (NB: I DO NOT ACTUALLY WISH SLAVERY WAS REAL.)



















Ah, the Throne Room. Or Throne Rooms as it is in this case. THAT'S RIGHT! We've got two crapperoonies! It is amazing. You can have a marathon shit! Room-to-room shitting! We always have at least 3 rolls ready in case there is such an event. Or an emergency. Prepare for everything, as they say. I take this very seriously. Especially when it comes to toilets. You never know when the gates of Hell open their gates! I am in such a classy mood tonight.

Then there is the Halls of Reflection. Where you can go and reflect upon your person. Or your... No I can't even make up (heh, unintentional pun. Ish. I mean you have to use... mirrors... Nevermind.) bad mirror jokes. It's getting late and there are a lot of pictures to go. I need to save up my wit and amazingness for the rest of the shizzwazz.

Living room is where all the Boobarella-watching is happening. All the Boobarella action. Now, please let me direct your attention to the lamp.
Please observe the lamp.

The lamp is observable. 

Guess who made that shit happen!

OH YES, YOURS TRULY!
I did that. I couldn't keep it in any more. I had to spoil it.
Me.
Maria. 

The beast!

I am the handiest person everyone knows.

Right. That was my crib. It's starting to feel like home now as well, which is nice. I forgot about the two terraces, but they aren't all that interesting at the moment. One holds our laundry and the other a lot of sofa cushions. Because we can't be arsed buying outside furniture. But it's OK, because they are really comfortable.
Anyway, it's getting rather lengthy now, so I will END TIME ITSELF! You know how it is.

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!

New Home

We have found a new flat!
We can move in 3 weeks time, and I am so fucking chuffed about it!
I can finally say "SAYONARA YA DINGUS!" To a beloved housemate that I definitely never wanted to chuck off a balcony, nor never mentally set fire to.

(I basically just rant throughout this entire post from now on, so... If you'd like to retain your sanity, you probably should stop reading.)

Towels have started disappearing now, as we have started packing down.
I am sure other things have disappeared as well, though not noticed them quite yet.
The towels bug me though.
Favourite housemate is missing a drinking bottle, so I think he has taken my towels hostage as well as a small knife of my other housemate.
No, why would you say that is childish?

That is the epitome of being an adult. Extracting vengeance.

This guy has actively tried to make our last month the worst.
In March this Gentle Soul has torn up signs that we spent time on making (granted, mine wasn't very nice, but still, Erika's was really well done and she clearly spent a lot of time on it. He called it "Bad art" as he tore it off infront of his friends visiting him in the Easter holiday), and actively shirked on his chores. Still, though, Wonder Boy has had the nerve to actually balk at how "dirty the floors are looking" because "I think the dog is shedding more than usual!" and the like.

Hugh Hefner here agreed to live with a dog. What did he think that entailed, exactly? Absolutely no indication at all that there actually lived a canine in the accomodated areas? That is clearly what James Chapstick has thought throughout the year. He truly has turned his nose at every turn. This truly fantastic and brilliant specimen of the human race has been so cooperative... So wonderful and created such an amazing flat environment, I don't even know where to begin.

Well:
He has not taken out the paper/cardboard litter, glas and metal trash or gone to the shops with the empty cans and bottles in many months. Like even way before Christmas. Because that is actual real work that would actually allow for a lot more space in the flat. I'm sure he'll deny it and claim he went "yesterday" with like a bag of it or something.

The nymph of the forest also had the good graces to offer Friend's Dog some scraps of food from his plate, though fully aware that Dog is training to be a guide dog as well as allergies. Done so infront of Friend. He is kind like that. Not at all fightmongering. He would never do that. Such a gentle soul.

Truly an enchanting creature, this one.
Enchanting like a beautiful flower caught in the first sunlight, still with the morning dew catching the rays. Like a unicorn emerging from a quick swim, shaking its head.

Yes. True beauty in human form this one.
"OCH AYE", the Scots would say, I'm sure: "ACH LOCH SASSENACH HACH!!"

Well I've trailed off slightly. I should probably take that as a sign of "HEY YOU WHINY LITTLE LARGE LADY, STOP TYPING!!" So I will. I take my own advice very well. True story. Actually I very rarely listen to myself, though I probably should. Yes. Listening is only fun when it is about sleep, eating or playing games. I do listen to those.
Right then. Off we go.

The pictures are not mine. I found them on Google searching for "Ugly forest nymph" and "ugly unicorn". I must say Google delivered. Though well crafted.