Evolution confusion?


Going to the zoo always compares to when you are waiting for your toast, and it pops up with that sudden alarming strike of shock-sound that makes you jump like you are being woken up by eight pale looking Japanese horror kids. It gets me any time of the day – just like the animals at the zoo. Due to my million visits to zoo’s I would think the sight of these not-everyday-animals is something that should  be counted as a common happening in my brain depots. However, I seem to always end up gasping and breathing in that surprised “oooh” sound when I get near one of these majestic creatures.

Starring at the monkeys puts me in a paralyzed state where I can do nothing else, than just stand there and observe. Kind of like when you get stuck on YouTube watching cat videos. Monkeys always seem blow me away like I’ve just ended first season of Lost. I freeze up and all these extremely deep philosophical questions arise, and as my mind stresses out trying to find answers and come up with reasons my body pumps the feel of awesomeness.

It always surprises me how much they look and act like us, and somehow that is hilariously entertaining. One thing I wonder about is what it must have been like to live in the part of evolution where some of us were monkeys and the other part was human? They must have been some extremely patient homo sapiens and confused monkeys.


Hey fork, you are disabled.


You know how 70% of planet earth is made out of water? Well, I’m made of 70% hunger tissue. My Bermuda Triangle of a stomach has made a name for it self; The Machine. There are several reasons why I have honored my stomach with such a majestical status. 1) Its passion for meals – in particular nachos, will always remain the same or above, in the event of eating the same meal for days, like a true warrior. 2) It lives by the rules of Joey Tribbiani such as if the fridge is broke you eat everything and do NOT share food! 3) It doesn’t have a humane limit to food.

Life with The Machine has lead to great dining experiences, however in one particular restaurant I had to put the fork on hold due to a sudden situation that deserved a moments rant. As my fork took direction towards the plate I noticed that it oddly had three stabby sticks in the end of its one metal leg. Don’t all forks have 4 tines? Think about it. If you Google pictures of forks they all have 4 tines. It just looked like it had special needs or something. Who decided that a fork should have 4 tines in the first place?! It’s like changing The Lion King to The King of Lions. It’s less cool, and there’s just no point!

There is no angry way to say bubbles


The life of me involves no personal wars as such. Only at the event of stopping my hands from delivering tasty overloaded cheesy nachos to my fragile buds I struggle, as the fat kid inside me just can’t reach a limit for nachos eating. It’s like when you without intention of breaking into song,  sing ‘Mamaaa’, and then having to sing oh-oh-ooohh afterwards  – you just have to go on.  This concerns me, because I feel like I’m destined to be so much more than the girl who over-dosed on nachos. Anyhow, I stumbled upon something that created a war against myself, and in the end, I have acknowledged that I simply can’t win. There is no angry way of saying ‘bubbles’. No matter how hard you try, or the amount of negative thoughts you force through your emotional tubes, it’s an endless battle. There is just no way. Even with a german accent it sounds like an angel sliding off a rainbow. Imagine Kristen Stewart saying bubbles, that would be a great film for one. Secondly, I think it would do her aura good. Another great thing ‘bubbles’ could give to society would be casting a spell on Grumpy Cat, so its ‘Miav’ would be replaced with ‘bubbles’. Just putting it out there.

Why can you not tickle yourself?


I’ve been spending a good part of the day on a personal project that truly baffles me. My boyfriend and I were playing another self-invention of a game the other night. The rules are that player one has to smack their hands on the wall, and guess the name of the film player two is singing the soundtrack to, while being tickled. And under no circumstances connect his/her hands to anything but the wall, until the guess is approved. I personally put tickling in the this-hurts-like-Darth-Vader-hurts-peoples-feelings category. In this category you can also find the bumping-your-toe-into-a-tableleg pain. The thing they have in common is the high peak of annoyance level they take you to. Kind of like when I did the cinnamon challenge without knowing how it devilishly brewed an increasing dry Sahara in my mouth. I was ten, and well annoyed. The thing with tickles though, is, that seem to diffuse giggles all over your annoyance, which tricks you both mentally and physically, similar to the event of a unicorn breaching reality poking your with its giant poking device of a horn. I would giggle a bit however, I’m thinking it would be annoying too, and because of its mythical status, I would be quite confused. However, I managed to bring myself to an even more impressive state of confusion, when I then today re-gained one of my observations as a child. You cannot tickle yourself! And this is what I based my personal project on today. Even if I really scrubbed my fingers with a chinesemassa(cre)ge power against my ribs, it doesn’t do the trick. I wonder if I used someone elses hand to tickle me – but with my hand and movements, would I then be able to create the tickling sensation? I just don’t get it.

