Note to self

Note to self: Just because there is a yellow liquid in a wine glass, you shouldn't drink it assuming it is white wine. On the other hand, now I know that old orange juice mixed with water and soap looks exactly like chardonnay. I'm like the Martha Stewart of hobos. 

My life is chaos. And not even sexy, James Dean-crashed-and-burned-and-ripped-his-leather-jacket chaos. Just sad-everything-is-covered-in-cat hair chaos.

So, I haven't written anything here for ages because I've been busy not cleaning my apartment and not writing my thesis. In fact, I have been so busy not doing anything that I think I have a stress-induced ulcer. My apartment is covered in crap: old coffee cups, tissues, milk cartons, candy wrappers and cat hair. My current theory is that this is all some sort of Agatha Christie-like conspiracy. Like "Murder on the Orient Express", when everyone stabbed the victim once, but instead of stabbing, all of my friends have broken into my apartment and littered. So passive aggressive murder, basically.

But I'm gonna write something soon. Something hilarious. Something that will bring you to tears and make you question everything you've even believed in. Something that will restore your faith in humanity.

It's probably gonna be about donuts, I haven't decided yet.

Too young to die, to old to play Pokemon. You just can't win, can you?

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about death (Yes, it is going to be one of those posts. I truly am a bringer of joy to the internet), especially dying of cancer. Being the daughter of two doctors, I have always experienced the more gruesome side of medicine: when other children were told that babies are made when a unicorn blinks at a sunrise or whatever kids get to hear these days, I was told that I had been pushed through my poor mother's vagina, and if I wasn't careful, I would have to push the equivalent of a watermelon out of my vagina one day. No unicorns. Just vaginas. While other kids lived oblivious of things like incest, my parents told me that marrying my cousin would lead to me giving birth to dragons. Which was really the worst thing you can tell a kid - I ran to my cousin and told him this story, and we decided it was the coolest thing ever and that we should totally go through with the marriage. Man, we could have been  like Targaryens. And, to get to my point, while other kids were told that their grandfather passed away because he was tired, my dad showed me pictures of a cancer-ridden lung and yelled "IF YOU SMOKE YOU WILL ROT FROM THE INSIDE OUT". Needless to say, I am now and have always been frightened of cancer, beyond any other fears.

Now, when I have reached adulthood, I try to stay away from the obvious types of behavior that can elevate the risk of cancer: I try not to smoke too much, I try to restrict my bacon-intake to 5 days a week and I only sniff asbest at parties. The problem is, it seems to me like there is nothing you can't get cancer from nowadays: smoking, passive smoking, drinking, not drinking, not giving birth, eating meat, using makeup, eating sugar, not eating fibres, eating too much fibres, living in the city, not exercising, not drinking coffee, drinking too much coffee and so on.

Here is my list of things that probably also gives you cancer:

1. Hugging little children
2. Breathing on a regular basis
3. Staring for too long at a smoker
4. Enjoying life a little too much
5. Not helping old ladies cross the street
6. Laughing at jokes about WWII
7. Leaving the toilet seat up
8. Yelling at your TV
9. Under-tipping
10. Posting stupid lists about cancer in a blog which no one reads

My conclusion is that if I try to avoid all the things that might give me cancer, I would have to go Amish. I mean, is a life without whisky, bacon, getting restraining orders against my personal trainer and wearing lipstick to bed really worth living? I have been too cautious for too long (My bucket list consists of one paragraph: dying of old age. That's what.), and spending my entire life worrying that something might happen to me will do me nothing but harm - so from now on, I'll ignore all the cancer warnings and just go with what feels natural. If natural means eating an entire cake in one sitting, using snuff and drinking whisky in front of the TV and being a little bit too curious about trying opium (19th century drug addiction is just too retro to avoid).

Yes, this feels like a wise choice. What could possibly go wrong?

The five levels of badboyhood

The phenomena of women loving badboys is a well known one; why be with a man who will treat you well, hug you when you are crying and tell you that you are beautiful when you can be with a guy who forgets your birthday and hits on your mom? Characters like Edward Cullen, Christian Grey, Mr Rochester, Chuck Bass and other well shaped bastards are the dream men for many girls and boys all over the world (I for one prefer Hemingway, Han Solo, Sherlock, Don Draper, Dylan Moran and Tom Waits, mostly because I seem to have a thing for men trying to drink and smoke themselves to death. It seems to be a reliable character trait), and people seem to tolerate all kinds of crap from their boyfriends: "Well, he did cheat on me with my pet rabbit, but he did it wearing a foxy leather jacket, so it's all right!". The phenomena doesn't seem to apply to women; if a women would act like the typical badboy, people would just call her a bitch and burn her. Or is that witches? I don't know anymore. A lot of people would criticize me for generalizing like this, but generalizing is one of my finer character traits, so I'm just going to go with it: no woman or man can resist a well shaped badboy. Looks is a necessity; you will never see a badboy being 100 pounds overweight and living in his mother's basement - people accept all kind of crap from beautiful people. Yet many boys today seem to claim that they are gangsta or badboys without actually being bad in any way, and other boys are so terrible and depraved that they are soaring into Charlie Sheen-territory.

