AWESOMENESS!

Hellboy is finally coming out in Spain! I loved those comics (back when I lived in London the local library had a "Graphic novels" section so I read all of them. I can't afford comics now. I really miss that library). So when I heard about the film I was thrilled, and then the film people spoke unto me from a magazine and they went "Yeah, well we're putting Ron Perlman in it and he's Hellboy" and I went "YAYY!" and they went "And it all looks really cool, look, here's a couple of stills" and I went "YERRRRSS!" and then they went "Hey, watch this trailer, pretty nifty eh?" and I went "H'RAAAAAAAYYYY!"

And then they went all quiet.

The Americans got to watch Hellboy. I didn't. Then the British got to watch Hellboy and I didn't which I resented bitterly. So what I did was, I put on my coolest clothes, like my trenchcoat and everything, and I found the guy in charge of which films go in Spain, and I broke into his office and got on his desk and I had a huge SWORD and I said: "Deme Hellboy! Deme Hellboy AHORA MISMO!" and now it's coming out here on October the First and I am just so happy.

I've moved.

Okay, so I'm all moved out of the old place and into the new. Which is cool. However, there's a complete lack of furniture here, not even a fridge, so today we embark on The Hunting of the Fridge and Some Shelves and Some Chests of Draws so We Have Somewhere to Put All Our Shit.

There's a green flourescent tube in the spare bedroom, tho', which is very cool.

Life with a tragically obsessive Star Wars geek, Part 3105.

Was in conversation yesterday (one of my mates was staying over. I love it when mates stay over.) and the whole Reiki thing came up.

"Yeah, don't mess with Mordant," Lurid cuts in. "She can zap you."
"I can't zap people. It's a healy thing."
"You could zap people."
"No, I couldn't.*"
"Yeah, you could go--"
"Dude, there is no such thing as Dark Reiki."
"That's just what those simpering fools at the Reiki Council want you to think!"
"There is no 'Reiki Council,' okay? No Dark Side of the Reiki, no Reiki Council--"
"They're holding you back. They just don't want you to know the truth!"

I am never letting him play KotOR ever again.



*Of course, I had to tell them that I can't zap people. But I might be able to zap people. You don't know. You just don't know.

I have completely fucked my right arm.

Seriously, I've got about 50% mobility in the bastard. And it shagging hurts. And I'm moving on Monday.

Arses.

'Shawoman.'

Okay, this is one of the reasons why I fucking hate all you people and wish I could just sell crap on eBay instead of having a job where I have to talk to any of you pointless, feebleminded doombrains EVER AGAIN. You see this? You see this word? What the fuck is this word? "Shawoman." Anyone over the age of fucking 12 who uses the term 'shawoman,' especially if it's in a self-descriptive sense, should be bludgeoned unconscious with their Talking Stick and garroted with their £60 made-in-a-fucking-Korean-sweatshop dreamcatcher.

You know what calling yourself a fucking 'Shawoman' says about you? It says: "I am an ignorant loser who, in trying to inject some meaning into my sad, vacant existance, have embarked on the Shamanic path because I though it sounded cooler than Wicca, without the tiniest, bittiest notion of what I'm doing, and because I'm such a total fucking tool my first step along this path, instead of READING A GODDAMN BOOK OR TWO, has been to set up a fucking web-page with pictures of my cats on it and loads of search terms and FUCK ALL ELSE so that when Mordant Carnival is looking for shit on Google she ends up at my fucking webpage and suffers ONCE A-FUCKING-GAIN the agony of realising that she is ENTIRELY SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS and has to go away and kick stuff until she feels better. P.S.: I am also a 'femeinist', a word which I can neither spell nor properly understand, since I think it means bitching about my ex-boyfriend a lot whilst taking absolutely no control or responsibility over my own life."

Listen up, Lady RedHawkeDolphinSeleneFaekneesElvenHair and friends. I've adapted this from wikipedia and other sources so you can get your tiny fucking minds round it.

The role of the fucking Shaman varies between cultures, but it usually denotes a person of power and influence within the tribe (so, not you then), who provides medical and other fucking aid to their fucking community, through supernatural means. (Incidentally, this means that if you decide to go with this whole shamanic path thing, you'll need to get some kind of community other than Pixie and Mojo, your fucking cats.)

Now, this next part could save you from having your FUCKING WHALESONG CDS SMASHED INTO JAGGED SHARDS AND FORCE-FED TO YOU WITH FUCKING TABASCO so listen carefully:

Shaman: (saman) is a term in fucking Evenk, fucking Manchu and other fucking Manchu-Tungus languages. The word is FUCKING GENDER NEUTRAL, you stupid jackass, and can refer to either fucking male or fucking female practitioners. The fucking plural is shamans.

This has been a public sevice announcement from the Stop Pissing Off Mordant Before She Kills Again coalition.

Linkity.

