The Roof and the Same Old Song...

I've been here for... 5 days. FIVE DAYS?! Holy Christ... I hadn't realized that. Oh well, it's probably best not to keep count. The apartment could use some help. It's roomy... if you're an effing parakeet. There's no place or space for me to go and brood. I guess I could go sit up on the roof with the gas tank, hold hands and watch the stars twinkle or something.

This city is massive and I mean in size, not necessarily in coolness. In fact I've found very little in the way of coolnes as yet. Like today... I have never heard so much shit music during the course of one afternoon in my entire LIFE! And this wasn't in my house either, it was coming from the neighbors downstairs. The tunes in my place were OK. They would probably grade higher, but I'm gonna swear AGAIN... If I hear this Manoo Chow one more time I honestly think I'm going to heave lunch and likely internal organs from a great height, well, the 3rd floor balcony anyway. Fucking hell, REALLY... Can one person fool so any others with what to me, the untrained ear, sounds like the same fucking song over and over again?*



*Disclaimer- I actually used to dig it too!

'Last' things and reminiscing with Christy Moore...

As I've been feeling no pressure about the Big Shift, I've had time to look around and take in the last of whatever I'm doing. I had the last haircut yesterday and I'll have the last dump tomorrow or so. I'll watch my last sporting event tonight and watch my last nasty unhealthy shit-dose of cable news at some point. And of course I'm referring to the Fox News shite. I WILL miss Maddow and them though, gotta admit that.

It's a rainy day in DeepSouth, and just TOO perfectly dramatic for reminiscing and all sorts of similar time-wasting endeavors. If it was a film, it'd be considered time-worn and overdone. Then I've got Christy Moore singing about 'Veronica' over here. Bloody hell, if I had a bottle of Jameson I'd fucking well miss my flight, drowned in memories that'd been dug up in my well-pissed state..... oh yes, I'd have a fuck of a time making my flight... TOMORROW!!

She's only brilliant...

A day and change before Big Flight and I'm not at all nervous. I've been contemplating all the things I may miss from round here, but it's more a case of 'I can't wait to effing get there and get on with my LIFE!'. Now, I don't want to turn this blog into some painful, clichéd, contrite, and ultimately annoying meditation on my relationship (though that would likely be an improvement compared to the shite I've been smearing the walls with recently), but it has to be mentioned: The lack of nerves or apprehension is because I'm going to be in the best of company. Ever.

Yunuen's only been brilliant the last few weeks, and all under an acute amount of pressure. Sorting a place to live was not as easy at it sounds, and it was weighing on the two of us. Once the place had been accounted for, it was amazing to see the clouds that had been gathering just roll the fuck away. She gets top marks for the patience it took. These are things I will express to her personally though, and not here for all to see. Of course, one peek at a couple of social networking site pages would provide SO much well-intentioned and borderline over-the-top sap, you'd be forgiven for developing nausea within 4 to 5 seconds. Record time, no doubt. But, as I told her the other night- I don't give a toss. I don't seek approval from anyone else. Everything I say is for her and her only. Nuff said.

Memorable Lines (squeezed out)

So I heard that there's going to be an 'A Team' movie. That's right. An adaptation of the 80s 'action' series for the big screen to be seen by thousands (if not millions) of sheep eager to enjoy bowel-convulsing explosions, insipid and unbelievable car chases, and less than witty one-liners disguised as dialogue to be utilized by the unoriginal lemmings who piece together trailers for this dreck in order to close out said trailer with a 'memorable line'. Something in the way of a sincerely delivered-'Let's do dis.' or a gleeful-'You got that right!' I mean, really, if I'M making these up off the cuff what the hell does that tell you about the tw@ts that actually get PAID to squeeze this sort of feces out? Am I saying I could do better? No. But at least I'd be fucking original.

So, basically, fuck Hollywood for this sort of thing. I don't get it, seriously. Remakes of half-ass 80s TV shows? Constant sequels to films I never had the slightest desire to see in the first place? What the HELL?

My theory, and it may fall into the conspiracy category, is that they don't feel like paying for any original ideas. The concepts, characters, and storylines from all these TV programs are on hand so they don't have to spend a dime for the rights to any of them, so there... Now we get the same shit over and over again. It's the cinematic equivalent to Friday fucking fish sticks in elementary school.

Now, apparently, I won't have to hold my breath in anticipation of 'Growing Pains: The Movie'.

Jaysus.

More Cheating Bastards... and Home.

Holy Christ, what a week THAT was.

Yes, Eduardo dived, he's a cheating bastard. No, he doesn't deserve the 2 match ban. Yes, he's gone down in my estimation. I don't give a toss about his FORMERLY broken leg. He sure seems to be healthy enough to fall over in mock agony then bury a spot kick directly afterwards. Yes, I do believe he's healed.



Yes, Rooney dived, he's a cheating bastard. No, this is not news. No, I don't think there's some anti-Arsenal conspiracy. No, I don't think anyone anywhere has the idea that 'helping' Manchester United win matches benefits anyone anwhere else. It's simply a case of shite referees. That's something ELSE that's nothing new. I don't even want to think about it anymore. I have a couple weeks before the whole Man City thing comes up and I want to save sufficient amounts of venom for Adebayor. Enough football for now.

My BFS is only a few weeks away and I'm anxious to get going already. I look forward to adding more to this blog once I get settled in and begin my life anew over on foreign shores. (Yeah, I know, it's not REALLY 'foreign shores', but it sounds effing dramatic) I think this horseshit I dish out will shift in scope as well. It'll be less Arsenal and Arctic Monkeys and more... hmmm... more... mmm.... about... uh.... my actual fucking LIFE! I'll be in the biggest city in the whole wide world, so I'm sure there'll be something more interesting to write about than... 'It was hot today. It didn't rain. It was humid. It'll be the same tomorrow. When do the Cowboys play?' Bloody hell. I love Texas, but lately it's been a tad tedious to say the least. We shall see.



Home sweet home.