Therefore, here are the five levels of badboyhood:

Level 1: The young poser badboy
What he claims he is: "I'm gangsta, I commited tamagoochi-genocide at the tender age of 8"
What he actually is: A 15-year-old boy trying to impress his friends and promote his self produced rap songs  "Why all girls who won't kiss me are lesbians" and "Mom won't cook for me anymore - a rapper's blues"

Level 2: The hipster badboy
What he claims he is: "I just made this tattoo of a skull making out with a Japanese school girl. It represents my mother's breast cancer. I only eat chips and I won't shower until Tibet is free."
What he actually is: A man who spent all his money on Halo 3 and can't afford to pay his bills or dress like anything other than a hobo. A sexy hobo.

Level 3:  The daredevil badboy
What he claims he is: "I like living on the edge: I eat yogurt that has expired and I bravely defy traffic lights!"
What he actually is: probably a Mormon

Level 4: The Hollywood badboy
What he claims he is: A misunderstood and tender hearted artist
What he actually is: Probably rummaging around your purse right now for coins to buy meth with. Very bad meth. AND HE WON'T SHARE IT WITH YOU. So very bad manners, basically.
What you claim: Choking on your own vomit and dying at the age of 27 IS truly the ultimate romantic gesture.

Level 5: The genocide badboy
What he claims he is: The savior of the Aryan race. He likes long walks on the beach and hates Jews and Mondays.
What he actually is: A war criminal responsible for a vast genocide.
What you claim: "I can change him: He used to kill 7000 people a day, but I just know he will go down to 2000 a day for me. Because of our deep love."

My conclusion is, unless you found a badboy who will treat you like a human being whilst also dress like a drunken Jimi Hendrix, the best thing is to ignore any men reading "The game" and trying to win your heart by spitting in your coffee and start looking for cute nerdy boys with sexy neuroses and Doctor Who-hair, because they are the guys who will hug you when you are crying for four hours because all the good people in Downton Abbey are dying. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

"A New Year: Big fucking whoop" and other optimistic musings

I've never seen the point of celebrating New Years; I love the chance to get wasted and fire off explosives into the faces of small children as much as the next person, but celebrating the fact that another cycle in our method of measuring time has begun is as much fun as doing your taxes. If doing your taxes ends with your lying in a puddle of your own vomit. So doing taxes, basically. Yet every New Years eve I dress up in something shiny, buy the bastard child of champagne and mountain dew and run around yelling "Happy New Years!", mostly because people won't talk to me when I yell "Happy new step towards our impending death-day!". The thought of becoming a hermit is becoming more and more appealing. This is what happens when you are so bored that you try to reenact all scenes from Der Üntergang using only your cats and a homemade bunker made out of a laundry basket. I might have a problem.

However, this New Year's Eve made me think: why are we so obsessed with rebirth? Every single New Year, we promise ourselves to work out more, eat more vegetables, breathe less, get promoted - and yet every year, we get disappointed. I mean, what are the chances that I, a whisky-drinking, exercise-resenting, marzipan-binging history-geek, will just wake up January 1st 2013 and feel inclined to start eating beets and paying machines to violate me at the gym? Why not make New Year's resolutions that we actually might fulfill, such as "I promise to breathe on a regular basis" or "I promise to keep a strict diet consisting mainly of quesadillas and cinnamon buns", or "I promise to start hiding bodies in less noticeable places" if you're a serial killer. I don't want to exclude anyone.

Basically, what I want to say is that celebrating a new year is merely celebrating the fact that we are one more step closer to death, and one step away from everything wonderful; wonderful things like Victorian corsets, the roaring 20's, Clark Gable, French artists sipping absinthe in cafés, happy prostitutes and sexy dandies with less-sexy syphilis.

Hang on, Sherlock season 3 is due December 2013. Ignore this entire post, there is hope for the future! HAPPY NEW YEAR, SIMPLE MINIONS!

Something is missing

I just received my Iphone 5, and there is absolutely no new feature spawning unicorn vomit. Also, when I said my boyfriend's name to Siri, she asked me "Do you mean death?". She's like a deaf tarot dealer. I feel betrayed.

In other news, I'm hung over like never before. Who would've thought that drinking half a bottle of whisky on an empty stomach could go wrong? I did not see that one coming. I started the evening drinking classy drinks, yet I ended up in the bathroom chanting "I never want to drink again" like a drunken hobo mantra. Thankfully I am a very responsible person; I remembered to cut my hair short before the party so I wouldn't get vomit in my hair. However, I have realized that, similar to five stages of grief, I experience the five stages of drunkenness: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Stage 1: Denial
"WHAT? I'm not drunk, I'm perfectly sober! The fact that I jumped up on the table singing musical hits from my own imaginary Victorian hip hop-band (with hits like "Shake your angelmaker" and "Smack dat ankle" is just my way of expressing my inner artist!"

Stage 2: Anger
"NO, I don't want a friggin virgin strawberry daquiri! And when we're at it, why are non alcoholic drinks called virgin drinks? I for one prefer my drinks not having had much sexual experience, but I'm kind of a prude that way. On another note, SHUT YOUR STUPID MOUTH!"

