Evil cute

Bump in the night

 Today, my entry is going to be about a rather weird experience, or a series of such, that I have had lately. 

We have lived in this house for around a year now, it's always been fine atmospherically, if that makes sense, no weird feelings about it at all. This is in stark comparison with our last place of residence, where myself and partner would run up the stairs like we saw the banner at the end of a marathon, simply due to a rather odd and overwhelming feeling of fear that would come across you when you passed through the hallway. The house itself was very old, but the only original part was the hallway, and the origin of this unease was specifically the under stairs cupboard. I have never experienced such a weird sensation before, but I did not mention it to my boyfriend, as he is very skeptical about such things, not dismissive of my experiences, just not really someone you confide them in. One night he went down to the bathroom, and was gone for a very long time, I started to worry that the old joke my mother said about falling down the toilet and washing up onto the seaside was in fact based on a similar case, and so went to find him. I found him standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the landing, which gave me quite a fright to start with, as I am sure you can imagine. It turns out that he had shared these feelings for some time now, and also ran back from the bathroom at night, which I found interesting in someone who deemed such things ridiculous. That particular night, he had come back, prepared to run, when he had the overwhelming feeling that someone was stood at the top of the landing, glaring down at him. This shook me for two reasons, the first being I was stood exactly where he had said this perceived thing had been, and second, it was something I had increasingly experienced also, in fact, over time the top of the landing beside the bathroom had become almost as bad as the under stairs cupboard. We later found out that the spot that bothered both of us so much was directly under the place where the entrance to the old attic had been, before it was boarded up.

Anyway, back to this current place, I have never felt the overwhelming urge to call the ghost busters up until recently really. It started off with our cats beginning to behave in a way that we considered out of character. Normally, both loved being upstairs, mainly because we could not see whatever mischief they were getting into, and they had free damage dealing potential. Recently, they have begun to display a real reluctance to go upstairs, confining their mayhem mainly to the stairs and the living area, in fact, I have had to physically carry them upstairs the last few nights, where they would bury themselves under the blankets until morning. Then, this last week, at night, we have started to hear strange noises downstairs, nothing concrete that makes you think, woah, call an exorcist, more odd things. Like, the sound of a door shifting, despite the absence of wind, along those lines. Last night, both of us were in bed, cats beside us, when there was a very loud crash from downstairs, think, furniture falling over, rather than, crap a rocket is in my house, but still, a bit strange.
My boyfriend was convinced there was someone in the house trying to rob us, boy would they be disappointed in this place, unless they have a penchant for wooden lions, or perhaps random items of washing on radiators. He went downstairs, armed with his trusty screwdriver, and had a look around. Nothing at all had been disturbed, which was really quite strange, because it was a loud noise, and one that we could not explain, and still can't. The other thing is that recently, I have started to feel rather uncomfortable being upstairs myself, culminating yesterday in my kitten running around upstairs, pursued by footsteps. I assumed this was our second kitten, Rose, only to find her fast asleep on the chair opposite, and my boyfriend was at his computer across the room. Yet another strange thing that I can't explain. Of course, the thing that has bothered me in particular, was that my boyfriend just came into the room and mentioned that he did not like walking through the kitchen (he has no idea what I am writing about). I agreed, as we have a very large window, and no blind, which always bothers me a little when passing it at night. He then mentioned that he feels as though he is being watched in there, isn't that groovy from Mr Skeptical? 
Still, if there is some kind of weird spirit in this house, where on earth did it come from after a year, perhaps it came with my ebay parcel the other day? I knew £2.50 was too cheap for a pair of shoes.
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Evil cute

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So, my 30th birthday is rapidly approaching, and instead of facing it with fear and distrust, I have decided to see it as an oppotunity for change. This will involve various things, but first, I suppose I should tell you a little of why I feel I should change in superficial ways. I have always been a bit of a failure as a girl, I embraced the whole concept of being a tomboy when I was younger, spent my days wandering the undergrowth and building the world's worst bow and arrow contraptions. Even when I moved on to such simple things as wearing skirts, I still found that all of my friends were male, I've never really seemed to have the knack for female friends. I often found them too bitchy, or they would start talking about things that I had no knowledge of, and even less interest. I was all about motorbikes and such, and even now I have broken out the summer dresses, there are some things that have just passed me by.

