Thus the stressful holiday has passed. I have climbed out from underneath the Christmas rubble, and I may now dust myself off and resume regular day-to-day activities, such as surfing dating websites for someone named Herman, and eating sticky oatmeal with cinnamon every morning. Such is the life of Christine Marie Beauchamp.
Now, lately I've been having a lot of unprecedented ideas as to what to make of my life in this coming new year. I figure you never really know how long you're going to be around (which is a very fatalistic POV, and perhaps a little grim, but 100% honesty nevertheless.) so I might as well make the most of what time I have. Therefore, I don't want to put anything off unless I absolutely have to. Which means, giving 110%, whether that's with studying, training, partying, or anything else really. And it's bloody-well time too.
Also, this movie looks absolutely brilliant:
It's one of my most favorite novels ever, so I hope they did McCarthy some justice. I can't wait to see this.
Too much of a bad thing, is well....probably a little bit worse.
Christmas has left be broke, tired, and a bit wired out. I still have to ship cards and letters to soldiers overseas, cookies to my sister, and packaged noodles to the handicapped people in China. My life is very busy, you see.
However, once New Years comes, I have the right to do whatever the hell I want. The day before New Years I shall be extremely unorthodox, perhaps create a little bit of disorder and chaos, and then shrug it off as "a thing of the past". I want new horizons this coming year.
I spent tons of $$ on stocking stuffers and gifts this year. I literally laughed out loud when I checked my balance yesterday...I might have even shed a tear...just a little one...
Oh, if I forgot to get any of you something this year, it was probably because I don't love you, and I want you out of my life.
-CHRISTINE
P.S. Kidding about the "I don't love you" part. I do, really.
And I have reason to be anything otherwise. Christmas is a mess. You trudge out in the snow, ruin your clothing, heave your way into a car with a frozen heating system, and shiver your way to the mall. You then run around from store to store for 5 hours, hoping to come out with something decent, only to find that you don't, in fact, have any money whatsoever. So after waiting those 2 hours in line, you're a little stressed...not to mention the line behind you is a little stressed when you try to pay for your prada bag in pennies. You leave the store disoriented, aged a good fifty years, and armed with bubble-blowers.
Then, of course, everyone expects you to to bake for them. You spend hours toiling over decadent, sexual little morsels of goodness, only to have them inhaled within a second of putting them on the table. The dinner isn't much better. By the time you reach your hand over for the bowl of cranberry sauce, the other guests have already stuck their straws in the dish and sucked out the remains. Wine? Ham? That horrible sweet potato mash that no one seems to like, but still snarf it down any year anyway? Forget it. Don't expect to eat for the next three days.
Call me a little bitter, but I'd much rather have a holiday that celebrated the existence of the English language. At least then everyone would be too bored to participate, and I could eat my gingersnaps in peace.
I'm going to begin a journey to find the world's most beautiful faces. I have a dream of photographing as many faces of those I meet that I can, in attempts to burrow deeper into the understanding of human emotion, thought, behavior, and character. So if you randomly have me approach you and demand you let me take a picture of you, you will understand the reasoning behind it all.
So there you have it. My journey. And it begins post-Christmas, when I have this lovely little thing in my grubby, greedy little hands.
Why is it, that a guy will be all over you, then ignore and forget about you, and then come running back to say, "I've missed you"? That has to be the most bloody well ridiculous thing I've heard since the recitation of The Road Not Taken. Who does that? You have to be well out of your mind to think I'd respond in a pleasant way.
Oh yes, wonderful, devoted, beautiful man. I invite you back with an open heart, and hope you stay for tea. Perhaps even a little more. I haven't forgotten about you, even though you used me and sent me away, promised me something, and didn't give it. Actually, I FORGIVE YOU. Let's just forget the past year and think of all of this as a fresh new beginning!!
I suggest you use your apparently excellent seduction skills on some cow who would be in much more ecstasy of your presence than I would.
MUSE:
It's strange where you can get your inspiration from. I write a lot, but need to find some way of getting it out in the open. Lately though it's been hard to be inspired by too much. However, inspiration seems to come to me in weird ways, and it more often than not involves a wooden spatula, and a malicious, revenge-driven younger brother.
COFFEE WHORE:
Everything about coffee makes me absolutely randy.
In fact, I think I'd sell my soul for coffee, if need be. It can't be that disgusting American shit though. It has to be legit Italian coffee - best around. I won free coffee at the Starbucks yesterday, and I'm going to triumphantly receive my cup when I pass by one today. Then laugh in the faces of the people behind me, because they didn't hardly meet up to the "coolness" expectations of the cash register.
And right now, there's a nice big pot of coffee sitting across from me right now. All alone, dark, sad, and just waiting for someone like me to take the initiative of giving it some well-deserved love.
I'm going to relieve a little suspense from your lives, and address some queries that have come up as of late. Seeing as my previous answers were not valid to your interests, I'm going to have to come up with some better, more in-depth explanations of what's going on with me at the moment.
1.) Yes. I take steroids. My dream is to become a big, burly she-man, troll about the gym in nothing but a speedo (it wouldn't matter anyway, seeing as my pectorals would occupy the space of what used to be my boobs) and steal your heart away with my deep, raspy voice.
2.)I eat 50,000 calories every day.This is why you see me eating every 2-3 hours. Boosting my metabolism? No. I just want to get as big as humanly possible.
3.) I walk around with my lats perma-flared.Someday I'm hoping they'll turn into wings, and will save me from imminent death when the apocalypse comes.