Stage 3: Bargaining
"OK, I'll just have this drink, and then I will quit drinking for tonight. So... do you have any opium on you?"

Stage 4: Depression
"They took away my whisky. They. took. away. my. whisky. Don Draper would never stand for this bullshit. Can I please get a pair of boobs to motorboat? It will easy the ache in my soul."

Stage 5: Acceptance
Accepting the fact that your boyfriend has to carry you home because you have decided to make snow angels in your friend's shower whilst yelling "DON'T RUIN MY VISION, I'M TRYING TO EXPRESS MYSELF".

Yeah, I might have a problem.

If one could overdose on self pity, I would be on a Jimi-Hendrix-choking-on-own-vomit-level by now

I'm on my 11th consecutive sick-day, and I'm losing it completely. Purely by coincidence, by boyfriend left me to spend time with his busty hooker because I consist largely of snot and self pity. He told me he was going to visit his parents, but I read between the lines. For the past 10 days, I have done nothing but sneeze, blow my nose, yell at my cats for not giving me more sympathy and watch tv. And man, have I watched tv. I've planned my entire day around Real Housewives of New Jersey's menopause striptease tea parties, I didn't know I was pregnant until 2 years after I gave birth, American Gipsy Cupcake weddings and divorces and Gordon Ramsay telling small children making mudcakes to go fuck themselves. I have quite high fever, so all of that might not have happened. However, it made me think: Why do people watch this crap? And more importantly, why do I watch this crap? Why is there something so enticing with Honey Boo Boo, Mob Wives, Toddlers and Tiaras and Coupon crazy people? In the good old days, people entertained themselves with real, proper freaks: conjoined twins, bearded ladies, snakemen and so forth: nowadays we only have chainsmoking pregnant teenagers, housewives with botoxed livers and mormon families with housing problems. The tv shows are just getting more and more ridiculous, and the lengths people are willing to go to are seriously terrifying - yet I cannot avert my gaze from the trainwreck that is TLC. What is the most frightening is the thought of the impending future: if this is what tv shows contain these days, what will people be watching in ten years.

Ten tv shows I predict will show up in the near future:

1. You are what your husband eats - a repressed woman's dieting show
2. Mormon Bachelor - 100 contestants fight for the chance to be one of the 10 wives of hot mormon bachelor
3. How I met your motherland - Kim Jong Un tells small children about the glory of North Korea
4. Top Chef Zimbabwe - Ten famous chefs try to do the best dish possible with only half a scoop of rice
5. Women can do it all - A show about strong women who manage to take care of two kids and a home whilst simultaneously managing a crack factory
6.  Baywatch Coastguard - Four beautiful women work to secure US borders from swimming mexican families who just want to have a decent life
7. War and the City - Men in their 40's starting wars with whoever they want, no feelings or strings attached
8. Genocide Wives - We follow the wives of men convicted of genocide through every day routines such as grocery shopping, partying and hiding secret files documenting the extinction of millions of people
9. People Hoarders - a show that visits serial killers with a serious lack of  organizing skills
10. Siamese twins in Tiaras

Scratch the last one, TLC is apparently already launching a show about conjoined twins. I feel like I am entitled to royalties. However, TLC and other terrible TV channels still fill one function: Looking at reality shows about chainsmoking pregnant ladies makes my breakfast consisting of 6 cinnamon buns, 4 cups of coffee with a touch of caramel liqeur and some icecream looks healthy by comparison. Aristotle once spoke about the golden mean of moderation, that the perfect virtue was the one between two extremes: generosity is the mean between profligacy and scantiness, courage is the mean between cowardice and arrogance etc.
Thus, thanks to TLC's depraved life forms and the teachings of my homeboy Aristotle, I will henceforth view my diet as the mean between antioxidants and heroin.

I feel good about this.

Yes, it's another list. A list that smells heavily of cheap whisky.

I recently took some blood tests to check my vitals, and was pleasantly surprised when I found out that not only was I pretty much healthy, but my liver was also perfectly fine. To most people, that wouldn't come as a surprise, but living in a city mostly inhabited by university students and having a fondness of whisky and Tom Waitsy alcoholism (I have a thermos filled with absinthe. That's what.)  made me expect the worst. However, when I found out I was absolutely fine, I sat down and wondered about what aspects of life are enhanced with alcohol, and what aspects of life are just made worse by inebriation - there are always red flags around the act of drinking more than one glass of wine at home, but drinking until you vomit at parties is socially acceptable; is that really a sensible approach to alcohol? So, I present to you my list of things you should do drunk and things you shouldn't do drunk.

THINGS YOU SHOULD DO DRUNK:
- Do your grocery shopping drunk. You make an every day dull task interesting, and the worst thing you can do by accident/ lack of judgement is to buy way too much garlic.
- Go to the gym drunk. Anyone who has been drunk know that when drinking, you are fucking invincible - run 5 miles just to tell your friend you love him/her and to borrow a fiver? Absolutely! Have a fist fight with a mugger cleverly disguised as a fire hydrant? Check! Do any number of pushups for a free burger at 4 a.m? Oh yes!
- Read classic literature drunk. Because even Dostoevsky becomes slapstick comedy after half a bottle of vodka.

THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T DO DRUNK:

- Don't write your exams drunk. I drank whisky to calm my nerves before an important exam once, and then I spent 15 minutes rewriting my name on the top of the exam sheet because I felt that the vowels looked like they were judging me.
- Don't shop for clothing when you're drunk. When inebriated, you will believe that anything, and I mean ANYTHING, will suit you perfectly, until you wake up sober and realize you just bought 2000 dollars worth of Crocs and a pink onesie with "SUPAHSTAR" written on the butt in rhinestones. My biggest drunk-shopping-mistake is Amazon and other internet-based stores; you can order for hundreds of dollars in just a few seconds without even the safety mechanism of a judgmental store assistant to hinder you from buying things you don't need or cannot afford. One perk however is ordering things you actually want when very drunk, and then receiving the packages in the mail. It's like Christmas. A very, very sad Christmas where you buy yourselves all the presents and then pretend that they are from someone else.
- You shouldn't do lists drunk, because you never come up with anything funny by the end of it, and instead think of things like "Are genocides setting unrealistically high standards for serial killers?" and inventing your own superhero such as "COWMAN - HE HAS FOUR STOMACHS IN ORDER TO DIGEST INJUSTICE!".



It's the circle of life. If life was directed by Charlie Sheen.

God is dead but my hair is perfect

I'm not sure what caused me to cease to believe, but at the age of 8, I became an atheist. My father, a devout christian, had urged me to pray twice times a day since I could talk, and one day I just woke up and didn't see the logic in believing in something which existence there was no scientific evidence in support of. And this came from the girl who the very same year ate three snails on a dare. It should also be mentioned that I didn't stop believing in Santa Claus until I was ten. You know, he at least brought me gift - that's a deity I could believe in. However, the very day I stopped believing in God, I discovered my own and my family's mortality, so that was a bummer. The years went on and I became a very angry Richard Dawkins/Marilyn Manson-loving teenager who loved to bash any Christian person I could get my hands on, until I met a friend who believed in God and still was one of the smartest people I had ever met - a person who made me realize that I had been trying to convert religious people to atheism more than they had tried to convert me. Since then, I am still a firm believer in the non-existence of any form of deity, but I have realized that religion is just a way of coping with death and questions regarding the meaning of life, and if it helps some people, religion could actually have a place in a society without being that fundamentalist cult I have always perceived it as. I for one know that I would love to believe in an afterlife in order not to be so afraid of death, but I just can't believe, and I have seen too much of the horrible effects of organized religion to be able to stand religion in anything but on an individual level, and sometimes not even that. However, atheists aren't always much better: atheist like to be the voice of science and rationality, but some of them, including teenage me, are just condescending assholes.

So, here's the pros and cons of being an atheist according to me.

PROS:
- No harsh moral constraints or rules; you can have awesome gay divorce-whiskey-evolution-abortion-picnics and no one will judge you. OK, a little. I'm judging you already.
- You feel in control of your life by defining your own set of moral values and purpose in life. The meaning of life? Eating onion rings and watching 30 Rock? All right then!
- You get to respond to your Christian friend yelling from the bathroom that the toilet paper is out by screaming "WHERE'S YOUR GOD NOW?!"
- You share a trait with Stephen Fry. Nuff said.

CONS:
- The lack of an afterlife. For atheists, I believe death is even more terrifying than for believers, because our entire belief-system is based on the belief that there is no such thing as heaven or hell, and that all that awaits us after death is soil and silence. Atheist death consoling is really the worst: "Don't cry, I'm sure he's rotting away peacefully in his coffin! He'll always be present in your life, in the form of that unpaid student loan! Please stop crying, it'll be your turn soon to enter the eternal darkness!".
- The lack of cool religious rituals and decadence. Come on, Pope Borgia's orgies wouldn't be half as indulgent if he didn't justify it by referring to the protection of an all-mighty deity. Catholicism has done a lot of terrible things, but man, the bling and the shame-sex is to die for.
- Free will. Because sometimes it would be great to have a God who could decide all the trivial things - not whom I should marry or what I can or can't do with my body, but things like deciding what laundry detergent to buy or if I really should eat that sixteenth cookie.

 I have met many Christians who refuse to interpret the bible literally and instead propose a religion based on actual love and understanding, and I have met atheists who quote Richard Dawkins as their bible - fundamentalists exist everywhere, no matter what religion or anti-religion. In the end, it's really all about what moral rules you let guide your life - your own, or guidance from a two thousand year old book (or in the Dawkins-case, a six year old book)? We all have that moral voice of conscience, the question is just whether it is your own voice or someone else's. My problem is that my conscience mostly consists of a urine-drenched hobo rummaging around my brain yelling "WHERE ARE MY FECKING MOZZARELLA STICKS??". But you know, you can't have it all.

