I have a deadline for a 5 pages article tomorrow morning, so I´m trying to finish up now. It´s a drag.

But do you know what´s more of a drag? Realizing that yet another one of my childhood buddies have gotten engaged, gotten children (yes, plural), a full-time job doing what she wants to do with her life, a house and a dog.

I´m not sure if I should feel old or unaccomplished? Somehow I manage to do both.
Yes, I know, I was supposed to have quit smoking, but what can a girl do when everything keeps building up and the work load starts looking like the paper version of a Nürnberg rally? That's right; give in to temptation. Plus, I'm waging a war against my body these days. Staying up late, getting up ridiculously early, drinking coffee and denying it all that it asks for. My body says: "Hey, I'm feeling a bit down, why don't we relax for a few days?" and I say: "Hah! I'm gonna get an extra part-time job! See how relaxed you are then?" Honestly, I'm feeling like the evil stepmother in Cinderella. Well, except for the fact that I'm doing it to myself.

Anyways, my point was that quitting smoking once means that I no longer have a favorite brand of cigarettes, and this opens the door to a whole new world of trial and error! It is ever so exciting for me and ever so annoying for anyone behind the counter. Yesterday, after about 3 minutes of "hmmm...I think I'll take the light blue packet. No! Wait! Give me the orange one. Or the green one? I can't decide. Orange? No, green! No, orange. No, green!", I bought the new, green Prince cigarettes (solely because of the pretty color). And loh and behold: They were awesome. And that's saying a lot since I'm quite full of prejudice against Prince cigarettes. Turns out, their new "First cut" green cigarettes are completely without additives, which freaked me out at first since I for a moment thought they might be lacking in all that good stuff as well. But these were just as deliciously filled with nicotine and anything else that's bad for you as any other cigarettes, but with the added bonus of not tasting like anything other than pure, yummy tobacco leaves. I think these are my new favorite cigarettes. The only downside to them are the fact that they're very strong. And for someone who recently started smoking Marlboro lights, I can basically feel the deliciousness burning its way down my throat.

In other news, I actually listened to the news this morning. It did nothing more than reaffirm my previous notion that the entire world is filled up with idiots however, when the main news was that scientists now believe that eating disorders might be hereditary. Seriously? These people think it's based in our genes? How about the fact that you spend your first years learning how to behave from your parents, watching what they do? I mean, if my mom was anorectic I don't think you'd see me munching on a pizza often. You cannot base everything on DNA no matter how fun that might be. Mozart probably wouldn't have been a great artist if he hadn't had a piano when he grew up, and people who inherit their parents' eating disorders do so for the same reason that I act a lot like my mom: they're learning how to behave from watching their parents' behavior. So there!
( Nov. 12th, 2007 01:35 pm)
I don't know the exact English wording for this, but in Norwegian it's called "pausemusikk" (Pause or waiting music). Basically, it's the music you hear while you wait for someone to answer the phone. Now, I understand the concept of it. UiO (my university) doesn't have it, and the booming silence while you wait for someone to answer, not knowing if you might have been disconnected is frustrating. But you know what is more frustrating than that? Bad waiting music.

I will agree that waiting music is good because it makes the person in line know that s/he is still connected and it gives the person something to listen to that might make sure s/he doesn't hang up. What I don't understand is how someone, anyone could think that putting four lines of bad classical music on repeat is anything less than torture. It was horrible. It was like someone was practicing one of Hayden's pieces but only knew the first four lines and was trying to make it sound like a complete song, and failing miserably. Why would they do this to anyone? Why? I'd prefer Chinese water torture to this! (I got through after a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. If this is what they do to you in Hell, I might consider being a better person).

This icon is called "wanted"
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