Checking In.

July 24, 2006

It seems that it is absolutely impossible for me to maintain some sort of regular blog routine anymore. The last time I took a solemn vow to blog every day was over 3 months ago. My life is not as abhorrent as it was the last time I posted here, which is probably the reason why I haven't been writing. Like a true artist, I am only creative when I am eyeball-deep in my own misery. Me and Brandon got back together... of sorts. We're having one of those "it's complicated" relationships, causing me to dodge the question of whether we are still dating like a couple of Jehova's Witnesses. You can tell when someone is in this awkward phase when you inquire into their relationship status by the deer in headlights look as they mentally scan the room for the nearest exit, followed by the awkward fake smile and then finally it concludes with the one line that sums it all up better than any other: "it's complicated". Ah, men! Can't live with them, can't harvest their organs for money.

But "of sorts" is enough for me, and I'm a happy camper as far as the relationship department goes. Neither one of us appears to be able to successfully live without the other for too long, despite our outlandish efforts. We both decided that it was best to throw all and any long term plans into the great abyss, but we both want to stay together until he leaves. He is uncomfortable with calling it "a relationship" but is perfectly happy with following all the rules of a relationship. I don't want to be single (i.e without him) but don't much care about the official title of "girlfriend". And the funny thing is, we're having a better relationship now than we ever did before. When we first decided to "get back together" (it's complicated...) I was surrounded by people telling me this was a bad idea, I was being taken advantage of, I was being the free milking cow that no one wants to buy...etc. As a girl, I am expected to trade my affections for a title. "You can't be with me unless you call me your girlfriend" sort of thing. Because, as we all know, a girl's worth is determined solely by the name a man decides to call her. I say boo to all that. Relationships are like negotiating with terrorists. Probably a bad idea altogether, but once you decide to get involved you have to be prepared to give in a little, or the whole thing just blows up in your face. We swore to absolute fidelity, undying love and friendship, trust, respect, great sex and great companionship... The only ingredient missing is a title. "That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet", or sweeter in this case. I was getting everything I wanted out of the deal, and so was he. And yet I was supposed to feel cheated somehow. But tell me, why should I feel I need to own the pig when the sausage was given to me for free?

I also got a new job, I now work as the manager's assistant at a contracting firm. I don't know how they came to the conclusion that I was qualified for this, but I'm not complaining. Although, how qualified do you have to be to sit in an office and watch 600 channels of satellite tv and eat candy all day long? Come to think of it, I am probably the absolute perfect person for the job. They would have been hard pressed to find anyone on planet Earth with more experience in that department than yours truly.

Speaking of work, I should probably go to bed soon because as we all know, one needs to be alert to fully follow the goings-on in the Tyra Banks talk show. So as the ancient saying goes: "I am female, hear me snore."

Live well and prosper.

Mia :: 11:02 PM

(2) comments

May 18, 2006

Alright, fine! I accept the fact that my last post will never garner 10 comments. I have kept the hope alive for six months, but now I feel it is time to surrender to my own unpopularity and write a new blog.

I am unhappy to report that the age old battle has concluded, the ultimate question has at last been laid to rest once the answer became abundantly clear. It's official. Brandon: I love you more. HA! And for that, I win the prize behind the door to the empty elevator shaft.

As some of you may already know, I have recently rejoined the ranks of singles. Now, before you salivate all over yourselves and make a mad dash for my doorstep, you should know that I have no intentions of rebounding onto some hapless fellow and plan to turn my underpants back into the steel-braced fortress of solitude they once were. Given my social status and track record, this transition should require no enormous effort on my part. Perhaps sadly.

Since I am on a reverse cycle with the rest of the universe and my happiness is somehow oddly intertwined with other people's misery, I'm sure many of you take great delight in hearing of my loss and misfortune. How miserable I am is always inversely proportionate to how happy others are, you see. This only adds to my misery as my misery never has any company, which in turn adds to everyone else's joy and zest for life. So, I expect no sympathy since it is probably best for the universe if I stay as miserable as possible. And believe you me, the universe has done it's part to keep me that way.

When I was so miserable that I joined a cult to get away from myself, my friends had babies and found new meaning in life. When I had no job, my friends found great jobs. When I dropped out of school, my friends graduated. But when I got a great job and a semi-decent relationship (I'm being awfully generous here), my friends ended up either miserable and alone or in worse relationships than mine (This is a stretch for the imagination I know, but try to stay with me here). When I started doing great in school, people started to hate school and do poorly. Now that I've been dumped like the litter that I am, my friends have great jobs again, overseas trips planned and weddings on the horizon.

Oh yeah, and I lost my job too. Hugs to the world, y'all.

When you win the lottery next week, remember that I took one for the team and toss me a nickle when you see me panhandling in the street.

Would you like a glass for all that bitter, ma'am?

Mia :: 11:52 AM

(2) comments

December 14, 2005

Hm, wow. One might think it was almost time for an update! Well boys and girls, it’s that time of year again. That joyous season. Ah yes, ‘tis the season to stress out, procrastinate and put on weight. Ring a ding ding. It’s Christmas.

This year Christmas for me will be slightly unusual as I shall be spending them far away from the annual family neurosis and hysteria. Me and my boyfriend are spending the holidays in America this year. It’ll be my first Christmas away from home so I’m not really sure how I feel about it. I’m really excited about going to a zoo and getting to shop till I drop at magical places such as Wal Mart. But I’m also really nervous about spending 10 days starring as Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents: Uncut Edition. Meeting the parents could potentially be a marvellous bonding experience, a joy for all those involved. But one only needs to have marginal knowledge of me to know that the chances of that are slim. I am frankly far more likely to burn the house down and kill the family pet. And more than anything DOOM is scribbled into my horoscope by the claws of love-hungry ex-girlfriends hovering over Brandon like vultures. We will apparently be meeting three of these forelorn ladies. I can’t say I wouldn’t be able to live the rest of my life happily without ever doing that but, what can you do... at least there’s always Wal Mart.

I’ve also always really wanted to go to New York over Christmas. Walk in Central Park, go to the Rockefeller Center and the ice skating rink... I just need to hire a homeless guy to walk behind me with a boombox so I can have a soundtrack to my movie fantasy-come-true.

Things are however, unusually enough, very good in the romance department though. I actually HAVE a romance department now, which is a vast improvement all on it’s own. At first I was afraid, I was petrified... but we’ve been together about 4 months now, and although that doesn’t seem that long measured in time, we’re approaching the platinum wedding when it’s measured in drama. But so far so good, and we all know that there is no sex like make-up sex. Which, believe you me, makes up for a multitude of sins.

Oh, and lest we forget, I’ve taken part in a “blog game”. Because I am hip and happening and have my finger on what’s going on. Oh yes. Here’s how it works:

You leave your name in my comments section, and I will:

1. Tell you some random thing about you
2. I’ll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you
3. I’ll tell you what taste/food reminds me of you
4. I’ll tell you my first vivid memory of you
5. I’ll tell you which animal you remind me of
6. I’ll ask you something I’ve always wondered about you

And the rules clearly state that if you participate, you have to then post it on your own website.

Oh, and everyone that has MySpace, add me to your list. Not that that’s one of the rules but I thought I’d try to sneak that in there.

Woody Allen added me to his list so that means that now we are friends. Ain’t life grand?

Have a very merry Christmas, children and for the love of money, please do everything that I wouldn't do.

Mia :: 8:13 PM

(9) comments

August 30, 2005

In keeping with the theme of a fast-forward relationship, I brought the new beau home to meet the folks last night. At his repeated request, mind you. I’m not going How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days here. Although now that I mention it, our love fern is starting to look a tad under the weather...

But, aside from all botanical woes...the meeting with the folks went surprisingly well. I am SO guarded that I have never actually let a guy meet the fam before, so this was a big step for me. But since the relationship is moving at such a galactic speed, I felt I had to bring him home to the folks so they’d know who I was divorcing three weeks from now. I have never let a guy meet my parents for three main reasons. One being that I was dating someone so... shall we say exotic in both appearence and mannerisms, that it was a mystery even to me while I was even associating with the guy. The other being that I was dating a guy so über cool that I didn’t want him to come around my bizarre family in fear that they might frighten him off before I had a chance to frighten him off myself. The third being that, and this is going to sound a touch messed up, I like to be able to get rid of people. Not in a shallow grave sense (necessarily), but I like to be able to just break up with a guy and never have to hear his silly little name mentioned in my presence ever again. Sounds reasonable enough, right?

But, when I became a man I put away chi.... hmm, wait a minute. Lets just say that I’m learning to outgrow my childish inhibitions.

So, back to my original story... the meeting with the parents did in fact go surprisingly well. I had pictured the scenario in my head, with my mother making weird statements such as pinching my love handles and congratulating him on being gracious enough to lower himself to dating such a beast. My dad growling and spitting in his face and not speaking to me for the next several weeks... it had all run through my head.

But instead... my mom stared at him wide eyed and smiling like I’d just dragged home an extra terrestrial. My dad then got up and smiled and shook his hand and said it was nice to meet him.

After I regained my consciousness and picked myself up off the floor, I hurried him out of there before one of us would say something to invite an actual conversation, which would surely spell doom and destruction for all those present.

In other news, I am being hunted by the bankers of Iceland. I think I must make at least ten times more than I think I do, because they sure do want to keep me around. Because of this, I now carry two gold cards with me, free of charge, with a 13 thousand dollar credit limit. God. Help. Us. Everyone.

With my mind on my money and my money on my mind,

Peace out, Gs.

Mia :: 12:49 PM

(8) comments

August 22, 2005

Having been banished to the outer darkness of my own corner office in the middle of a lava rock field, I now find myself with time to update this website at long last. Oy vey how I know you have waited, my precious ones.

Now, where to begin…

Most noticeably, my love life has picked up considerably since I decided it was time to get deholified again. Life’s too short to be sweet, I’ve determined. From here on in, my life will be nothing but wanton debauchery all the way! Allez-allez!