The Quirky Girl Scale

I've always been a geeky person. Not in that hot supposedly-geeky-but-has-no-knowledge-of-the-game girl "Oh, I love Zelda, he's so hot I'm going to lick my xbox control" way, but in a "Why would I need friends? I have 142 Pokemon! Please don't leave me" way: I spent my childhood collecting dolls, making up very odd scenarios between them (I actually had a doll wedding which ended up in divorce. Twice.) and writing stories about deep, meaningful literary themes such as "Mora, the candy queen" and "Princess Rose spends entire day describing different types of mythological nymphs". As I aged, I developed a lot of new interests, but kept a few - such as my fondness for Pokemon. During Elementary School, my nerdy interests suddenly turned to popularity - I had breasts and a level 100 Espeon, and I'm still not sure which of them made me attractive in the eyes of teenage boys. However, as other girls also developed breasts and more appropriate interests such as giggling and breathing on a daily basis, I was lost. Luckily I found a boyfriend who actually encouraged my somewhat childish interests (mostly because he loves My Little Pony and thus didn't really have any moral leverage), but it made me think - what is the appropriate amount of Quirkiness for a girl? Where is the line drawn between loving an 80's videogame and collecting cats dressed as The Simpsons characters? I seem to use that line like a skipping rope: I get points for playing and loving Mass Effect and knowing a little too much about World War II, but it was frowned upon when I told a friend I wanted to buy another Pokemon Onesie (I already have a Pikachu, but definitely need a Snorlax), and he specifically asked me not to. I said oppression, he said all my friends would leave me.  I for one viewed this as a feminist crusade: no woman should ever be denied the fundamental right to get drunk and purchase Japanese fleece costumes on ebay! Or maybe it was the right to vote. Potato, Potato.

My point with this post is to investigate what level of quirkiness is viewed as acceptable and interesting in a girl - where is the line drawn between quirkiness and weirdness?

Knowing all the characters in Mass Effect, Metal Gear Solid and Dragon Age: QUIRKY
Writing quite intense turian-on-human fan-fiction about Garrus and FemShep: WEIRD

Having a Pikachu bag which is specifically made for 10-year-olds ironically: QUIRKY
Spending half an hour describing to random person in club why evolving your Pikachu to a Raichu is mere treachery to the character: WEIRD

Being able to recite every important battle in WWII and how it affected the outcome of the war without hesitating: QUIRKY
Exclaiming "WOW, I know Hitler was a dick, but he loved the exact same pastries as I do! Do you think pastry is a gateway drug to genocide?": WEIRD

Having that sort of odd and random sense of humour a la Zoey Deschanel that mesmererizes men : QUIRKY
Constantly joking about dwarves, genocide and impending alcoholism: WEIRD

Taking good care of your cat, whom you have named Mr Whiskers: QUIRKY
Getting angry at your cat Nietzsche for contracting cat chlamydia instead of cat syphilis BECAUSE IT IS JUST NOT FUCKING HISTORICALLY CORRECT: WEIRD

Conclusion: Weird is awesome and quirky is terrible - I won't let society dictate what I can or can't do because some men would find it weird and not quirky or feminine: I have standards and class. Now excuse me, I have a giant fleece Pokemon costume from Japan that might originally be intended for furries to order.

Sleepless on the Citadel and other Garrus-Vakarian-related pornos I would pay good money to see

So I just finished playing Mass Effect 3 extended cut. It was amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing. That's as far as I can go without revealing any spoilers and upsetting my 5 readers to the core, but no one can keep me from praising this absolutely astonishing game. The story, the multi-choices, the RPG, the characters - there's just so much love put into the games by the creators - I cried like a baby, and there are few games that affect me in that fashion. Most of them include me being beaten to pulp in Yahtzee. However, there has been a lot of whining from the armada of overly-protective moms and freudeliciously eccentric child psychologists that the games contain too much violence, and I still can't grasp how these people reason: how can it be logical to claim that it is harmful for 15-year-old children to shoot monsters in a video-game, but completely sensible to send them to Iraq or Afghanistan but three years later to shoot actual human beings? And if you're going to bash games for having a disturbing impact on children, there are games without the M-rating that are A LOT worse, which is why I now present my list of games with disturbing moral messages, and rate them according to their level of possible cruelty.

1. Roller Coaster Tycoon
I can't even begin to describe how many little amusement park-goers I have brutally assassinated during the years I played Roller coaster Tycoon: I presume that the creators intended that the possibility to kill people with faulty roller coasters would suffice as a moral aspect of the game, to teach the players some responsibility, but giving kids the possibility to build a roller coaster that ends abruptly in mid air, turn the speed to a maximum and then watch wagon after wagon tumble down towards the ground is just pure madness - and pure entertainment for anyone with an inner sadistic child. The fact that you are also given the possibility to use your divine intervention as the maker of the amusement park for evil is absurdly disturbing: you can actually pick up visitors and drop them into the water, only to watch them scream and cry for help before they drown. Thus, Roller Coaster Tycoon is the perfect game if you like to play God and don't mind the smell of death and cotton candy - because even the kindest little innocent child will sit in front of the computer and yell "THIS IS FOR YOUR NEGATIVE RATING ON MY WATER SPLASH MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE, YOU BASTARD" whilst watching 75 amusement park visitors plummet to their death. Talk to your kids about amusement parks, or someone else will.
Level of cruelty: 8/10

