she's seen all shapes, all sizes

sorry for lack of update. it's not that i've been dead, or overly busy, or just plain lazy, it's more like so many things are going on and happening that it's a little bit hard to put them into words, y'know?

if you recall, i was in Chester last Saturday. Chester's a quaint little town about 45 minutes away from Liverpool. i say quaint, but that's only because it's small-ish, and lined with Tudor-styled shops and cobble-stone streets. behind those wooden frames though, are the highest of high-street shops, more than, and bigger than, those in Liverpool! it seems that the only thing to do in Chester is to shop and also, to have tea. Melody raved about the tea in Chester, and we so wanted to try out one of those cutesy tea-houses, but by the time we had our fill of the shops it was already almost 6pm, i.e. way past tea-time, and all the tea-houses were closed. definitely am going back again, probably later in the summer, in time for those grand summer sales!

after some panicked searching, i finally found a new flat. the lease in the place i'm staying in now will be over in 2 weeks, and because they only have 10 or 12-month contracts, i needed to find a place with a more flexible contract. my new flat is a studio apartment, and it's a lot more expensive than i was initially prepared to pay, but it's lovely, and is right next to the bus stop, and comes fully furnished. and by fully furnished, i mean right down to plates and spoons and pots and pans. and also, a cleaner who comes in once a week. and also, a TV. i'll miss the great city view i have here in Grand Central, but i'm really looking forward to the bathtub, and the living on my own, and the big double bed, and the extra space. now all i have to do is find a way to pack all the junk that i've managed to accumulate in 9 months. oh, and also, i got a call from a lady who owns a duplex penthouse on the docks, only she called after i'd signed the contract for the studio. i'm still going to view the penthouse this evening, because she sounded so nice over the phone and mostly because the apartment sounds really nice (duplex penthouse, people), but the other contract's all signed and sealed, so i'm hoping that this penthouse has a major leak, or that it looks over the worst part of the docks ever, or that the landlady looks and belches like South Park's version of Sally Struthers.

a couple of weeks ago i went to watch Sin City, the movie i've been waiting for all year. i loved it so much that i went to see it again last week. i'm a big fan of Tarantino, although i'm not hardcore enough to memorise the entire script of Reservoir Dogs. and although i just found out that he only directed a teeny bit of the movie, there were little bits and pieces of Tarantinoism peppered here and there. i'm guessing that he directed the Hartigan bit. it seems, though, that the reaction to this movie is either to Love it, or Hate it. everyone i recommended it to found it "disturbing" and "so psycho". one of my friends who watched it yesterday even managed to fall alseep during the movie, although i highly suspect that his drowsiness had more to do with the pint of long island ice tea he had for lunch. as much as i loved it though, my one and only gripe was Rory Gilmore the hooker. in what book does it say that that face spells w-h-o-r-e? i can never watch Gilmore Girls the same way again. that aside, this was the best comic book adaptation i've seen, the next best being The Hulk, and the worst being Witchblade. so if you haven't already, go watch it, and don't blame me if you hate it.

i don't know if this is caused by the disturbing movies that i've been watching, or if my subconscious is trying to tell me something, but i've been having some slightly disturbing dreams lately. a few nights ago i dreamt that i was writing out suicide notes to my family and friends. my mum, dad and sister all had one each, and my close friends too. i don't remember exactly what i wrote in all of them, but i do remember that the paper i wrote on was yellowing, old-looking paper. and i used my favourite yellow Pilot. in the letters i apologised to everyone for killing myself, and i said that i knew it wasn't the bravest thing to do, but it was all i felt i could do. i apologised to my parents for spending all their money, and all the indulgent shopping, and to my sister for making her childhood hell. and to my friends for being bitchy and moody. on Friday night i dreamt that i killed a poet for a presentation that i had to do for some class that i was taking. i was supposed to present something about that poet, and so i thought, for visual effect, that i would bring him in. so i went to his house, and killed him, and brought his body back to my house, where i made a mould of his body. then i cut his head off, and brought his severed head to class the next day for my presentation. in the end, though, i chickened out, because someone warned me that the police found out about his murder and were looking out for the killer. so i went through my presentation, with the dead poet's head in my gym locker. deduce away what you will.

well if this isn't the longest post i have ever written. hope it makes up for the absence, and i'd love to go on some more, but my dearest, bestest friend is coming over to stay tonight, and because he gave me the shortest notice ever, my room is nowhere near guest-worthy. so i need to clear up all my stuff (i.e. hide them under the bed) and start making friends with the vacuum. coo, i could do with this right about now.