4.) My shoulders grew overnight.And I flex them, all day long, because I think it makes me look ferocious.
5.) I don't eat junk food because if I'm afraid if I do it'll make me skinny.
6.) Every night before I go to bed, I take some more steroids. This way, when I wake up in the morning, I have a fully-visible set of luscious abdominals. Who works for their muscles these days? Certainly not me!
7.) I take a magical "fitness pill".It does most of the work for me. They sell it on Amazon somewhere.
8.) Figure competition? What? You mean BODYBUILDING! Afterall, with all these weights I'm bound to get HUGE.
If you still don't believe me, here's a picture of my IDEAL physique (for those who were curious):
But then, of course, one can only dream of being this sexy.
I find it funny, how some people can take a snippet of what you're saying to them, decapitate it, rape it, torch it, and then point a weary, mangled finger in your direction and say, "LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!", sucking in breath and heaving madly.
What HAVE I done? I only asked you whether or not you were going to drive me to the gym this afternoon.
But no, apparently through the eyes of a very defensive and morally hurt individual, it happened to translate as, "I am accusing you of never taking me anywhere. Any time. And I believe your clothing is a spectacle."
Why twist everything into such a web of misinterpretation? I think everyone just needs to take a really hot bath, read some sappy novel, and cry themselves to sleep. Just something silent, that doesn't require a lot of thought, and that keeps them occupied for a little while, so they stop stressing over what their interpretation of my words might have meant. And most times I'm half-delirious when I'm speaking anyway, so it's nothing to really take seriously. Unless, of course, I have my angry face on, and then you might think twice about whether I really did mean it.
Which goes to say, I'm a very meaningful person. For the most part, I will not tell you something unless I meant it. I am by nature a little more blunt than I would care for, but who am I to choose the gifts I was born with. I must learn to love and embrace my candor.
As a last thought, I was sitting up in bed this morning, staring with a groggy eye at my alarm clock. I woke up 5 minutes earlier than I was aiming to (6:45am) and so I waited. It seemed about an hour passed when I glanced over, and it read "6:41am". I thought, "Just a minute has passed." so I laid down my head, and just barely shut my eyes. Not even 1 second after doing so, my alarm goes off. It's like it perpetuated the time while I was still awake, and then as soon as it notices I'm no longer paying it attention, it speeds ahead. Damn bloody bastard.
I've been dreaming in chemistry terms and algebraic equations for the past week.
My divine procrastination ability is one thing about me that I'm not the proudest of. I can procrastinate until the cows go blue, I'm not even thinking about doing what I need to do anymore. I begin thinking that I can think about thinking about what I really need to do another day. It's driving me crazy.
And right this second, (literally) I just got a phone call from a strange Asian man, who started yelling at me. He called me a bastard, and then screeched something else in Chinese. I felt like arguing back with him, so I pretended like I knew Chinese as well. He went silent and hung up. Communist.
Stressed is too simple of a word to describe my current situation. I feel so compressed with everything I'm supposed to be doing I feel like I might explode. And knowing my mother, the first and foremost thing she'd say upon walking in post-explosion, is:
"Christine, I hope you're going to clean up the mess you've just made."
Yes, mother. After I finish peeling myself off the wall and putting my severed limbs back together, I'd be happy to clean up my organs.
Or, at least, he makes me feel like I should be home, but I'm not.
It's funny how much music has changed throughout the years, but there are still some of those artists that really hit home. I feel like going to a radio station and camping out in a tent, throwing potatoes at the building in demand that they play something decent. But you know, I'm lazy, and my arm might hurt.
I have a bizarre obsession for music that makes me feel like a out-of-control maniac. Not the emo depressive maniacs...I mean the nice ones, that offer you chloroform and take you out for brunch, and do nothing but stare at you with a deathly hollowness into your eyes, and ask you interesting questions in their slow, broken voices, such as, "Are you a REAL spy?"
As a side-note, they usually come in different forms and colors, but I like the singing ones with black hair. Just a preference.
Yes, in case any one of you were wondering, I am an agent of the Thought Police, and I probe each and every one of your minds, because it brings me indescribable pleasure. I deceive you into believing I've fallen deathly in love with you, and then I find out your filthy thought-crimes and arrest you. I am the Delilah of your mind.
Anyway, just think about what you're about to listen to before you listen to it. Bottom line is, there's some music that will transport you to another world, and some that might make you want to leave this one. Many opt for the latter, and they're now in the mental hospitals that I'll be having to work for sometime in the future. Doctors say that the amount of patients could double, or even triple by 2012, the way the music industry is going.
You can't say I didn't warn you.
Right now my computer is making really high pitches squealing noises. It's a good thing I don't have a jackhammer on hand, or I might not be able to see the screen out of my acts of fury and frustration.
Yes, I am still alive. After a very long while of not blogging, I've decided to pick back up again. Among other things. I believe blogging makes us all a little less intelligent, and studies show that it may decrease brain density and sapience. However, since I lack the expenses for my "Buy Bulgaria" fund, I have thus created my own little world with my blog. For free. Yeah, I'm cheap, and I LIKE IT.
So feel free to make fun of me from time to time, and I'll try not to cry too hard. As far as frequency goes, I'll be trying to update as much as possible. Just don't get your hopes up that it will be something thought-provoking every time. But as the saying goes,
"If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."
I believe I'll get some sort of reaction out of you all, somehow.
And like old times, I'm going to try my best to haunt your dreams, and come sneaking through your window at night. Just be sure to keep your fridge under lock and key.