2. The Sims:
I can't even express how realistic and messed up this game is: the game is the wet dream of every serial killer who is too fat to bother walking outside in order to kill people. You can set people on fire (narrow room, Persian mat, the lousy stove or fireplace and boom), drown people in the pool by removing the ladder, starve them, make them pee themselves so much they actually die of shame, electrocute them, scare them to death with the ghosts you have created, let your Sim be devoured by bugs - according to this video, you can actually barbeque your baby: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eq7iUmQck0&feature=related. Apart from killing people, you can commit adultery in front of your spouse, abuse your child enough for the social worker to come and take custody of the child (however, if you are quick, you can kill the social worker before she leaves with your baby. Because you care.) and any other whitetrash element of your choosing -there is room for every possible disturbing family you can imagine. However, sexual relations between family members or between minors are not yet possible. You know, because that would just be sick.
Level of cruelty 10/10

3. Mario Kart:
Because nothing says Road Safety like bombing your friends off of the road, intentionally leaving banana peels for them to slip on and crash into a wall or ingesting mushrooms in order to drive faster. The Fast and the Furious looks like a driving instructor's tutorial by comparison.
Level of cruelty 6/10 

4. Pokemon
This is by far my favourite game ever since I was a kid:  but I can't deny the fact that if you actually deconstruct the game, you realize it is as disturbing as any other game.  This article http://www.comicsalliance.com/2011/03/15/weirdest-pokemon-black-white/ describes perfectly the absurdity of the Pokemon games: "Considering that this is a world where ten year-olds are sent out to wander from town to town getting into super-powered cockfights and busting up international criminal organizations". One often finds oneself asking where the hell the social services are held up. However, the most disturbing theme in the games are the animal abuse - one needs not even bother mentioning the fact that the animals are being shrunk and enclosed in Pokeballs and forced to fight until they "faint" (which is, as we know, the only possible risk of being thrashed, drowned, set on fire or torn to pieces in an explosion). The true weirdness are more subtle, but once you realize it, you will never stop thinking about it. For instance, why the hell does Pokemon become pregnant when you enter them into daycare? And since it doesn't seem to exist any other animals, what the hell does people eat? I hardly believe they have all become vegetarians, since they don't seem to treat their pets all that well from the start. But, what do I know - Pokemon appears to be more loyal than regular animals - I for one know that if I asked my cat to follow me around the world fighting other animals for little scraps of metal, he would puke in my shoes for a year.
Level of cruelty 5/10


5. SimCity
If The Sims is the equivalent of a serial killer, SimCity is the equivalent of Pol Pot, Hitler and Stalin in one game. You can easily eradicate an entire city with just a few clicks and make it look like a natural disaster. Because you are fucking God now. I await the expansion SimHolocaust.
Level of cruelty 10/10


6. Tomb Raider
For giving archeology/history students hope of coolness and hot chicks for years. FOR SHAME.

Level of cruelty 3/10



I rest my case. Leave completely norming running-over-hooker-games-and-having-sex-with-aliens-games alone!

Why I absolutely hate the saying "Carpe Diem"

I have been a quite paranoid person ever since I was a small child: being a hypochondriac I am constantly convinced that either my family/friends or I have different types of cancer, I worry that people I love will die in car/plane/hipster bike-crashes, I worry that my apartment will catch fire when I'm not home, I worry that my cats will somehow hang themselves in my dirty laundry - to keep it short, I worry. I've spoken of my worries to a lot of different people, friends as well as professionals, and they all say the same thing: Carpe Diem - capture the day. However, this has never been a comforting help; on the contrary, it just pisses me off. Saying things like "Live like it's your last day" doesn't really help my fear of death - it fucking exacerbates it! Telling me "So, I heard you're afraid of death, so I want you to believe that you're going to die within 24 hours" IS NOT A GOOD IDEA. It's like the worst episode of 24 ever - If I would live each day as if it was my last, I would spend it all crying, rocking back and forth in my shower, eating everything in sight. I would be a complete mess, not in any way liberated. I wouldn't only capture the day; I would capture it, keep it locked up in a well and go all "It puts the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again" on it. And regarding Carpe Diem - there are things you really shouldn't do, capturing the day or not: people use it as an excuse to do all sorts of stupid things, as if it would be some sort of an enlightened path to inner peace.

- "What? You don't want to use mescaline while babysitting because you might accidentally but the baby in the oven? Come on, live a little! Carpe Diem!"
- "What? You don't feel like trying that new choking-yourself-whilst-touching-yourself-with-mayonaise-game?  Dude, Carpe Diem!"
-"What? You're not into human extermination using a combination of Cyklon B and contained spaces? Mein freude, Carpe Diem!"