How to become a Bitch-Hermit.

Duuuude! I've just found my ideal career! I could totally be a bitch hermit. How come I can't live like this? I've even got the clothes! (Admittedly I can't actually get into them anymore, but I've got them).

Just a quick one...

... Before I fuck off into town.

Jeez, I am shattered. I've got about 99.999999% of my shit together to move, but the nature of the Universe is such that the remaining shit is piled up all over every single flat surface of my current flat and it's having a NEGATIVE IMPACT ON MY FRAGILE PSYCHE. Oh yeah and my foot hurts because I stood on this huge chunk of broken glass that was on the floor, and my head hurts, and my limbs and back hurt from hauling boxes around the place, and I'm just royally pissed off with everything.

Moving on Monday. Cleaning on Tuesday. Doing something obnoxious to someone on Wednesday just to relieve my feelings. Maybe I'll flaming fudge bag an estate agent's house.

Additional: Worked out the other night that this will be my 23rd home. Unless I've missed one, but I think I counted them all.

¡Mis pies!

Oh man, my feet are killing me. I was in full Hunting of the Job battledress today, and my nice shiny sensible shoes have carved up my heels summink rotten. Still and all, I got signed up with a new agency, touched base with a couple of old ones, and generally kicked job-hunting arse. Tomorrow I'm going to have a shufti round a couple more agencies that seem to take care of the industrial areas round Barna.*

I also went round the new flat with an assortment of cleaning materials and spruced the place up a bit. The kitchen looks a bit better now, more like somewhere you'd cook food and less like somewhere you'd nuke from orbit.

Also, I had a bit of a reccie and found this kick-arse magickal supermarket! With a little caff for to drink cervesa sin and infusiones! I will definately be showing my face round there, get known a bit. See if I can't drum up some reiki and assorted hocum business.

All in all, a Good Day.

Apart from the feet.

*Barna is the city, I am reliably informed. Barca is the football club.

Things are looking up...

Slightly, anyway. Had some very bad news from the UK which I won't go into, as it concerns people who are not connected with this blog. I will say that it does not affect me directly, although it saddens me very much.

On the positive side, where I'm told I should be looking: We have a flat. It's not huge and it's not terribly cheap, but it's about as good as we're going to get. It's quite a cute little place, though unfurnished and rather a fixer-upper, and the location is pretty central.

Next step: I need a jooooob! Haven't really been able to look for anything in the last couple of months what with that course and the intensive flat-hunting. I'm going to transfer myself from the temp agencies here to the ones in town, and also explore a couple of other avenues.

Trained up some hunting money the other day, just a couple of small bills which I broke buying a few cheap writing, craft and job-hunting supplies. I reckon it must have gone a bit feral tho', coz today I found some poor sod's wallet... fair bit in there too. Not enough to break someone, but enough to do me a bit of good.

I went over the thing with a fine-toothed comb, but there was no ID in there, no name, no address, no nothing. So I kept it, bwahahaha.

I feel bad for the other guy, but what can you do? Nothing much except thank [insert whatever Providence watches over the grubby likes of me] for the carelessness of tourists, and try to send the wallet-loser some good vibes. I hope he or she doesn't suffer too much from the loss and that some good fortune comes along to make up for it.

But on a happier note...

A., if you're reading this--thanks for your help, mate. I really appreciate it.

Another car-bomb in Iraq.

I feel sick just thinking about it. Are things over there ever going to get better? Is the country even going to be habitable in a couple of years? Christ.

Wish I could say that global events eg war death famine plague hurricanes ect. were giving me some perspective, making my own problems seem insignificant in comparison, but I can't because I'm an unbelivably self-centred bastard and everything that happens to me is more important than anything that happens to everyone else ever. I still don't have a place to live lined up for when I leave here and flat hunting is pissing me off bigtime. Today I saw a fairly nice flat, not too small, but the woman wanted 3 1/2 months rent up front, one month being her fee which we'd never get back. Great. No viewing lined up for tomorrow, but I'm seeing a place on Friday. Wish me luck.

Civilians blown to bits in Iraq, live on air. Military still lies through teeth about it.

Overview from the BBC...

...Who also have a video, if you can stomach it.

Firsthand report over at the Grauniad.

SWEARYNEES.

The flat is gone. Also I'm having no joy at all getting new viewings today. Seeing a place on Friday which is all very well but I have to be out of here on or before the 30th of this Month that you Linear Mortals know as September.

Bugger.

I'm pissed off now.

Think I'll take it out on you lot. Yes! Filthsome readership! Filthsome readership shall SUFFER. (NSFW because I hate you all and I want you all to get fired.)

SUFFER!

Yet more playing cards!

Three, just outside the internet cafe as I was coming in. Queen of coins, 3 of coins (people use Tarot cards for gaming here, y'see) , and one other which was face down. I'll go and check what it is in a minute.