Winter is coming – it’s about time it left!


I must admit that I place myself in the “love for the winter” catagory, and like Ned Stark – I’m prepared when winter is coming with cuddly wearings. However, it feels like winter has been here for the time it took Zeus to grow that amazing beard of his, and now I just want to be smothered by the glorious feel of a warm sun. Our apartment is so cold, that it wouldn’t make any difference to sit here, or to have Edward Cullen desperately breathing on me with his freezing fumes.

There are many things, you can observe in this Antartica remake of London, and one of those things are the way we produce heat physically. When your hands are cold you creep them in a model of ‘Jesus Blessing Hands’ and blow on them with intention of producing instant heat. But then why do we at the same time blow on our hot food or drink to dip it down to a colder scale? How does that work when it’s the same heat used on polar things? It doesn’t really make any sense when you throw a brain bomb at it. I don’t put “(I’ve Had) the Time of my Life” on when I don’t feel like dancing, but somehow our inside air just does the job for both warm and cold. I just don’t get how?

Do a whales ears pop?


I’ve got a stream of random questions bashing through my head on a daily basis. Sometimes my brain activity sums up what people felt after Lady Gaga showed off her meatdress. Desperate for answers, and slighty confused. When is a question too ‘out there’ to verbalize officially, and avoiding the event of people reacting with a face like biting into the worlds last twinkie? What I’m going for is a more curious reaction like when people think they smell a fart. So here’s a question, that I decided, needs to be smothered with attention.  When whales are transported in airplanes, do their ears also pop like ours do? Expanding the question in my bubble of a brainset I came to study this in further detail. If a whales ears are built like a humans, would’nt they tense up with throbbing pain like we do when we dive in the deep? It would be quite inconvienient for a whale if this is true. I wonder if anyone ever dived and saw a whale move like a retarded sea giant because their ears are in constant pain, or are they in fact immune? And what about if you put a whale in the air? What happens to their ears? I just don’t get it.


Screw you, level three inception alarm.

Finding the right alarm tone might seem as simple as figuring out who’s gonna die in the next film starring Sean Bean. But this issue of alarm tones has turned my mornings into a mission more complicated than finding out who really did let the dogs out , I am though, extremely persistent to succeed in finding the right one. My troubled position concerns around a tone similar to the backing sounds of a film scene where a character is doing something sneaky. Kind of like  the Alton Tower’s theme tune. (click me, I will make sense of her ramblings) I’ve had this waking me up for as long as the time since someone said ‘Hey, let’s walk our Dinosaurs to the other end of the earth’. I have thought about changing it, but changing your alarm tone always succumbs to the force of bad timing. I set my alarm just before I crawl under the comfort of a thousand feathers, (cause that’s the only time where I remind myself I have to change it). But since I have been addicted to either Prison Break, Heroes or Lost for the last ten months, my bedtime has been pushed slightly further to the dark side. So when I’m there in the peak time of a stray cat’s meow just remembering that I wanted to change my alarm, everyone else is asleep! Which corrupts my intention of going through my IPhone’s alarm tunes library to pick a new tone. Also because it would wake up Leonardo DiCaprio in a third level inception dream from miles away. So I turn to the snuggles anyway, fearing the consequences of my idiot alarm in the morning. The curse of this particular alarm is that its beginning tunes are too low, so it sneaks into my dreams. Like a ninja. This event turns in to me Snorlax-ing away, while dreaming about me finding it impossible to turn my alarm off. In my dream, I hear my alarm going off and off, but either I can’t find it, or press the right buttons to stop from playing on loop. It totally dis-shapes my positive aura when I wake up. Wonder if this is something DiCaprio struggles with as well? Holla me, Leo if you read this.

Annoying things people do in queues.