After my initial brief brush with alcohol at the start of the month, I decided that it was high time I reintroduced myself to the local bar scene as the drunken babbling idiot it once knew me as. So the following Friday me and Sylvia got booted, suited and G-ed up from the feet up and headed out on the town. Despite some minor stabbings and such, the night turned out pretty good although in some unidentifiable drunken frenzy I gave out my phone number to some hapless turd that I was hoping would never have the courage to actually call once he’d sobered up.

As we know, when I hope for something, one can pretty safely bet money on the exact opposite happening. This was proven true once again when old boy didn’t waste a moment’s time in contacting me as soon as he woke up on Saturday “morning”. Still groggy from the night’s endeavors and perhaps feeling charitable, I agreed to have dinner with the mysterious caller, not really recalling the horror that had stood before me the night before.

I was met at the restaurant by what can only be described as… a geek. And that doesn’t even begin to describe it. National icon and folk hero Leoncie was sitting at the next table with her husband who was wearing a cowboy hat backwards, and this guy was making them look cool. But being the trouper that I am, I managed to breeze through dinner, maintaining casual conversation and smothering all and any attempts at inviting me to a movie before he could fully get them out. Also managing to mostly ignore the fact that he was shaking, rather noticeably, causing him to splash water all over the table whenever he picked up his glass. Ahem, well, chalk it up to experience I guess.

The next night, I was asked out to dinner to the very same restaurant by another guy. This guy was considerably better looking but the date was pretty much a bust as we had absolutely nothing to say to each other. Somewhat comically, I was told at the end of the night that because the guy was not looking to get attached, he didn’t want anything of substance but being of the gender he is, he was interested in pursuing a sexual relationship with me. Whatever happened to the good old days where guys would bullshit you senseless to get into your pants, huh? Whatever happened to that? What in the devil is this world coming to??

The following week I went and saw an Alice Cooper show in Reykjavik with some people from work, bringing along a guy I didn’t really know but had been talking to a little bit for awhile. I talked to him briefly while I was getting ready and told him where I was going, and since he was dying to go I invited him along with us. The show turned out to be awesome. I am just lame enough to be thrilled to have ye ole metal whore, Alice Cooper standing three feet in front of me and was totally star struck. Alice looked like he’d been dead for, oh, about 4 years or so but he’s got the kind of look where the older and uglier he gets, the cooler he looks.

Me and my “date” however pretty much hit it off and have been seeing each other since the show. A long and dreary dryspell hath ended finally. Who can resist the romantic spells of Alice Cooper bringing two souls together? T’was a match made in theatrical hell where a ballerina portrayed Paris Hilton and Alice Cooper was decapitated by two monsters. What could POSSIBLY go wrong? Stay tuned.

School’s out completely.

Mia :: 3:55 PM

(2) comments

August 01, 2005

The weary traveller returns...

Ah, sweet alcohol how I must have subconsciously missed you. Being on the fast track to hell definitely has it's redeeming qualities. To my amazement, I didn't hear Satan cackling away in the distance either as I sipped on my firewater.

Yes, you got it guys and dolls, I am currently nursing a broken tailbone after my monumental fall off the wagon. Let me relay the tale...

I went away for this marvellous Merchant's Holiday weekend with Sylvia and her sprog. The weekend got off to a magical start as the baby only cried for five hours out of the six hour drive. We were going to join her family in their house "just outside Akureyri", and in Akureyri incidentally there was a big festival going on. So all in all, with her family standing by to watch the baby, we could have a pretty good time.

As it turns out, the only family present were mostly her grandfather and his siblings and we were actually a half hour's drive from the festival. We did drive into town and spend the afternoon there, but as there was no one to leave the baby with at night while we could go have fun we were stuck in baby jail. Which is fine for her, but I have nobly kept my legs closed as we know and have done nothing to deserve the sentence.

On Saturday night the cluster of summerhouses in the area had a barbeque, and fairly early on in the evening Sylvia starts to tell me how we need to get back to the house soon because the baby needed to go to bed.

And thus ended two years of sobriety.

The idea of being forced to turn in at a baby's bedtime was more than I could handle. So I went and bought some beer and got drunk with some old men there, which was the highlight of my trip. And actually there is a lot to be said for having a "few" beers and getting a "little" legless in the country with people with whom you would normally never hang out with and singing old Beatles songs. And I don't even mean that sarcastically, it was fun.

And more importantly, it was justified. Jesus himself would have dropped acid to alleviate the boredom I was going through that night, I'm fairly certain of it.

So a rather boring and uneventful weekend managed to spurr two life changing epiphanies which all in all isn't an entirely disappointing result.

One was that rules were meant to be broken, and even God himself would do a keg stand if pushed too far.

The second was that, barring insanity, I am not having children till I am at least 53 years old.

Mia :: 2:00 PM

(4) comments

June 23, 2005

Mystery movie quote of the week: "C'mon sporto, level with me. Did you give her the hot beef injection?"

So, now that I've made up my mind and turned my back on God and goodly things and am awaiting the first chance I get to dive headfirst into wanton debauchery, I think it's time to buckle down and really analyze what it is that I'm looking for. I've decided that I can't be too fussy. I've been accused of being far too picky about who I date and that has resulted in the most devestating dry spell of all time, so I've decided to lower my standards considerably and narrow it down to one key requirement. Just a single one.

He has to be drop dead gorgeous.

That's all I ask. He doesn't have to be smart, he doesn't have to be kind, understanding, caring, charitable or anything else at all. He just has to be knock-your-socks-off hot. Now, I know that somebody out there is just dying to tell me "But Mia... looks aren't everything" and to that I say: I know that, fool! That's the point. I've decided to stop asking for everything and narrowed my list of demands down to one item only. That, my dear, is compromise at it's finest.

Besides, someone has to take the bullet for the girl's team and I will do that with a smile on my face. What I mean is, someone has to lower themselves to date those that you politically correct intellectuals don't want anything to do with.The pretty boys. And I will gladly step out in front of the Himbo bus and get hit six ways from Sunday. And I don't even mean that in the dirty way that you're thinking.

Also, I hear some negative voices in the back there crowing "You ain't so hot yourself there, honey!". And to that I say: I know that, fool! That's the point.
The thing is, a pretty boy is more than some whimisical demand of a delusional girl. It's a biological necessity. I'm doing it for the children! I have accepted the fact that I have no choice in the matter, unless I plan on putting my children through the same ugly duckling hell that I went through. Which is tempting, but I'm a better person than that. I have certain... uhm, genetic misfortunes that have resulted in my resembling a pre-pubescent offspring of Jabba the Hut and cousin It. Nothing short of a picture perfect genetic composition will do to correct this grave social injustice that Mother Nature has performed against me. So if you've ever posed for a JC Penney catalogue, you just may be the man for me!

Ha! And you all thought I was just that shallow...

I may be shallow but I'm working my way down.

Mia :: 1:36 PM

(2) comments

May 27, 2005

Well well, it seems that in my ragged old age I have developed a case of blog-laziness. I have on many occasions solved the age old question of the meaning of life back and forth but due to aforementioned blog-laziness I neglected to write it down and due to aforementioned ragged old age, I have now forgotten every last word of it.

Oh well!

In the immortal words of Alice Cooper, school's out for summer. Well, not quite since I plan on taking some net classes this summer but... well, you catch my drift. I miraculously managed to pass all my classes, thanks mostly to the divine mercy of those getting paid to educate me. I think they may have finally gotten the point that if they don't let me pass, I won't go away. They'll just have to deal with my tardiness and whining until they turn a blind eye to my short comings and shoo me on through the ranks of education. Ahh, God bless the integrity of higher learning.

School ended on a pretty tragic note this year however. A teacher and guidance counsellor at the school that I've known since I was a kid collapsed at the graduation ceremony and died at the age of 50. It was a completely unexpected tragedy and he will be greatly missed by everyone who was lucky enough to know him in life. I'm still having a hard time reconciling with the fact that he's dead. I keep thinking that he's dead for now. And that he will somehow be cured of this unfortunate condition soon.

I guess you could pick and choose in life what kind of pain and misery you want to put up with. You can either surround yourself with absolutely worthless bastards who will probably be immortal and you will never have to suffer losing them (you will however have to suffer through having them around) or you could surround yourself with the ultimate targets, the good people. Because it's always the good ones, it really is. The kind of man he was, if there was any justice in this world at all, he would've lived to be 150 years old. And then again... maybe in life as it is in school, the best graduate first.

We poured some drinks on the ground at the bar on Saturday night for our dead homie, and I cried a little bit in absolute privacy. And then, alas, life will just go on the same as it always did and we'll all eventually get used to the fact that the world is perhaps a slightly worse-off place now than it was last week.

Rest in peace, GT! You were loved.

Mia :: 4:15 PM

(1) comments

April 27, 2005

Greetings and salutations.

Something is amiss on planet earth as through a series of unforeseeable events, I have somehow become one of those “insanely busy” people. I got a great new job in Reyk, and then the semester is about to wrap up so all that end of the year coursework (that I should have spent the last 3 months doing) is now raining down upon me like locusts. All I need now are some friends not chained down by men and/or babies to occupy my one or two hours a week that are still open and I will truly begin to feel important. Also, as usual I have some inane plans on the drawing board about going to the gym. Granted those plans have been there since the dawn of time.

My lovelife (cough) is as exciting as ever, with my total amount of new prospects having skyrocketed up to 0. Luckily, I have both mormonism and my impending morbid obesity to blame for my lack of suitors. Although, even those are beginning to wear thin. Luckily, the stars are as ever looking out for my romantic welfare. Just look at the latest bulletin from the department of cosmic revelations (courtesy of Yahoo!)

In romance, as in sword fighting, a little bit of daring goes a long way. Add a mask and a cape and you're halfway to where you want to be! Touche

Well, thanks. That’s about as clear as the Hudson river. Touche indeed.