OK, I might be exaggerating just a teeny tiny bit, but I just can't stand some of the things people call "living life to the fullest". I know I won't be happier by staying indoors, stay away from all sharp objects and only eat veggies, but I really don't - anyone who's seen me eat half a kilo of marzipan in an hour knows I won't have a very long life, but taking giant risks is not part of living - it's part of dying prematurely for absolutely nothing. I live everyday to the fullest by spending time with my best friends, doing stupid things that won't lead to me lying dead in a gutter and I'm happy - I know I could die tomorrow, and I fucking hate it, but I can still be happy today. I don't need to be told to go skydiving, bungee-jumping or try food that might kill you or at least insult your mother: today, I'll buy a different brand of pasta. Watch me live on the edge.

I'm like Terminator. If Terminator had lactose intolerance.

I've had the worst tooth-ache for several days and finally got a dentist appointment, only to find out that I will have to replace two of my teeth with porcelain replicas. Not something in gold that might give me that sexy pirate-with-pmt-vibe, but porcelain ones. I feel like a cyborg, but not the cool kind - more like the one they use in schools to practice CPR. Anyway, the reason I've been absent from blogging for a while is that I was kidnapped. By terrorists. Or by awesome cable TV and being constantly semi-sick, I can't remember which one. The problem is that films have implanted an idea that diseases in some way are romantic, dramatic and capable of making people painstakingly pale and beautiful. This is lies and boulderdash: there is no way that one could be sexy whilst having vast amounts of mucus cascading out of one's nose and throat, and instead of the Victorian noble woman exhausted by restrictive corsets fainting on a divan, you lie curled up under six blankets yelling at your boyfriend to fetch you some more chocolate pudding because YOU ARE FUCKING DYING. I've always wondered how the traditional romantic "the hero is dying from a chronic disease that only makes him paler and turns him into Val Kilmer" disease-films would look if you simply switched the sexy diseases for the less sexy, more realistic ones - how would the romance in Moulin Rouge turn out if Satine was plagued with stomach flu instead of tuberculosis? Would Philadelphia be as heartbreaking if Andrew was dying from pancreatic cancer? Would Rain Man be so sweet if he suffered from tourettes, or the Phantom of the Opera so hot if the reason he was hiding his face was due to the fact that he suffered from bad acne? Would Baudelaire still be as mysterious if he had obesity fat flaps instead of syphilis? Would the fainting ladies of the 19th century still be as daunting if they had incontinence? My point is that sickness is incapable of being sexy, and that's how it should be: diseases kill us in the end, and dying isn't sexy or romantic or noble, despite how desperately we want it to be that way.

I'm not sure what purpose this post is supposed to have, I'm just sick and depressed and fed up with having to see the film and book-industry feeding off of depression and diseases - Goethe was a big attention whore who ruined the calm sanctity of depression for everyone.

The worst thing is that my sadness isn't heartbreaking or deep or eternal, it just makes me crave a lot of white bread. This is so going into my screenplay "Loathing and bread loafs" - a 19th century drama between a poor, dying painter and his carbohydrates. I'm going to be rich.

Yes. Our relationship is exactly like game of thrones.

Me after watching Game of Thrones too many times: Wow, Daenerys Targaryen eats an entire horse heart in order to prove her love for her husband.Why won't you eat an entire heart to prove your love to me?
Boyfriend: Hang on, I ate mozzarella last night for you.
Me: You are truly a dothraki soldier.
Boyfriend: I really don't like cheese.

The sacrifices are endless.

This is what happens when I have Game of Thrones-abstinence, boredom and access to photoshop at the same time.

It's one of those days

I do like to watch skinny girls cry, but this is just silly.

So, I just watched the first episode of Top Model Sweden. I can honestly say that I've usually watched Top Model with a combination of morbid fascination and glee (cheering when yet another skinny beautiful girl is thrown out of the combination, completely unaware of the fact that I myself am sitting in my sweats with french fries dripping from my mouth), but this time, it's just silly. The jury forces the girls to compete against all sorts of odd obstacles that you supposedly will encounter in the world of modelling, with a questionable content. Seriously, how likely is it that you will be forced to rollerblade down an aisle whilst posing like a constipated giraffe? I'm afraid this will escalate to something in the line of "The world is ending in four minutes. Only you can stop the nuclear bomb from going off by disarming it with the help of only a hairpin and five grapes. Also, if you don't pose like a model whilst doing this and convey the theme of 'Moon whore with attitude' with your skin pores, one of the jury members will maim your mother."

Come to think of it, I think I would make an excellent TV-producer.

My liver is like a tired hooker lying back and going to its happy place

So, I am hungover. And wearing a Pikachu-costume. These facts might be related, I really wouldn't know. All I know is that my head hurts and that my new cat is seriously afraid of me - but she is pretty much afraid of most things, as the situation at home with a female cat and a young male cat involves a lot of nervously slow movement, staring contests and hissing - it pretty much resembles the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. You know, if Kennedy had gone on a poop-strike until the enemy left Cuba/the goddamn sofa and if the Russians had reciprocated by stealing all the toys and then hid under the bed for three days. I'm hungry but I'm too tired to actually get up and start cooking - Oh, my goddess Nigella, how do you do it? Every time I attempt to do some food porn, I just end up saying "me love you long time" to a pack of pasta. I would really make the worst food show host in the world: "Tonight, I will show you how to reheat leftovers your grandmother leaves outside your door  because she's worried that you will get scurvy otherwise. Later, we'll discover just how good a flavoring cat saliva is for your stew!". Thank god I have a boyfriend who doesn't know that he could do much better and four seasons of Doctor Who to look forward to.