In a lifetime, we probably spend the amount of years it took us to figure out that Santa isn’t real, on – waiting. That’s like the equivalent of having to watch Kristen Stewart cook rice . What a boost of wasteful discontent to your life. What I dislike most in the waiting category though, is queuing. When I’m queuing I never get that ‘Oh is it my turn already’ voice in my head. A sloth could learn the alphabet in the time it takes to get to your wanted destination after queuing. In addition, I find that some people in queues are like eels who always wanted to be dolphins – so they swim different than the rest of the stream, which ticks off the aura of the stream, and awkwardness like this arises:

… You get the idea. So without further ado, here’s my list of annoying things people do in queues.

1) I had been stuck on third floor at uni for hours, and suddenly just had to cave in a sandwich, before I would be mistaken for the-girl-who-really-has-to-back- one- out, since having an urge for the toilet, and being extremely hungry both looks like you are about to lay eggs. So I gracefully controlled my measures of hunger and got in the sandwich queue downstairs. Suddenly the guy in front – and behind me, realized that they knew each other, and started chatting away while I’m stood there in the middle feeling awkward. I was juggling with the idea of forcefully joining their conversation or letting the guy behind me move in front of me. But I was too hungry for that to be a wise idea, and I didn’t think that he was worthy of taking my spot. I personally think the most strategic move would be for the guy in front of me to move down at talk to his friend, face to face, and not face and awkward looking face and then to another face.

2) When I treat myself to fly back home I always luxuriously take off with Ryan Air. When boarding, they have two queues; One for normal bookings and one for priority bookings. They board people from the priority queue first, and half of that queue has a normal booking, cause totally blanked out the giant fattened blue sign that says ‘Priority only”. It’s like watching a fierce Amercia’s Next Top Model elimination, when these eels are asked to leave the priority queue. Why don’t people just read the sign?

3) I’ve witnessed two old men arguing about who has to put the split-thingie down on the conveyor belt, to separate their groceries. Has there ever been a rule for who has to put it down?!

4) People queuing for rollercoasters talking about rollercoaster accidents. It promptly sizzles a fear on top of my excitement for the ride – which is not a good mix of emotions.

5) People stepping back and stomping on your feet. Dude, it’s quite obvious that there will be someone behind you. – You are in a queue? Same thing goes for people with backpacks.

Check out the giggles for annoying things people do on airlplanes please go to:


What happens when a homeless man, his cat, and a drunk handicapped man argue?

Arguments are a peculiar thing when it’s witnessed from the eye of someone outside the angry fracture between the two argumenteers. In some cases they can lead to an agreement like the ‘waking up dead’ argument in scary movie 3 does, or it can become ever long like the ‘we were on a break’ argument between Ross and Rachel. A while ago I witnessed one of these Ross and Rachel arguments were you cannot help your giggles evolving even though they go on and on arguing.

Having taken the weight of my rubbershoes concealed feet, my arse was planking on an un-inviting disordered bench at Angel Tube station. Since my guilty pleasure is to watch cat videos on YouTube, (because I find cats as hilarious as Will Ferrel’s mouth) I quickly noticed that the homeless man outside the tube had a pet cat, and I treated the fact that he had a cat with gallant attention. Unlike others.

Suddenly this handicapped drunk rolled past me in his wheelchair like the speed of Charlie Sheen running in a marathon where the ending line is a made of coke. I could taste the scent of spirits galore on my lips as he passed me and headed straight for this poor homeless man. Out of his mouth he assembled a fierce oral diarrhea and busted it towards the homeless man. I quickly caught up, and putting his words into sense, he was raging about animal rights, while letting us all know that this homeless man is guilty of using his cat as a tool to beg for money. It’s not like it’s a wild panda he’s forced into captivity. When the homeless man told the drunk handicapped man to leave him and his cat alone, the whole situation upraised to the level of the awkwardness a Christmas dinner with Hannibal Lector and the Clarice would peak. The drunk handicapped man started rolling his wheel chair back and forth on the homeless man’s blanket while screaming out an abusive combination of words. This led to the cat feeling uncomfortable and it started meow-ing, which pushed the homeless man over the edge. Since you can’t really hit a handicapped man, he disappeared behind the walls of the tube, and came out with two police men, telling them take care of this drunk handicapped man who’s abusing him and his cat both verbally and with the force of his wheels. This pushed the drunk handicapped man over the edge, and he started wheeling and threatening the homeless man even more, until the police had to roll him away and cuff him up. I was sat there thinking… I don’t even know why I’m sitting here. Fate probably put me here, so I could enjoy this glorious random moment.