So what you mean is, if I start wearing a mask and a cape I’ll get a date? I suppose it’s worth a shot.

Although, why do I get the eerie feeling that a mask and a cape will get me a date with someone like this?
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Ooh la la! Beam me up, Hottie...

Mia :: 7:18 PM

(2) comments

March 27, 2005

This may be the last time I ever post here, since I fear I might be slipping into a diabetic coma any moment now. I have managed to consume what appear to be 90 lbs of chocolate, and I am only about halfway through my easter egg. Without a significant other to share this holiday with, I am getting increasingly happy that I chose Nerdbird to enjoy it with me.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Nerdbird

I became even more convinced that I had chosen the absolute right egg for me when I read my little proverb that was hidden inside the egg.

"It is better to be unwed than to be unhappily wed."

Is that so? I think there are precious few safe havens left in this world when even your damn easter egg is making catty remarks about your rather desolate love life.

Oh and speaking of my desloate love life, lets take a look at the wonderful love horoscope I have been dealt for the week to come, shall we?

Expect the person you fancy to change his or her mind this week. Don't be upset by this, if you can maintain a carefree attitude it will make you more enticing and probably help you attract someone else.

Oh, I give up. Who am I kidding at this point? My future has got 'Crazy Cat Lady' written all over it.

On the upside, I can stop shaving my legs now. Whoopy. Dee. Doo.

Happy Easter, y'all!

Mia :: 8:27 PM

(1) comments

March 24, 2005

I think a fairly accurate measure of how boring your life is, is how much of it you spend reading into meaningless details to try to add some sort of excitement. It's like the fanatics of old that played records backwards looking for Satanic messages. Surely, there must be something there!! Since I have once again found myself in the precarious situation of being crushing on someone (God help us all), I have read novels into every little bat of an eyelid he has made in the past month. Every single word he's unwittingly uttered has been dissected back and forth and interpreted in roughly ten million different ways either to my advantage or to my extreme disadvantage depending on my mood. A simple "How you doing, Mia?" can be both "aww, he cares how I'm doing. He loves me. Surely, this will be a union like no other" and "He makes small chit chat because he hates me and wants me to die". Which of the aforementioned is closer to the truth is anyone's guess.

On a sidenote, I have some bad news for my waistline: Easter is upon us. In honor of that, me and Sylvia drove out to the local Piggly Wiggly's to buy ourselves an easter egg. I became spoiled by choice at the selection and spent a good hour choosing an egg. I ended up going with the overall appearence of both the egg itself, but more importantly the little baby chicken doll on top of it. I ended up choosing one who was wearing a crooked tophat and red horn rimmed glasses. I figured he was so nerdy that no one else would buy him, and therefore, he would be very happy and grateful that I bought him and I imagine he's quite proud of himself sitting in my cupboard downstairs. This thought process has now led me to the conclusion that there might be something deeply wrong with me.

So between the torture of having my tooth ripped out through my wallet and what seem like neverending car repairs, I've come to realize that I can scarcely afford to draw my next breath. In light of this, I have broken down and started looking for a job. I've applied for a couple of McJobs here and there, and even some "real" jobs because I'm delusional. Reviewing both my resume and my own personal bank of skills, I've come to realize that there are precious few things that I am qualified or experienced to do. Not that I'm at all above lying on a job application or anything, just between you and me. I think I might attach the following picture to my job applications and start applying at dairy farms. One can never have enough milk, as the good doctor ordered.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

*sigh* In the words of a good friend, I've got 257,547 problems but a bitch ain't one.

Mia :: 3:15 PM

(0) comments

March 15, 2005

Well, that's it. The world is officially against me now. This morning I was rather brave. Or braver than your average 5 year old anyway, and actually volunterally went to see a dentist. My dentist was rather displeased with my reluctance to come visit him, and read me the riot act for several minutes before actually getting to work. In retrospect, allowing him to become so worked up before he began taking sharp instruments to my pearly whites (Ok... so they're more like pearly off-whites..sort of) was perhaps not my best idea to date.

You see, the backstory to this pleasant morning was that whilst engaged in a fist fight with some sailors down by the docks last week, I managed to break a tooth. Dr. Giggles, being a man of invention and progress decided that rather than fixing the old tooth... he would merely rip it out of my bleeding gums with a metal hook. Aww, bless his little cotton socks.

Surely another shall replace it soon, as I am still tooth-wise very much a child and haven't had my extra set of back teeth grow in yet.

The knowledge that I will soon be frolicking in the sun with a brand new tooth that is sure to become as attached to me as my old one did nothing to ease the pain and seperation angst I felt as Dr. Kevorkian handled me in a way that would have made your average heavy machinery weep.

Now, when I say pain, I mean that in a strictly metaphorical, melodramatic sense. The truth is, I felt no pain at all. I'd had 4 shots of local anaesthetic in various corners of my mouth, paralyzing my face and making my cheeks look like flapping pizza dough. I am quite confident this deformation is permanent. What little aesthetics I had going for me (and lets face it... I am rather poor in prettiness) have now been erased, leaving me with a bullethole the size of a billy goat in my jaw as a souvenir and permanently blood stained teeth.

Ironically enough, my horoscope tells me I'll be feeling amorous this week. Well that just fuckin' figures, doesn't it?!?

Mmmm, kiss me baby....

Mia :: 5:50 PM

(1) comments

March 14, 2005

I've been wondering a lot lately about what it really means to be happy. How does one become happy? I've been trying to put my finger on what it is that I want to do with my life, and failing that I cannot possibly get paid great money for doing absolutely nothing, I think I’ve narrowed it down to a certain field that I care to work within. But the funny thing is, I can’t really see myself being happy doing "a job". Not really happy. The kind of goofy happy that makes life seem effortless and worthwhile and the 5th flat tire of the month is a hilarious mishap and not a reason to go hang yourself.

It's an embarrassing thing to admit, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I've always envisioned myself as "a star". And I don't mean a rockstar (necessarily), but just someone who is better than everyone else at what they do and has the unchallenged adoration of the world for it. I'll go out on a limb here and say that this is probably not an uncommon fantasy to carry around in the back of your mind somewhere. What is the true measure of success, if not the adoration/envy of others? Can you really be successful if no one gives a shit? If a tree falls down in a forest and there’s no one around to hear it, did it make a sound? Catching my drift? Ok.

But when you think about, how many people have that kind of adoration? I mean granted, the number is probably quite high but when you put it next to the number of other people who aren't stars in their own right, it begins to look pretty low. There's a reason why they call it Average Joe. But how happy is Average Joe? Is anyone really, truly content with being mediocre? Is everyone truly resigned to the average life or are we all secretly hoping to break away and becoming extraordinary?

Happiness is allegedly not about having what you want, but wanting what you have. In other words, the happy might very well be the masters of self deprivation. I don’t understand how working as a bank clerk in a small town for 40 years gives anyone true fulfillment. Do these people, these invisible wheels of society, really feel happy or do they just not think about it? It's probably better not to, I'll give you that. But is happiness really only the one begotten child of a poor imagination? I tried to raise a similar issue with people I know from my church awhile back, and I got some spiel about money not lasting beyond the grave and how temporal blessings don't really mean anything for that reason and how family, children and the gospel are the true blessings in this life. And that's all very well, but that touches on what I said before, about the happy being masters of self deprivation. Or to quote Sinead O'Connor, "I do not want what I haven’t got".

The thing is, I consciously KNOW all of these things. Happiness is a state of mind, seek fulfillment from within and not from the outside world, the only person whose respect you truly need is yourself, material things are not the true measure of success.... And I could light up a bong, twist myself into some complicated yoga pose and tell myself this all the doo da day, but I don't think it would change anything in the end. To me, these are just little catchphrases that I can recite to help myself accept the fact that I’ll never be a "star". They're self-deprivation crutches. Average Joe's spiritual training wheels.

Now were I to feel compelled to reach some sort of halfassed conclusion on this, I guess the key is to accept what you've got and learn to love it. But is acceptance really the same as surrender? But if you don't surrender, who the hell are you fighting with? And is it worth it in the end? Isn't fame and adoration at the end of the day something that happens outside of your own being and person and not something tangible that you really feel? Does anyone feel famous and adored on that level, even if they are? Don't they just feel hounded and ridiculed, but just as ordinary as everyone else? How many questions have I asked in a row now? Do you think it's time to stop now? So do I. Or do I?

Mia :: 2:53 PM

(2) comments

February 06, 2005

This just in: The chinese celebrated the New Year today, saying goodbye to the year of the monkey and greeting the year of the rooster. Well, this certainly explains a few things, doesn't it? The year of the monkey?? Who can have good luck in such a proposterous year, I ask you? Damn Chinese. Things will hopefully start looking up for me soon then. I have a funny little feeling the Year of the Cock might be my kind of year.

So on Friday night I went to the base club to partake in S.G Killah's birthday party. Horror of horrors. How that club manages to maintain such a standard of piss-poorness for years running is beyond me. Perhaps it's just the quality of the clientele... who can say? Who, you ask? I can. An entire club full of guys that are fairly evenly divided into two groups:

Group 1: Limping black guys in oversized baby clothes whose language and communication skills are around a 2nd grade level or so. Liable to say anything from "Yo gurrl, can I axe you a question? How a white gurrl git such a phat ass" to "Yo... I got yo chocolate love right hurr, HOLLAAAA". At which point I am so aroused that I must retreat to the lavatories to finish myself off so I can continue functioning normally.