Quick monthly summary:

Basic tasks I haven't accomplished this month:
- Study enough to pass my exams
- Clean the apartment
- Start exercising
- Stop putting bacon in everything I eat
- Apply for a job


Basic tasks I have accomplished this month:
- Vomited whilst wearing a Pikachu costume. What every mother dreams of for her little girl.

I'm seriously starting to question whether I have understood the idea of how one lives a bohemian lifestyle correctly.

I might be Jesus. Or just a really bad cat owner.

So, this morning I awoke, yawned and realised that my face was full of blood, dripping away in a jaunty manner without a care in the world. So, there I sat with bloody palms, blood flowing freely from my forehead and a very clueless expression on my face. Obviously, I assumed that these were stigmata wounds and that I was the new Jesus. I had the time to make a rough plan on how I could use my new position as the child of God in order to create peace on earth and end poverty and chain Dylan Moran in a gold bikini to me and all other things people usually wish for before I realised that I was probably not a supreme deity. The far more likely explanation for the blood was sitting right in front of me, proudly purring and licking his arse. My cat Nietzsche had probably tried to engrave his initials in my forehead (he never really got the hang of that grafitti thing, my cat), and he's freaking out because he's becoming a man-cat and therefore he's very angry all time and I try to sit him down and talk to him about what happens when a man-cat and a woman-cat love each other very much and hug a lot in order to get a kitten. Then he bit my finger so hard I bled all over him and I really don't think that bleeding on your child/cat is such a good parental style so I just gave up, gave him his weird favourite treats (raspberry yoghurt, müsli and koriander), whispered "Tomorrow we're having you neutered" and then ran like hell. It felt subtle. And now I'm afraid to fall asleep.

I have come to realize that raising a cat is at least as difficult as raising a baby. For one thing, babies don't wake you up in the morning by trying to bite your eye. Unless you have a homicidal baby. Then, you kind of have bigger problems to deal with than to read this. Another thing is the Chinese sleep deprivation torture that will occur every single night for the rest of your life and  make you age 60 years and become more and more like a Vietnam war veteran; rocking back and forth whilst repeating "I'VE SEEN SOME THINGS, MAN!" . but with less bombs and more angry kittens. Sounds awesome? Think again. However, cats do have some advantages compared to babies that I ought to mention.

Why cats are better than babies:
1. You can buy kittens and bring them home in a cage instead of pushing them through your vagina. In fact, pushing them through your vagina might even be frowned upon.
2. When you correct them by waterspraying them in the face, people don't overreact and call child services.
3. You can sterilise them without being judged by your neighbours.
4. If cats make noises during the night, you can just put them in the kitchen and close the door.
5. Even at a very early age, they learn how to use the litter box without any problems. A kitten learns how to poop and pee in a box at the tender age of one month, whilst a baby waits three years just to learn that one ought not to poo where one sleeps. Every time I hear some overbearing smothering mother brag about her fantastic son who can burp all of Beethoven's sonnets I have to restrain myself from reminding her that my cat could leap 1.5 meters straight up in the air when he was three months old. It mostly just ends with me screaming "WELL, my cat poops at a fifth grade level!". If your cat doesn't poop at a fifth grade level, peer pressure him/her into pooping. All the cool kids are doing it.

I'm not sure what I was aiming for with this post. All I know is that I'm probably Jesus and that I have lost a lot of blood. They might have something to do with each other.

Relationships are like hygiene-based chicken races. But with fewer sportscars and more body odours

One of the problems, or perks depending on how much self esteem / dignity you possess, caused by living with your boyfriend is that all attempts to hide the fact that you are both farting, pooping, sweating humans become utterly futile. When your relationship is still in the new, romantic and daisy-smelling phase, you can always manage to get up early before the other person wakes up and shower/redo your makeup/shave/hide your tail, in order to maintain the illusion of you two being glamourous, stylish beings in control of your bodily fluids. This will pass. Trust me, one day you are re-applying your lipstick every five minutes, and the next day you only put deoderant in the armpit that you will have angled towards your partner. It doesn't get prettier - burping contests and pimple-squeezing replaces candle-lit dinners and romantic strolls around the park, and instead of eating chocolate mousse off of each others bodies, you mainly just eat the chocolate mousse while watching tv and arguing on the best way to raise your cat. You know that you have entered the all too comfortable phase the very second you start to have hygiene chicken races around the house, which are mainly based on a competition on who can last being disgusting or living in your disgusting apartment the longest.

However, for some reason, this stage of the relationship is so much better. It's really a rush knowing that someone loves you despite of you looking like something bursting out of a bloke's chest in an Alien film; knowing that someone even loves you because you can eat 2 kilos of baby back ribs and then have a farting contest with yourself and not win.

I think I'm going to surprise my boyfriend with some romantic gesture when he returns tonight. Maybe arrange the cat poo in the kitty litter box so it spells out I LOVE YOU.

Because I care.