The first, which I probably will not tackle is the whole idea of heels, I am 6ft 2 in bare feet, so as a teenager, I just didn't do heels, guys hated it if I was taller than them, the one date I wore them on, he had to stand on tip toes to attempt to kiss me and promptly fell into an untidy heap amongst the milk bottles. This has meant that even now that I am older, I still cannot walk in them, I understand the basic principle, but the execution of it is just one of those things, such as for example, plate spinning, that I will never grasp.

The other is the application of makeup, anyone who knows me exclaims often at how lovely my skin is, and that I don't need makeup, this is possibly true, but it does mean that on occasion, I still get ID'd. I have decided after watching many tutorials online, that I am going to buy some new makeup and try some of it out, much as a child rummages around in her mother's makeup box. I have splashed out also on some decent makeup brushes, half of which I don't have the first idea of what I should do with them, this crazy spending of money has meant that I will feel pressed to actually do what I had promised myself. I have a quiet fear that what I confrount in the mirror will look more RuPaul than supermodel, but we shall see.

The final decision, and one that I am still wrestling with, is cutting my hair. For the last ten years, my hair has been very long, at least halfway down my back, though being fine, it tends to just hang there in a rather meh way. When I first mentioned the possibility of cutting it, many people have expressed their horror at the idea, but I am getting more resolved on the idea. I am not going drastically short, it will most likely be cut to my shoulders, in something like a Jessie J style, but it is going to be one of my most dramatic announcements that things have changed.

I think the important thing to me is that I have looked the same for many years, however, I do not feel the same, with age has come a new maturity and way of seeing things, perhaps even a quiet confidence. I see this as a new phase of my life, entering it as a new person, and modifying my outer self to more represent my inner personality.

However, it is highly likely you will see a post soon saying, I hate my new hair, and help, my makeup has melted to my face in Phantom of the Opera style and I am having to type this with the help of a seeing eye dog, after stabbing my eye out with a mascara wand. Only time shall tell.
Evil cute

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I am afraid that today's entry may turn into a rant, so those with a more nervous disposition may wish to go and take up knitting, though how sitting there with giant needles that could impale you in horrific ways should you drift off from the actual boredom of said hobby, can relax you, is beyond me. Another hobby which is said to be relaxing is keeping koi, in my experience, this is not so. You wind up with twelve beautiful fish, that each contract wonderful diseases that you can't find on the internet, and even fish specialists ask if you have recently been diving in say, Africa. Then you have the joy of twelve plastic buckets, each filled with a fish, decorating most of your home, applying medicines that vets say, yeah, what the hell, give this a shot, and while you are at it, remortgage the house in case you need a second dose. After all this, the drama queens don't even thank you, they just blow bubbles in your general direction, a sign, I feel of their deepest contempt. Restful hah, better to take up something soothing like shark diving after wrestling angry tigers.

This reminds me of an interesting encounter I had at one point in my life, that I will share with you before the general ranting begins.
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Evil cute

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I have decided to make an account, as I felt it might be nice to have a journal to look back on someday, especially considering I set on fire the ones from my teenage years, though I feel that was a very sensible bout of pyromania. I kept a diary for quite a long time, it helped me organise my thoughts somehow, was almost therapeutic in a way, my own form of counseling - although perhaps talking to yourself, even in written format may not exactly be on the healthy side of the psychological spectrum.