Group 2: Chubby, fully mustached white men with the ever-stylish crew cut that we all know and love. Nothing like a man with just a bush of hair right on the top of his head like a miniature version of the Kid'n'Play hairstyles of old. And as if the hair wasn't enough to get the girl juices flowing! Available for your viewing pleasure is also a pair of jeans, fresh from the shelves of K-Mart, a shirt that is preferrably a little too small to hide the pudgy Doughboy tummy, decorated with the logo of one of the following, 1. Iron Man (coz Pillsbury boy fancies himself as a bit of a hardass), 2. Daytona Bike Week (because for some unexplainable reason, they think that is cool), 3. The American flag. Betsy Ross would shit a brick if she saw what "her creation" has been reduced to. What more could we ask for? Well, how about a nice humongous pair of a) white tennis shoes or even b) hiking boots to finish off the outfit in true Base Club style.

Then there is what I would like to call a subgroup of Group 2. Basically just a bunch of white boys that are dressed somewhat inconspicuously, indentifiable only by the uniform ballcap that sets this group apart from the rest of the world. These boys come with 3 different types of communication techniques. The first being the Wiggas, they copy Group 1 in mannerisms and idioms to varying degrees of success. They do however usually manage to be almost as off-putting as Group 1, so one might consider that success for this team. The 2nd technique are the Rednecks. They dress like normal men, but beware! Once you get too close to them, they will without fail a) refer to their mother as "mommy" or "mama" (the fact that they even mention her at all is alarming enough - think Norman Bates), b) say something nice about George W. Bush and
c) make some insane comment about how great the States are. But that's understandable, I'm sure the States are lovely. The thing about the Rednecks is the reasoning behind why the States are great. According to them, they're great coz they have Nascar, country music radio and sisters who aren't predjudiced against their own brothers. Ok, so I made that last one up. The third communication technique is what I like to call The Awkward Half-Mutes. They come up to you and manage to squeeze one sentence out of their mute little mouths, usually nothing more gripping than "Hey how you doing?". And then they just kind of shut down, only coming to life in brief intervals to drop more monosyllabic gems into the already flowing conversation. But because they squeezed out that first sentence, they are "talking to you". So they will staple themselves to your ass and stay there for unlimited amounts of time, grinning awkwardly from time to time, otherwise staring straight at the floor.

Also, a special catagory exists for one man and one man only. This is the catagory for baldheaded men with bitchtits that get on my nerves. Accessibly only to baldheaded men with bitchtits that giggle and get on my nerves.

Someone remind me of all this the next time I am cordially invited to go to that establishment.

Mia :: 8:02 PM

(1) comments

January 27, 2005

Praise be, Friday night passed without so much as a hint of disaster anywhere. Ended up just having a really good time, despite having to shake off some of our society's more disturbed members who seemed hellbent on dancing at Mia's 5 digit disco at the end of the night. I think I may have been right on the money about the scent of blood. My outrageously tempting offers that night ranged from having someone beg to be allowed to lick my manicure, to someone else coming up with unspeakable places where he would like to park his tounge for awhile. The latter offer came from a guy who was so ridiculously hot, too that I actually managed to force myself to listen to the vile coming out of his mouth for 10 minutes. I kept thinking "Ok, he's gonna stop at any moment now and turn into a normal person.... Ok I really think it's going to happen any moment now..... I really think he's going to say he's just kidding very soon.... very soon.... any moment now". But by the time his tounge snuck into my ear as I turned my head towards the dancefloor for the briefest of moments, the dry heaves were inevitable and Gorgeous Porgeous was sent on his merry way, leaving me to another night of menage a'moi. Such a shame, too. Such a g-darn shame.

The next outing I know of will be Febuary 4th, when I go boogie down with my dear bosom buds, the Americans. In some drunken frenzy I decided that I was going to write an article for this magazine, which would immediately lead to my instant Carrie Bradshaw-ification, only to discover I had no ideas as to what to write about. Well, I figured, worst comes to worst... there's always making fun of Americans. The ever popular pasttime of all noble Europeans.

Originally I had meant to write about something else, but the bastard missionaries have betrayed me, broken my heart, killed my spirit and stomped on my hopes and dreams. I had meant to tag along with them for a day and write about my experiences as a pseudo-missionary in Reykjavik, but when it got down to the nitty gritty the boys in suits weren't too keen on the idea. I can't remember the official explanation I got from them, but I'm thinking it has something to do with maintaining some sort of image that I would inevitably destroy. Well FINE! They have left me no choice, once I get some candid shots of them, I'm just going to make up some horrible story and do an exposé on them. "Missionaries: Perverts and rapists on the streets of Reykjavik!" How do you like me now, mothasuckas?!?

Ahem. So anyway.

Speaking of missionaries... I was invited to the apartment of the two staying here in good ole Kef for a friendly chat the other day. During the aforementioned friendly chat however, my Nosey Parker eyes stumbled upon a board they have on the wall where they apparently catagorize the people involved with the church in the area. I saw my name listed under the header of "Friendship". Now if that's not a moment that makes you go "hmm". Having a friendly chat with two people who have your name on the wall, under what might as well read "lets pretend to be friends with these people for our ulterior motives". Lovely. It's always so nice to see that there's nothing fake about the church, it's so real. I love that. Fills me with God's love all over again.

And that, my dear readers, is how Joan Jett blew out the candle without breathing.

Mia :: 5:28 PM

(4) comments

January 22, 2005

Lights blinding my eyes...

Well, it's official. Wonders never cease. For the first time since the Reagan administration, I am going out on a Friday night. This surprise outing miraculously coincided with the day I went to the mall and bought a new "going out" outfit. Fate and luck are holding hands it seems and one can only wonder what disaster this could be leading up to. Were one so inclined to believe that disasters lurk around every turn. I'll give you three guesses as to whether I am so inclined.

There is nevertheless an element of bad luck (AHA!). I got my period a day early for some reason. This is inconvenient for no unmormonial, fornicatorial (I am the wordsmith) reason. It's just simply harder to get down with the get down when you're bloated and bleeding. On the upside however, the faint scent of blood might attract the hardcore hunters. Am I right or am I right? Or am I gross?

Something in the back of my mind told me that drinking vinegar would get rid of the bloated stomach. I was stopped short of drinking the vinegar, by my parents who seem to think that the consumption of vinegar in large portions can lead to something horrible which was not further explained. Pat says "you'll die". Well! That's quite dramatic and everything, but I myself am inclined to doubt that. Well. Moreso that my death would be directly caused by the vinegar, that is.

I do actually have tons of things that deserve to be written about on these here respective pages, but it's time to glam myself up for the big night out. I'll report back tomorrow, in a daze from my imaginary hangover, wondering whose underwear I'm even wearing.

Lights blinding my eyes...

Mia :: 1:11 AM

(2) comments

January 10, 2005

My love horoscope for next week:
Stay calm, don't take aggressive action and you will have far better luck when it comes to love. The less persistent and the more confident you are the better. Let potential lovers come to you

Oh, FINE!!!

Mia :: 1:09 AM

(3) comments

January 09, 2005

If it seems to anyone that I was unduly harsh towards my mormon people in my last post, I do apologize. I can't seem to find a side of this issue I care to stand on. Everyone insists on either catagorizing you as for all of it, or against all of it. And it's just not that simple to me, really. But I think I've resigned myself to the fact that I most likely will always be mormon by definition (or perhaps by default?). I've realized that I believe in a lot of the church's teachings, I'm just a little bit less inclined to believe in some of the members' teachings so to speak. I don't want to become a Utahrd. I don't want to become some kind of floor length wool dress wearing nazi. I refuse to stand for opinions that are anti-abortion, anti-gay rights, pro-death penalty, etc. But I've also realized that I don't have to. Being a mormon doesn't require me to become someone else. I'll never be an over-zealous nazi mormon, but maybe that's OK too. I've accepted the church for what it is, and it's now going to have to accept me for who I am. Not mold me into something acceptable.

Well. I think I've beaten the skin off of that dead horse for long enough.

What else is new? Hmm. Well. Me and Top Gun are most likely going out on another date. Why is it that the moment I decide things shouldn't happen, they happen? It really is amazing and can I just hereby state for the record that I'll be goddamned if I'm going to win a million dollars in the lottery and by some miracle be remolded into some superbeauty. It simply will not happen. I shan't allow it.
I don't really like him any more than I did the last time I posted here though. But I still have a morbid fascination with having things go my way, so I'll make one last ditch effort at making it to first base. Just for the hell of it. Anyone care to make a humble wager?

In other news, I signed up for a proposterous amount of classes for next semester in a desperate attempt to get to the beginning of the end of this ridiculously long stint at this same school. The people who signed me up just laughed when they saw how much I was applying for and said, "no social life, huh?". Bastards. Surely, there's someone I can sue for this blatant trampling of my sensitivities.

To soothe the pain of having to pay a grand for tuition from my already empty pockets and make the loss of funds up to myself, I went and bought a very nice expensive lipgloss from Christian Dior.

Hmm.

Well, that made sense in my head at the time anyway...

Mia :: 6:28 PM

(2) comments

January 05, 2005

Ladies and gentlemen of the north, south, east and west. Hear the words of my mouth!

I don't know why I keep getting caught up in this "life partner" nonsense. The last thing I want right now, is a "life partner". I think the thing is I just want my choice of available life partners were I to lose my marbles and decide mating up would be a good idea, I just want others to want me as their life partner. That's it. I keep getting caught up in this whole ideal that we're all supposed to want the same things in life. We're all supposed to head for the same goal and goshdarnit, I should be looking for a "life partner".

Had I not lost my two potential "life partners" of last year, hmm, lets see where I'd be. I'd either be on the doorstep of a brilliant career as a cashier at some Wal-Mart in the middle of nowhere or I'd be somewhere in Utah getting the preverbial shit beaten out of me most likely three times a day. The beating up thing is unproven, of course, but I have my theories as to how that relationship would have played out had it developed to the "life partner" level. Call me crazy.

So boy, did I miss out, huh? Running away from my real life to join the friggin' mormon circus would have just been IDEAL in the long run, every little girl's dream.

I really need to start learning how to seperate what I want from what I'm just being told that I want. I get bored with my life, so I decide that I am just going to start living somebody else's life instead. And halfway there, I realize that I can't do that either and I end up leading some kind of no-man's-life instead, not willing to sort my own mess out but unsure of whose shoes to shove myself into instead.