I need a some flat-nabbing luck. Found the perfect place yesterday--a dear little flat in a primo location, nice and cheap--but two other couples had found it first. Most vexatious! I want them to get distracted by shiny objects or something! Hands off my flat!

(Edit: the other card was the 3 of swords. FUCK ON TOAST.)

Cunning Plan.

I haven't told you guys my latest Plan yet, have I? They almost never actually work but I do like seeing them up here in white and black. So, here is my current Plan:

Step 1) Move into new flat.
Step 2) Teach English and get paid for same.
(here I should mention that there's a Step 2b) Make dolls & get paid for dolls ect, but this is a bit complicated because the only really good place to sell my dolls is on teh intarnet and the P&P to send dolls to Foreign Abroad eg America is almost as much as I would make from selling the dolls. I'm working on it.)
Step 3) Use money from Teaching of English to finance Reiki 2 & 3 attunements.
Step 4) Get a massage table
Step 5) Have a Reiki practice.

I like this Plan. It's short and has a massage table in it. Also I can be reasonably sure that at least Step 1 (move into a new flat) will actually happen, which is a 20% improvement on previous Plans. Yay!

No flat yet.

This is bollocks. Why aren't landlords all queueing up BEGGING me to occupy their fetid hovels? I'm Important and Clever and Special. In years to come blue plaques will be placed on the walls of the places I've lived saying "Mordant Carnival Lived Here! Fucking ROCK!!!" While we're on the subject, what's with this "rent" nonsense? Why aren't people paying me to live there? Why isn't everyone giving me free money? I am your superior in every way! GIVE ME FREE MONEY! And also cake and socks.

Just some of the fabulous things I do that you should all be paying me for if there was any justice: Inlightenedment and Leftover Parfait.

The Hunting of the Flat, Part II

Okay, the attic place turned out to be less of a flat and more of a small receptacle. A perfectly charming small receptacle, but a small receptacle nonetheless. Ended up going to an agency (who I'm not supposed to call an agency; they seem to see themselves more as discreet matchmakers) and paying them a largish fee to get our names on the books. The housing sitch here being what it is we were bound to get shaken down, and this seemed like the least painful option. Ahhhhnyway, they got us a few names and things are looking up a bit. Saw a place yesterday which we both liked, and this evening we're checking out another attic. With any luck we could have a place sorted by the end of the week. Yay.

The Hunting of the Flat.

Went to check out a new paaaaad yesterday. The location was pretty awesome: right in the Eixample, a stone's throw away from La Sagrada Familia, close to the Tube, all that good stuff. And the rent was pretty sweet too. (Or so we thought! Dar, dar, DAAAAR!) But it turned out to be so titchy, and so poorly laid out (dude, it's a shoebox. Having a second toilet is not a priority.) that even I didn't want to live there. Plus the agency fee would have been a stonking great 10% of the year's rent. (Yeah, you read that right.)

So now I'm going out again to check out this little attic place I found online. Wish me luck.

(Oh, and just on the off-chance: if anyone happens to know of any little tiny flats in BCN, penurious academic + partener, for the use of, drop me a line. Ta.)

You keep hoping.

You keep hoping that somehow there'll be a miracle, that somehow there'll be a peaceful ending, that the carnage will be averted. You know, from common-sense and from the hard cold knot in your stomach, that there's no real hope; but you keep hoping anyway. Until there's no hope left. Until it's over.

"But all my friends go to this school!"

We're moving. I'd kind of like to not move until I have a job or summink, but the Uni people don't have a flat for us after the end of the month so there ya go.

We were looking for a place more in the centre, but the rents are pretty heinous. So we're probably going to be stuck out in the sticks, tho' hopefully somewhere a bit less remote than here. (I'm fed up with having to get a train just to go to the video rental place.)

Other than that, bleh. I spent an appreciable amount of time yesterday fixing my jeans, because they're falling apart and I can't afford new ones. It's so beastly to be poor. I keep nagging the spooky perverts to write me a bestseller, but they're not keen.

Sod spirituality, giz the dosh.

I'm bored.

You all have to entertain me. Go on, do a dance or summink.

I'm in a funny mood, all sort of bleh and foggy. Okay, I'll be honest, I'm in a perfectly foul mood. You know when you have a problem, and you're not quite sure what to do next to fix the problem, but you have a pretty good idea of the sort of avenues you should be exploring, and yet the gumption to actually really make a serious start down any of those avenues seems to have deserted you? Yeah, that.

I'm still a wee bit knocked back by the course and all that. Realistically I know that it was the right thing to do, realistically I know that I'm in a far better position now than I was before, but... well, one feels such a friteful dunce. And one has the hardest time concieving of oneself engaging in anything in a non-duncetastic manner.

The hell with it. I'm going back indoors for much evil-strength Cafe Filth. That usually helps.