Today was one of those good days that don't come as often as I would like, but more often than they used to, which I feel on balance is a good state of affairs. My fiance and I set out on the long walk to our nearest supermarket, which unfortunately for our bank balance happens to be Morrison's. Much of the walk is along a stretch of road, that once was the main road for the area, and even now some of the traffic has been channelled off, is still fairly busy. We made it across what we affectionately dub Charon's crossing, mainly because if you use it, you have a high chance of actually meeting the fellow. It is a very busy dual lane of traffic without a traffic light, or any form of crossing at all, which considering it is the only way to get across, save running for the roundabout and hoping for the best, is pretty poor. You basically either have to wait for an eternity for a nice driver who does not see himself as being in F1 on the final lap, or take your life in your hands and run like you are the one at the end of a race. Thankfully for once I was wearing proper shoes, as my mum would dub them, so I did not leave one of them in the middle of the road and emerged unscathed, onto the other side. I at least, unlike the chicken was aware of why I was crossing the road, and we hastened onward.

We walked along the back of the stadium, this part isn't quite so bad really, sure, it looks as though people have had a festival of litter, or perhaps a minor bin explosion has occurred, but in general, the absence of death on four wheels made a pleasant change. Here came the nice bit though, the small section of the walk that takes you beside the river, in fact, I stopped to take a photograph while crossing the pedestrian bridge, among gentle reminders from my loved one, that dropping my phone into the water would not be a spiffing idea. I concurred in this, and thankfully, for once, my body decided to obey orders and slip it back inside my bag. Also at this moment, the sun decided to appear and banish back the heavy greyness that had lingered before, summer winter anyone?

As we stopped for lunch in pizza hut, the day actually began to brighten up considerably and soon we were as chickens on a rotisserie, slowly basting in our own juices in the heat. It was my partner's first trip to Pizza Hut, believe it or not, and we decided not to opt for the pretty poor lunch buffet, read, three slices of pizza that looked as though it had also spent time on that crossing of woe, but had actually been run over several times. We made the most of our free salad, though to my shame I did allow one stray tomato to make a break for freedom, and was unable to recover it, I assume it is now living the high life in Rio, or somewhere less open to extradition.

Our waitress was of the relaxed school, possibly of the Malibu school, and I practically had to create a flag out of my remaining salad and wave it in her direction. The pizza itself was very nice, but sadly I did not have the chance to enjoy a pleasant beverage with it as the waitress had happily encountered some of her friends, and had decided to reminisce on what I can only assume was several years of missed experience. We threw coins in her general direction, our only tip being, be a better waitress and left.

Sadly we then had to enter the frantic madness of Morrisons, which was rather busy considering it was a Monday afternoon, and emerged later somehow with less than we should have done, a trick I think of supermarkets. After this, we had a general wander round, before returning home and collapsing wearily onto the sofa and waiting only for death to claim us.

Since, according to Final Destination Lore, he was probably off planning an accident for the tomato, we decided to clean the windows, it is all rock and roll here, as I am sure you see already. I then decided to spend the evening wondering what on earth to do with my hair, which has probably had the same style for at least ten years, if not since the time of the dinosaurs. A friend helpfully decided to do some magic with a facebook app and created several new styles for me, two of them being acceptance, one of them looking as though I had fallen backwards into the fan of a jumbo jet and my hair had accepted all of the trauma. I am hoping that one of the many ads I placed on gumtree will be successful, allowing me to gain the money for pretty new hair, and perhaps a razor to shave myself bald should the woman cut it like my last hairdresser. While I understand a hat might be a less drastic solution, hats do not suit me. It would also be nice if said things sold, as at the moment, we have the old and new sofa set in our front room, so we look like a slightly smaller version of DFS, though we are set up for an impromptu game of musical chairs should we feel so inclined.

I am now sat here watching Escape to the Country, I am seeing many houses that I would wish to buy, and others I would like to demolish, ideally burying the presenter along with them. I feel frustrated that I have not yet won the lottery, so I can purchase any number of houses, and possibly a haircut in addition, however, I feel that somehow the fault lies with me as I have not bought a ticket for years.

I am slowly melting into a puddle of vacuity and am finding myself content to stare at the tv, so I shall leave it here.