I had decided a few months ago that a good mormon man in Utah (of all god forsaken places, good lord) and a nice, stable household would just be IT for me. My goal. And I would have six or seven children, because that's of course my goal being as child loving and generous as I am. Ahem. I wouldn't have a job of my own but rather spend my days rearing these children, who are the future, teaching them to be good little mormons like mommy and daddy for "time and all eternity" (mormon catchphrase alert). And why mormon guys? Because they would be easy to ensnare. They get married without batting an eyelid, just as ready to live some pre-packaged bullshit life as I was. They've had a roadmap for life imprinted in them from an early age, so when they reach a certain age, i.e 21 they are out on the prowl to look for some random girl to settle down with. How perfect. How convenient. No more annoying mating games, no more fear of rejection.
This way, I would never have to face my own life, live up to my own ambitions, rely on myself, my skills or talent (however limitedly supplied) or do any goddamn thing other than what I was told. What a relief, what a release from responsibility. But is it what I really want? Of course not.
Honestly, I just thank God I am such a screw-up that my hairbrain schemes tend to crumble before my very eyes before I can actually complete them successfully.

Oh well. My eyes are open now and staring straight ahead at the actual goal I need to acheive for myself, mormon bullshit drama notwithstanding. Zoinks! Another avoidance plot foiled again! I almost probably won't try to pull a stunt like this again.

You live, you learn.

Well... You live.

Mia :: 11:18 AM

(6) comments

December 27, 2004

Happy suicide season, ladies and gentlemen! I trust you all had nice holidays, embraced by your family and loved ones, huddled up by the christmas tree, opening your presents... Ahh. This holiday is SO me. It's just so me, it's not even funny.

Having torn through the wrappings on my christmas presents to reveal all sorts of assorted xmas goodies, my careful calculations tell me that I either broke even or came out slightly in profit. Of course you have to write off the kids, money wasted on them is obviously money lost forever but that's just the kind of thing you have to deal with during this joyous season of giving. 'Tis the spirit of the season, as they say. Although I'm not entirely sure that that's exactly what they meant, but I digress.

Oh, and I do believe that weeks upon weeks ago when I last blogged here I promised some kind of update on how I did on my test. Well... there are many ways to look at it really, but if I may pick the irish way of saying it for clarification, I'll say "utter shite". That's right. The intellectual lord that is I hath faileth a testeth. But shh, you can't tell anyone. I have been instructed by La Familia to keep my academic demise under wraps. We are not above lying.

Also, I think that the Top Gun thing is dead and buried. I got so caught up in worrying about whether he liked me or not that I didn't really give myself a moment's pause to wonder whether I wanted anything to do with him. It seems that I can just be handed anyone and given that he is completely vague about where his head is at, I will become completely obsessed with the whole situation no matter what just because I am so concerned with how I'm coming off. I don't even think about who this guy even is, I just know that I must get him otherwise he must have hated me, which is an impossible development. And after all my relentless obsessing, he went away for a week and I found that I barely gave a thought to him at all. Which is never promising. So now he probably doesn't like me and I most likely don't like him either, which kind of takes all point and purpose out of pursuing things any further. We still talk but... well. Blah. You know the deal. We're basically both just talking to be polite at this point.

Interestingly enough, here's my romantic horoscope for the week:
You can't force someone love you. Back off if you haven't been able to make it to first base with someone you like. Sometimes playing hard to get is the answer. Don't rule out that there are other fish in the sea.

So, romantic pursuits lost and others gained. Once one door closes, another one soon opens letting in the next flood of confusion and utter disappointment. I can't wait. Can you?

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Mia :: 5:19 PM

(1) comments

December 13, 2004

I think the extended periods of time where I have suffered from self inflicted carpal tunnel syndrome have left me with an uncontrollable urge to fuck myself at every turn. I say this because I was due to have a final tonight, but since I for some reason neglected to study for it I managed to have it postponed until tomorrow morning. That's 12 hours from now. I have 300 pages of suckass ancient literature to read in the next 12 hours. I was going to buckle down and study my tail off earlier but fifteen pages into the pile, I decided I needed a bath. All this learning had made me feel dirty. Now, several hours later, my hair is "air drying". Obviously, reading cannot be accomplished whilst hair is "air drying". Trying that would be pure tomfoolery and reflect poorly on all of us procrastinators.

I shall report back later on the end result of tonight's academic acheivements. For now, I have realized the urgency of putting together a list of email addresses for the whole family and must depart. As other filthy and/or uneducated bozos might say; ,,Adios amigos".

Mia :: 7:48 PM

(1) comments

December 11, 2004

I have a genius new invention to tell you of. What it consists of I will have to get back to you on because I have no idea, but I can definitely say that somehow during my four hour diet I lost 4 lbs. It might be thanks to an innovative new exercise routine consisting of pulling out one's hair and rubbing one's hands together in a frantic manner whilst pacing the floor, I cannot say for sure. All I can say is, God is merciful ladies and gentlemen. Yes siree Bob.

The date however was, perhaps sadly, mostly free of comical disasters. I think we stayed within the range of your garden variety disasters such as my date showing up quasi-dysfunctional with the flu, him getting lost on his way to my house and almost making us late for the movie. We ended up being the oldest people in the auditorium, which was a kick in the groin to my youthful image. I somehow ended up being the old hag in the house that night. The rest of the auditorium was jampacked to the rafters with 14 year old girls who took great delight in giggling and chatting throughout the entire movie like a pack of prepubescent hyenas. I was thrilled.

For those of you not in "The Know", Iceland has this woebegone tradition that every show should have a ten minute intermission right smack in the middle of the movie. This, I've concluded, is not good. This forces otherwise happily quiet people to talk to one another. That gives one of them a chance to accuse the other one of being quiet, which then puts the "quiet person" on the spot and they have to come up with some boring nonsenes to talk about (which is impossible when you need to) or sit there and squirm while the accuser decides the quiet one finds them to be a let down. I am of course speaking entirely in hypotheticals here, of course. The aforementioned scenario has no correlation to what happened on my date whatsoever. I just wanted to add this to throw you off my scent.

To avoid any misunderstandings that might damage my image however, I would like to casually add that were this not a hypothetical situation, I would be the quiet one and not the accuser. Just to make that clear. Were it not a hypothetical situation. Which it was.

The biggest disappointment of the night was not being able to score my much desired good night tonsil hockey match. My date had picked me up in a g-darn Hummer, and for those of you who have not ridden in such a monstrosity, there is a desk between the driver and the passenger the size of a coffin. This limits the chances of casually leaning in for a kiss, since you'd have to travel a great distance to actually get within spit swapping distance of the driver. I think he might have found it a bit obvious if I'd suddenly thrown hiking boots on and started making my way across the behemoth divide, using ropes and ladders to assist myself along the way. Kind of takes the surprise element out of things, I suppose.

But all in all, minor disasters and inconvenient transportation aside, I think the date went well. Who knows, maybe somewhere down the line I'll get to enjoy the pitter patter of little helicopter pads around the house. And they say I'm not an optimist!

Mia :: 11:13 PM

(2) comments

December 03, 2004

Without having much time to elaborate on it, due to an urgent need to fret and pull out my hair, I am going on a date. I know, can you believe it? It has dawned on me that he will be picking me up in four hours. That's four hours from now. Tonight.

I have four hours to go on a diet, make lots of money and go buy new clothes. This, as you can imagine, is rather worrying.

So far the only four hour diets I can think of involve a cheese grater and a bonesaw and are as you can probably guess, none too appealing. And as for clothes, well if you scroll down ever so slightly you will see that two weeks ago I removed every wearable item (that had been come unwearable, by the way) from my wardrobes and am left only with tatters of bed sheets and fig leaves to conceal my nudity. This is not appropriate first date wear, according to Cosmopolitan. Sadly I am without the funds to go deck myself out at a clothing store and short of going to the Red Cross and begging for mercy, I'm shit out of luck as they say. I can think of ways to get my hands on some money and/or new garments, but I think being bailed out of jail for shoplifting is less than a perfect start to a monumental date.

Somehow I'm thinking this date will make the horror movie we intend to see look like a fairy tale. As my good and optimistic friend Pat said to me, "I see nothing but comical disaster coming from this". I tend to agree.

Mia :: 5:35 PM

(5) comments

November 21, 2004

In the week since I last posted here I have communicated with the dead, the undead and even those who meet all the criteria for being considered alive alike. I actually managed to complete all the studying I was meant to do for last week which I had so memorably put off till the very last minute as usual and stunned audiences the world over by actually handing everything in on time. Well, "on time". I can't believe that it's nearing the end of November and I haven't frocked up yet to any great degree. Although it's too early to pat me on the back, since this was another weekend where I was supposed to every moment glued to the books, only coming up for air once every three hours and I have managed to do next to nothing. But I can safely blame the parents for this, who decided that this weekend would be ideal to take in two tiny tenants whose entertainment from Thu to Sun would largely be my responsability. All this despite my screaming protests and warnings, no less. Also, finals are ahead of us still like a crouching tiger by the walkway towards a happily ending semester so it is again far too early for celebrations.

I just got in from walking the dog. It's colder right now than it's been in the past 100 years here in Iceland, and I have somehow been forced out the door to walk the critter every day now. It's kind of interesting how much he seems to enjoy smelling other dogs' pee everywhere though. He will spend great amounts of time making sure that he has smelled every drop fully, and then he will ponder briefly whether to leave a message of his own. Which he usually decides to do. "Hi. I got your message. I'm Sam. What's your name?" It's like Yahoo! chat for dogs. "I can't really talk right now, my owner is standing right behind me. I'll try to come back later."

On Thursday night me and a friend went to a seance. Cue the mandatory "ohhhhh"! I was pleasantly surprised though, the guy said all kinds of things that he really couldn't possibly know about any of these people. And wouldn't you know it, the star of the show got a visitor from beyond of her very own. My grandpa wants me to take the broken rim out of my trunk. And incidentally, I do have a broken rim in my trunk that's been driving me nuts with it's rattling around... It could be argued that I didn't necessarily NEED a voice from beyond to come and tell me to remove it, but it certainly couldn't hurt, could it? I still haven't taken it out though, for those interested. Getting things done isn't my strong suit, I guess.

I finally went and saw a movie. Yippie. Not The Grudge though, but I went and caught the new Bridget Jones flick. I actually really liked it. I'm not normally one for chick flicks but I love the Bridget Jones books and these movies aren't bad. Plus something about Hugh Grant makes me curl my toes for some reason. Pretty weird, huh? My list of desirable males is getting increasinly weirder and weirder the longer I'm cut off from actual male contact.

Ok, I'm making excuses now. I've always liked Hugh Grant.

Except in Nine Months and movies that came before that one. I hate the longish hair.

Well, anyway, before I get too off track, Bridget Jones:Edge of Reason gets my stamp of approval as an evening's entertainment. Both the book and the movie.

And Hugh Grant. Mwahaha.

Mia :: 8:59 PM

(0) comments

November 14, 2004

I have just now completed the arduous task of removing everything that doesn't fit me anymore from my wardrobe, leaving only things I can wear with a clear conscience. Which basically meant ripping every single item out aside from a precious few assorted bits and bobs that still stretch enough to cover the ever expanding mass that is I. How depressing is that? I've decided to box up all the clothes I took out and put them in the garage, only to be taken out when I have managed to transform myself from a sumo wrestler to a ballerina. I don't expect to see them again for quite some time.

The reason for this unpresidented productivity is of course the fact that I am supposed to be doing a whole lot of studying right now. Of which I have managed to do none. The parents were out of town for the weekend, and while I was meant to get a whole lot done I found the peace and quiet all too irresistable. Spent the weekend cleaning the house, cooking good food, watching crappy movies, reading cheesy thrillers and spending a minimal amount of time with friends. Which under normal circumstances would be fine, but this weekend was meant to be dedicated to academic pursuits only. Have I made the point that I was meant to study but didn't yet? Alright. But fear not, the night is young. It's only 5 pm on a Sunday and there is still a chance that I might pull something out of my sleeve yet!

The thought occurred to me today that it's been a holy hell of a long time since I've actually done anything. Gone out, gone to a movie, met people... It's a sorry state of affairs I've landed myself in, ladies and gentlemen. The only new friends I make nowadays are missionaries. And how goshdarn tragic is that? No disrespect intended to the missionaries though, almost all of them that I've met have been fabulous. But they're still missionaries. And only under the utmost exidient circumstances should one find themselves only making friends with people who have taken an oath to befriend absolutely everyone. It's like you almost understand how superstar millionaires feel... well... in the smallest of aspects. You never know if they like you for you, no wut I iz sayin?

I'm dying to go see The Grudge, which is supposed to be super scary. The only one I could think of that I stood a snowball's chance in hell of being able to drag to a movie was my sister, who it turned out had to work tonight. She does not know that I know the time honored truth that anything other than a 'yes' really means 'no'. We tried to cross reference our schedules (I actually have a schedule, can you believe it?) to find a time where we could go and we're free on opposite nights all week, except next Sunday. Before I could slam the phone down, her deceptive mouth had spat out the words "OK, so maybe we'll go next Sunday". Now while I know her intentions are good, the fact that this will most likely never happen is not wasted on me. A lot can happen between now and then and I have every reason to believe that it will. But even if I know this for an absolute fact and a law of nature, my hopes are now inevitably up like a puppy dog's, and I will undoubtedly be getting gradually more excited as it draws closer to Sunday, on which day all of my hopes and dreams will be cruelly shattered by feeble excuses about a lack of babysitters. It's all so clear to me.

I'd try to drag Sylvia, however she is not only the world's biggest scaredy cat but she is also 9 months pregnant to the day and would almost surely go into labor five minutes before the show much to my utter disappointment. So I won't even try that one. Water breaking on me would be more horror than I am interested in, thank you very much.

On a different note, has anyone noticed how fast this year has gone by? Is it dawning on anyone else that it is freakin November 14th? November? How the hell? Two to three more weeks, and I'll have left yet another semester behind me in ruins. I swear that were I not a drooling mongoloid when it comes to anything scientific, I'd conduct some kind of scientific research and prove that time has started to go by at least 17 times faster than it used to.

Well. I think it's time to give in to my own sensibility and maybe try to crack open a book for a change.

Be sure, be safe and remember that sex under 16 is illegal!

Mia :: 5:04 PM

(1) comments

October 25, 2004

Is it just me, or are people hauling ass down the aisle in record numbers at the moment? In the past two months or so, 4 people I know have gotten married. All these weddings are stirring up some old and rather unattractive feelings in me for some reason. Don't get me wrong, far be it from me to begrudge them their happiness. Not at all. I really am very happy for each and every one of them. But at the same time, it reminds me of how everything I wanted went to someone else. Thinking back in time, a lot of these people have had it kind of crappy in the past while I have had it pretty good. Do you ever wonder if we're all on some kind of cosmic cycle? While I'm up, they're down... and vice versa. If that's the case then isn't it kind of wrong of me to want things to get better for me? Isn't that almost the same as hoping things get worse for everyone else? I think I'm on an opposite end of the cycle from the rest of the world. I can't think of a single person I know that isn't having some kind of miraculous life event right about now and is deleriously happy... except for me. If I were a good and ethical person, shouldn't I be wishing that things remained in the status quo for the greater good, and stop worrying about my own damn temporal happiness? Is anyone really that gracious though, aren't we all just selfish pigs when it gets right down to it? I'll be the first to admit that I am. And while everyone around me stomps around in their wading pool of happiness, I'm reminded only of everything I don't have in my life and every part of me is screaming for me to have some kind of emotion about that. But honestly, I'm afraid to because I don't want to know what it'd be.

Having said all that though...

I never seem to give a single thought to all of the things that I DO have in my life. It's so sick that I only seem to bother placing a value on the things I covet whilst entirely overlooking what I already possess. I have a home, I have faith, I have a family, I have a second family, I have friends, I have suffered no major pitfalls or tragedies in my life, I have the chance to get an education (albeit wasted), I have minimal obligations and maximal room to screw up. One of these days, some of those things are going to be gone from me and I'll never realize until then how much they were actually worth. And I'll never realize how much I owe some people until I no longer have a chance to tell them they're appreciated.

I'm beginning to sound like a Hallmark card.

I hate how depressing winters are, it always feels like I've been poisoned. From September through April, I'm in a holding pattern. Just waiting for the sun to come out, the icky snow to get off the streets and the urge to scream to get out of my body. I don't care if the summer is just as crappy. It's summer and therefore by definition will never be as crappy as winter. Things just don't bother me as much. Well that's not true. They bother me, but I just have a hearty cry about it and keep on trucking. They don't engulf me like they do in the wintertime. So one is inclined to ask oneself, what in the Sam Hill am I doing living in the coldest, darkest, creppiest place on earth? I'm equally baffled, really.

Mia :: 3:22 AM

(1) comments

October 10, 2004

The despair has reached a critical level, ladies and gentlemen. It has gotten so far that I am actually looking in the other direction and pretending not to notice that my friend is trying to find someone to set me up with. She's trying to get someone that she's seeing to find me a guy, and as far as I could tell out of the corner of my eye someone has been found. Now, I'm fairly positive this is some autistic individual with pyromania issues but like I said, despair has reached a critical level.

She has tried to set me up with someone twice before. The first time I actually went along with it and went on the date, and consider that date to this day to be the absolute worst date I have ever been on. The second time I entertained the idea so far as to see who they would come up with, and then I axed the plan there and it never went any further. I think the problem is that I am such an incomparably nice girl, that she is asking these boyfriends of hers to find me a "nice guy". And as we all know, if you ask a guy to find a "nice guy" they will come up with some hairbrain process of figuring out who is "nice". "Nice" to men means "has not been out boning (or trying to bone) everyone in town and shows little to no tendencies towards such behavior". Which is fair enough. Only they make no distinction between people's motivations and the reasons WHY they aren't going around trying to stick it in everything but an electrical socket. Only one reason is the "right" one, that is that the man is of too high a moral calibre to consider such actions and is actually a "nice guy". Various others exist however, such as autism, depression, closet homosexuality...etc. So, long story short, men will usually hear "nice guy" and come up with "Hmm. Eugene hasn't left his room in four months... I'll bet he's a nice guy". So I end up on a date with Eugene and his talking hand puppet.

The one blind date she set me up on that I did go on replays regularly in my nightmares. I won't go into the gruesome details too much, but lets just say the guy showed up in carrot pants, a leather bomber jacket and a ski mask, made random comments about my derriere, crooned love songs into my ear, wore huge black horn rimmed glasses during the movie and demanded to sit with his arm around me, forcing me to sit hunched over during all 3 hours of A Beautiful Mind. A movie whose main character my date seemed to have suspiciously much in common with. Enough said.

I ran into him in a nightclub some weeks later where he demonstrated how limber he was. Yes, I said limber. He was so limber that he was able to bend into a position which enabled him to perform oral sex on himself. And then he sang some more love songs.

So you can appreciate the incredible bravery I'm displaying by actually considering being set up on another blind date. But times are hard and as they say, any port in a storm.

I don't know though, sometimes I wonder what the point even is. Me and my friend through scientific methods determined that my ideal guy would have to have slicked back hair and a clearly defined six pack, but he would also have to be part Harry Potter. And if I may shamelessly add, it wouldn't hurt if he was a significant part Owen Wilson either. But having said that, I honestly can't even dream up the perfect billionaire movie star love God that I would choose over a certain individual. Even the dreary serial killer blind dates seem even drearier when you know who the person is who makes everything come together for you and look like fate, the person who embodies everything you could wish for in a friend, lover, husband and a companion, the person who is everything you could've dreamt up on your own and all the perfect other stuff you would never even have thought of. I don't know, it's always difficult to get excited about second best.

But oh well! You have to cowboy up and move on, leave it all behind you and put away your hopes that a U-Haul truck will run over his wife in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Although I was never even commited to that idea. I'm a christian. I don't wish for such ghastly things. I was far more attracted to the idea that three angels would appear to him and tell him all the little things about me that he missed, all the stuff he could've (and would've) loved if he'd paid me some more attention and he would realize that I was his one true love forever, Amen. I found that to be a much more viable option. Uhm, but anyway... I've gotten ahead of myself here.

Well. Anyway. Enough with this outrageous explosion of the overly sentimental.

In other news, I'm getting fatter again. Those who know me will know that I am normally a frighteningly skinny individual who regularly plays her ribs like the mandolin at gatherings, but alas, my trainspotter days have drawn to a close as I am beginning to far more resemble Dom DeLuise than Kate Moss. Although it has to be said, in all fairness, I never did resemble Kate Moss to begin with but I digress. I was going to go to the gym tonight, but I was stopped dead in my tracks on my way out the door when I took one look at my tennis shoes and realized they are nowhere near up to par. You can't take your first steps towards a new life in crappy shoes, obviously, so my gym trip was put on hold until further notice. I will have to go shopping here soon for new shoes while I can still get around normally and don't have to be lifted out through the roof by crane. Which means, it will have to be this week.

Mia :: 8:31 PM

(2) comments

September 25, 2004

Glory, glory hellolujah you delightful bunch of holy rollers out there. I am at long last confident that you have suffered withdrawal for long enough and that you have missed me sufficiently. You will hopefully forgive my lack of updates during this month, the muse was on vacation. Still is, really. But I thought I'd try my hand at this writing business without her. Muse schmooze, who needs 'em anyway?

Last Sunday saw my youth draw to a close in a most dramatic fashion when I irreversably (I tried) turned 22 years old. It has to be said, I find 22 to be quite haggardly next to my former youthful blossom age of 21. But far scarier is the fact that I have 359 days until I turn 23. As we all know, 23 is the age where people begin to require bedpans and 2" thick layers of anti-wrinkle cream (to no avail). I have vowed to photograph myself every day of the year this year, to remember what I used to look like before I started having to tuck my double chin into my underwear and my face began to look like a topographical map of Uruguay. Yay. I love birthdays. For those of you who haven't sent me a present yet, I suggest you get to it immediately. Next year I might be too senile to appreciate them.

The mormons here in Keflavik bought me a birthday present. From what I can tell, it's a huge framed picture of a young Kenny Rogers in a bathrobe stepping out of a cave in the early morning sun. Under the picture it reads "He Lives". Yes, that's what I thought he did. I think that was my favorite birthday present of the year though, coz it was so unexpected. (So far, guys! So far! Don't let that discourage you in your quest to buy me lavish gifts) Also it gave me the similarly unexpected chance to lasciviously make out with Elder Cattermole's neck in a most erotic fashion. I'm sure it came as quite the shock to him as well. Ahh well. We all have to learn to deal with sex offenders at some point in our adult lives, I suppose. To his credit, he took it like a man. Or a man-esque sort of being anyway.

Hmm, I vaguely recollect there being some mention of a "sausage hunt" here last time I wrote. As was to be expected, I procrastinated that mission away. In the spirit of sportsmanship I did take some absolutely ridiculous steps towards acheiving my goal in the beginning, but I ended up sabotaging myself kind of and then giving up and the whole deal frankly is hardly worth mentioning. Much like most of my quests. I think this is a form of brain damage that I have, a non-acheiving gene embedded in my DNA. Around what time do you think science will be offering DNA plastic surgery? Wouldn't that be fantastic? Why change your boobs when you can change your entire genetic structure? They could remove all kinds of crappy, annoying characteristics you've inherited from your parents such as being overbearing, inconsiderate and controlling and replace it with supreme intelligence, undying motivation and the grace of a gazelle in heels. They could just yank the unwanted bodyhair gene, the drooling on the pillow gene, the slightly lopsided breasts gene... Wouldn't that be outstanding? I'd play it smart, too. Everyone would have this surgery, you see. Everyone would be perfect. Except for me. I'd ignore the surgery and go hide in a cave with the rest of the ogres for a couple of years and by the time I'd come out, everyone would be perfect and perfection would be boring and undesirable. What better position to be in at that point than being the only obese, buck toothed, ratty haired, unmotivated, uneducated, IQ-equals-shoesize, cult member on the planet? I'd never have to change a thing about me, but still I'd be the star. That's really what I figure needs to happen. I'll never be able to transform myself so dramatically that I'll be the hottest chick around. That won't happen and I've resigned myself to that fact. But maybe, JUST MAYBE... the world can sink to some horrible level to where everyone is worse off than me. I think that is far more attainable. Onwards with genetic research, I say!! It's my only hope!!!

And thus spoke Zara Þustra.

Mia :: 5:07 PM

(1) comments

August 31, 2004

I've made a decision. One that will change everything and leave a long and winding skidmark down the epicenter of my life forever more. I've decided to actively become un-single. I've complained about my unfortunate singleness for many a weeks now, mourning the loss of whatever elusive trait it was that made me attractive to the weaker members of the opposite sex. I'm on a life-improvement rampage now, seeing as I have contracted some kind of chemical poisoning or other and have become a die-hard optimist. Anything is possible! Seize the day!

I've happily been drinking gallons of water a day whilst on the diet to end all diets, I'm using some kind of entirely inaffective teeth whitening substance (steer clear of Rapid White), I'm back in school, working dilligently at a crappy McJob like (du ru du du du) I'M LOVING IT and I'm thinking about moving into my very own castle. I mean apartment. So I figure, why not include a sausage hunt? Surely if you can get a fish to swallow a sharp metal hook by covering it with the right bait, I can attract a guy by hiding my true self behind a pleasant facade. My horoscope for the week says that I should "get out there", that my love (of the lasting kind, I might add) is out there waiting for me.

I wish my "love" would read his fetchin horoscope where it will inevitably tell him to get off his fat ass and come find me instead, as I am the mother of all procrastinators and this quest for a hunk-a-burnin-manlove will most likely be short lived, but I digress.

Now the first thing I need to do before I begin my transformation into a human tripwire in front of the deep, deep pit of love is figure out what kind of man I plan to entrap. I mean attract. Do I want a hopelessly gorgeous science geek whose sexiness has to this day gone undiscovered? Or do I want a hopelessly gorgeous bad boy whose relationships have never made it through dessert until he came across me? Or do I want a hopelessly gorgeous innocent who has never known the ways of a woman before? Or do I just plain not care and will settle for anyone hopelessly gorgeous no matter who he is? This will all need to be carefully calculated before I can begin my mission.

Any thoughts, comments or suggestions would as always be more than welcome. Encouraged even. I am rapidly moving past my prime here and every moment could be my last chance at lassoing that perfect fella, so put your heads together, you random gathering of people you, and come up with a brilliant plan. I will be forever in your debt.

Now get to suggesting. Tic toc, mofo. Time is money.

Mia :: 7:18 PM

(7) comments

August 27, 2004

Weeeell hello there, my devoted readers. I apologize for my extended absence... oh crap, who am I kidding? Who noticed I wasn't blogging, raise your hands? That's what I thought.

Well, the time has at long last come when I have begun thinking beyond my parents' doorstep and am in my grand old age attempting to claw my way out of the chokehold of my mother's apron strings.

Yes. You heard right, dear folks. I am searching for my own apartment. A glamorous, sleek lair where I shall entertain friends long into the night, laughing pretentiously at the latest piece by some obscure artist, with soft french techno playing in the background. A mysterious boudoir where only a few fortunate are allowed to enter, and the chosen ones get to spend evenings with me drinking delicious hot chocolate in front of a roaring fireplace, discussing religion and literature and solving all of life's problems. And laughing pretentiously, of course.

Or, more accurately, a plague infested shithole in someone's basement. I'm not fussy. Me being me, I have my heart totally set on an apartment that I have never even seen. I have been fortunate enough however to see the outside of the building. It has an old fashioned charm to it, an aged feel. It is the kind of place where you would stand with your eyes closed, breathe in deeply and take in the aroma of the past. You can almost see Jack The Ripper cutting up a prostitute on the steps right before your very own eyes, it fits so perfectly. If you just use your imagination, you can practically feel the rats of old carrying the plague scurrying around your feet as the cries of children who have just been orphaned echo in the background.

Does this bother me? No. All I want to know is whether it's got nice floors and a nice kitchen. The guy said "parket and limestone" floors. I got very excited and started painting a picture in my head. Didn't I see something in Elle Decor, a castle somewhere that had halogen lighting, limestone and parket floors and big french windows? I'm sure it's just like that. All the gorgeous, expensive stuff I plan to buy from the Ikea catalogue I found yesterday is going to look so nice in there as well. Along with my brand new computer I want to buy, and the DVD burner on it which will somehow magically transform my life because I have had visions of myself having tons of people I don't even know being in my castle... I mean basement apartment... looking at my awesome DVD collection. Word spreads like wildfire, and now eeeeverybody want's to hang out at Mia's castle. I mean Mia's basement apartment.

Realism is my specialty.

So if you don't want to see my lofty dreams shattered like a wineglass at a jewish wedding, I suggest you start thinking about where you are spending excess money and try saving it up for me instead. No pressure. Just a piece of friendly advice. Do you really need to use that much toilet paper? I mean, really? When there's a needy child out there with nothing to hold on to but modest dreams and sensible expectations, start walking and save on gas money. Make a difference. Change the world.

Jesus loves you.

Mia :: 9:59 AM

(6) comments

August 13, 2004

Greetings and beatings, my dear readers. It's just another 90°F day here in sunny Iceland.... does that sentence sound insanely weird to anyone else? I assure you I would not kid about such a serious matter nor have I been dabbling unhealthily in narcotics. It really is the fifth 90°F day in a row. In mid August. In Iceland. Our summers are usually pretty much over at this point. I think all this sun and heat is especially for me. Why this week of all weeks, you ask? Well, I shan't get into it but lets just say I needed it. Understandably I have spent all of ten minutes total doing work this week, the rest of the week's days were spent laying around in the sun. Granted the week's nights were spent bawling my eyes out for the most part, but you can't have it all can you? I'm not complaining. Not at this very second in any case.

A second passes...

Ok, now I'm gonna complain... Unexpectedly the parents showed up today, returning from one of their miniature vacations. My neat and tidy, shiny and nice smelling house is now tattered shreds of it's old self (this took all of two minutes), clothes and junk laying everywhere. Now, albeit weird this is to be expected when it comes to my parents. However, weirder still is the fact that since they came home... the house has stopped smelling like cherries and vanilla, and now smells kind of like you're standing in line on a hot day in The Cafeteria of The Damned waiting on the microwave. I dread to think what's hiding in their suitcases... but knowing them I won't have to worry about it for several days since they most likely will not open them but rather leave them laying around on the living room floor. By then we will all be dead from the plague or whatever's hiding in there, so chances are I won't have to worry about it at all. I'm so optimistic. Even within my insane pessimism lies a glimmering piece of optimism for all to gather round to observe and admire. Life is swell.

Except perhaps in one aspect...

I'm getting pissed off with men these days. My perpetual singledom is beginning to bother me immensely. And I've stopped feeling suave and emancipated about it since Sex and The City stopped, and they totally sold out and everyone got hitched and ended up with a 2.5 kids and a white picket fence in the final episode. Most recently I stooped so low as to date an 18 year old, but that didn't really work out due to my somewhat limited desire to "go parking" all the time. "Hey baby, lets hope into the backseat". How about we hop into adulthood instead? I don't get it. What the hell are these men today looking for that I don't have? Aside from the obvious, that is. I only want to meet someone too awesome for words to describe, fall madly in love and live happily ever after. Is that so much to ask? I'd even settle for a handful of good dates and some nifty tounge action.

I'm just a fucked up girl looking for some peace of mind. I'm sorry I'm not a big tittied, sex crazed supermodel. Fluffin' get over it already. Besides... in the immortal words of Meatloaf...two outta three ain't bad!

Mwahaha.

My supermodel career has been vastly successful.

Mia :: 7:30 PM

(1) comments

August 11, 2004

I don't know if it's the heat or my rather mundane job, but I think I'm finally losing the very last of my marbles. I've been reading paperback thriller after paperback thriller for weeks now, and I have reached a point where half the time I think I'm IN a paperback thriller. Which brings me to my question. Have you ever wondered how you would be described if you appeared as a character in one? It seems to be the trend in british thriller trash to describe everyone as grimly and as coldy as possible. It's supposed to seem "insightful" and "intelligent". No one is ever attractive or cheerful. Granted these do take place in England where people generally are not attractive nor cheerful, but I digress. The point is that these descriptions always sound something like this:

Her thin, wispy hair seemed greasy as she ran her fingers
through it nervously, glancing at the door every couple of seconds like she was
expecting someone. Her nails had been bitten and she had a visible nicotine
stain on two of her fingers and I could see a small cut on the back of her hand
that was beginning to get slightly infected. She tugged at the hemline of her
cheap skirt to try and cover the bruises on her dry knees while she spoke,
her non descript color eyes shifting warily around the shabby room, nervously
eyeing the dim light leaking in between the unwashed, orange curtains and
casting light onto the messy coffee table covered with Indian takeaway boxes and
overflowing ashtrays...

Well, you get the idea.

I have now ODed on these books and have become like the Don Quiqote of the paperback thriller. I'll put the book down, and go on about my business and then I'll catch myself ten minutes later sneaking looks at the people around me, wondering if THEY might be the killer. "Hmm, Elder Holdaway is looking mighty suspicious today..." and almost instantly some dreary description pops into my head.

He slouches slighty as he sits in his chair, gazing awkwardly
up at the rest of us and I bite my tounge so as not to tell him to sit up
straight. There is something endearing about the way he carries himself, it's
almost childlike. He unsuccessfully tries to stifle a nervous giggle as the
attention was suddenly drawn towards him and I can tell that he's blushing.

It just occurred to me that if I'm found dead in the near future (paperback thriller...), Elder Holdaway probably found this and read it. I would just like to profuselly state for the record that I don't REALLY think Elder Holdaway is an overgrown child who slouches. I'm merely using him as an example as I try to imitate the poetic genius of the 21st century that I am so deeply immersed in from 8 am to 5 pm every day. It could just as well be Elder Whoever-else. And I love him really, he's adorable. He hates me though, but I don't let his undulled hatred curb my affections. Nor his morbid fear of me. I'm an unrelenting loooove machine.

Wanna dip your pretzel in my love gravy, baby baby?

PS: Utah-David was none too happy about my little blurb about him in the last blog, and I would just like to state for the record that it was all a cruel, heartless joke. David is in fact sweet as cotton candy and pure as the driven snow.

Mia :: 8:45 PM

(4) comments

August 04, 2004

I'm in shock. Pure unadulterated shock and astonishment. My last post got 4 whole comments, and half of those were not especially requested, ordered or begged for by me in any way. This is definite progress. But indulgence begets greed, so now I want more. I want more than one comment, I want friendly banter, I want lively expressions of livelier opinions and above all I want bottomless praise and worship. I want to create the illusion that I have friends here, people! That is going to take some effort on your part. As far as I know, I have seven readers. It's actually ridiculous that I write these stupid things for only seven people who then have to be poked and prodded to read any of it, but I digress.

As I see it, these seven readers are as follows:

Heidi. See below for visual along with hoity toity title. Heidi works at the chamber of commerce for her town, and while I don't know what that is exactly, I have assumed that it's a very fancy place with cushy chairs and I hold Heidi in the highest regard as the New Hampshirian college graduate. I am furthermore convinced that due to her elevated social status, she can hook me up with a job as a dentist or governor of New Hampshire should I desire to relocate. She is dating a workaholic cabinet carpenter named Tom who has itching, swelling, cramping, diaherreah, seizures and a bad back. They are very happy together.

David: My favorite half of a pair of Utah twins, the other half of which answers to the name of Aaron. Or would, if anyone were to bother calling it out. Dave pretends to be a sweet and innocent, shy virgin and he thinks I believe him, when in actuality I know that he's an internet predator who hangs around mormon singles sites and tries to ensnare females into his web of trickery and deceipt. It's adorable really. Best of luck to him. May many a Molly Mormon fall victim to his boyish charms, I say! Just remember David, in this day and age, boil 'em first!

Patrick: Patrick is a former marine from Missouri whom I have been talking to for many a years. Again, see below for visual. He fears communism with a McCarthy like fervor and often suspects Iceland of being the centerpoint of various communist conspiracies. My family, in particular. I CAN NEITHER CONFIRM OR DENY THESE ALLEGATIONS. We have often dreamt of getting together and having lots of strange looking babies, but alas Patrick only dates women whose names end in -ie so our dreams can not be realized pending the reevaluation of this policy. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say about Patrick as he doesn't often take kindly to publicity and always thinks I'm secretly putting him down in some backwards communist trickery way. But let it hereby be known that no matter what Patrick thinks, a thousand rainbows would never have the colors to paint how much I love him to death.

Regan: Regan uniquely enough is a "real life person". For many years she starred as my girlfriend in our weekend performance of "We are Lesbians", an ever progressing soap opera taking place in every club in Iceland. Granted she was not present in every episode, but her presence was ever lingering as a backdrop to my shenanigans. Me and Regan also went through a Paula Abdul phase where we choreographed various dance routines that are still alive today. Who doesn't remember the Farmer's Breakdance? Or the Snake Breakdance? Or the Penguin Breakdance? Ok, so we had a certain format we liked to stick with. Big whoop. Wanna fight about it? This is the kind of friend that'd take a bullet for you. Or at least spend an entire evening in a Danish kareoke bar talking to a non-english speaking one armed Arab for you. I don't know which is worse, frankly.

Mike: Definitely my favorite english person of all time, tea and crumpets notwithstanding. He falsely claims to read this blog, which is obviously a blatant lie that I have caught him in on several occasions. I think very highly of Mike and therefore I cling to the illusion that we're still the best of friends long after he has stopped speaking to me. Hope springs eternal, right? There will always be a very special place in my heart for Mikey.

Nanna Dögg: My absolutely beautiful pseudo-sister who is the nicest person in the world and therefore out of the vast kindness of her heart takes pity on me and comes here and reads my drivel. More people should follow her example, if you ask me. She is getting married in November of this year. She was originally going to get married on September 11th, but something told her that day might be laced with bad luck. I don't know where she got it from, frankly. I had to cancel the scenic flight around NYC that I'd bought her on the special day and everything. Some people's kids, I tell you! Nanna Dögg doesn't care that I'm extremely intelligent and really good looking, and just treats me like a normal person instead of a goddess among mortals. I'll always appreciate that.

The seventh reader is Jay, whom I've only spoken to a couple of times so I don't have a whole lot to say except that he's been here once and already left a comment. I won't say anything else. I'll just leave it at that and those who think they can learn something from Jay can take it to heart.

In other news, we have some french people staying at the hostel now. They spoke to me briefly have been looking down their noses at me ever since. ,,Styupid American, 'oo does she think she is, no?" I was beginning to feel a bit like Marie Antoinette by the end of the day, despised and persecuted by the french public.

I saw on the books that I'm supposed to go fix them breakfast in the morning.

Pfft! Breakfast!? Let them eat cake!

Mia :: 5:24 PM

(4) comments