Friday, 30 December 2011

Keep Calm And Expecto Patronum

My friend Wetsoks and I were watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix a couple of days ago. I'd refer to her as New Fleetch (tm) but I cannot bring myself to use the nickname for anyone other than the original Fleetchsta. You know what they say - a Fleetch by any other name won't smell exactly like couch and Oreos (I do enjoy old proverbs).

Wetsoks: I can't get the playstation to choose English as a region. Shall we go with Australia?

Me: Wouldn't it be great if the entire film was dubbed in Australian accents?

Wetsoks: Ha! "These Hogwarts sheilas are crazy!"

Me: I love it.  "You're a wizard, mate." "I'm a what?" I'm not sure I could take Voldemort seriously as a villain if he had an Australian accent though.

Halfway through the film, Wetsoks turned to me again.

Wetsoks: See, this is the problem with Harry Potter. And don't get me wrong, I love it, but when you think about it...

Me: What?

Wetsoks: It's like - Film One: "It's a trap!" "Nah...Oh. It was." Film Two: "It's a trap!" "Nah... Oh. It was." Film Three: "Seriously, it's a fucking trap!" "Nah... Oh. It was." By the time you get to the Goblet of Fire, you're wondering how Harry has managed to stay alive whilst being so stupid.

Me: Well, he's had help a lot of the time.

Wetsoks: That's the other thing - have you noticed that Hermione gets things done? Harry will sit around uselessly for a while 'figuring stuff out', and then Hermione will Make. Shit. Happen.

Me: It would have been interesting if the books were written from her point of view. I'd have liked to see Hermione take on the Dark Lord. "It's not Avada KEdavra, it's Avada KeDAVra. Honestly, Tom. How many OWLs did you get?"

Wetsoks: Look at Sirius now - "I'll just wander a bit closer to this Mysterious Archway of Death, shall I?"

Me: "I'm not sure that's a good-"

Wetsoks: "No, it's fine! There's absolutely nothing sinister at all about the Mysterious Archway of Death, hanging in the middle of the room for no reason. Why don't I just stand next to it, in a precarious sort of position, while this dangerous battle rages on around me?"

Me: You speak truth, bro.

There was a brief pause.

Wetsoks: I also wish there was more McGonagall.

Me: Oh, totally.

We spent the remainder of  the film shrieking every line in faux Maggie Smith impersonations (despite the fact that both of us are Scottish anyway, we hammed it up quite a bit). This activity improves other films too, so I recommend it highly, but possibly only for private screenings.

Thursday, 29 December 2011

Let's Get Chickenlust

Merry Christmas to you all, my lovely otterminions, and a Happy New Year!

As we all know, New Year is a time for many things. It is a time for loving and sharing and caring and giving, but mostly it is a reason to drink a lot and make promises to yourself that you don't really intend to keep (naturally, this makes it one of my favourite occasions). Since I've been on holiday, I have missed my colleagues a lot. We spend so much time together on a daily basis that they feel like my extended family (also possibly because some of them feed me like a mother hen tending to one runty chick and in my simple book, food = love) and the shock of spending my mornings alone with my PS3 has caused me to reminisce more than I normally would.

There were a couple of different moments during the past month which I'd like to talk about here, because they amused me greatly. The first took me quite by surprise, one cold Wednesday morning.

Colleague: Do you have a moment?

Me: Sure, what's up?

Colleague: I can't find my Blu Tack.

Me: Um...

Colleague: On my phone.

Me: Your what?

Colleague: My Blu Tack.

Me: Do you mean your Bluetooth?

Colleague: Yes, that.

I honestly couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. Keeping a straight face was incredibly difficult and required a superhuman amount of precision and willpower, so I gave up and simply laughed hysterically at her for ten minutes or so. Which leads me to to the next anecdote, featuring the unfortunate but delicious power of Chickenlust. Please let me explain, before you begin to edge away, that this has nothing to do with a lust for live chickens. Stop edging! You were edging!

The Chickenlust is something that happens to me once I have reached a particular stage of drunknness. Now, those of you who know me well (and since I write about my life here, I assume that's pretty much all of you - with the possible exception of my parents who managed to buy me something I am allergic to for Christmas, bless their hearts) will know that once I hit drinks 6 through 8 I start to think about chicken. Any meat will suffice, really, but for some reason chicken will be the main focus of my obsession. I will talk incessantly about chicken, make every effort to obtain some chicken - often through elaborate plans better suited to an episode of Pinky and the Brain. My desire for chicken at this point is so strong that Laura Dern could walk through the room naked and I probably wouldn't notice unless she was covered in grilled fillets. My friends have learned to anticipate and dread the Chickenlust with all the nervousness of watching a grenade bounce into the room and roll under a couch.

Me: So, in essence, that is the Chickenlust. I don't even really remember it, but apparently it happens a lot.

Colleague: Interesting. But tell me, have you ever eaten an Easter Egg while in the bath?

Me: Um... I can't say that I have.


Me: Ooh! Challenge accepted.

I'm making a note of this now and in a few months, if I remember, I will carry out the above experiment and report back. New Years' Resolution 1 - Do More Science. It's for the good of all of us, except the ones who are dead.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

A True Wizard On The Inside

Since the Fleetch's departure is drawing near, I found myself reminiscing about all the good times we have shared together. I wanted to compile a post which summarised all the strange things we yell at each other on a daily basis (and things that have happened but aren't enough to make an entire blog post themselves, and things that are just so damn weird I almost worry about writing them down in case they develop legs and crawl back into Reality as fully-fledged creatures) so here they are:

- "Heads up!" (as I threw half a loaf at the back of the Fleetch's head)

- If we are online talking over MSN, we say "On-Lion! We are On-Lions!" as a reference to the Thundercats fan video (mentioned a few posts ago)

- our running joke about putting a sock on the door handle if one of us is ever entertaining a lady in our bedroom ("Hey Fleetch, you left your sock on the door handle! Fleetch! Did you know? FLEETCH! I'll bring it in. Let me just switch on the light and loudly crash in, yelling your name. Oh, you're in here with someone? Sorry. Let me just put this sock on my own foot, slowly, and I'll leave.")

- Because we spend so long yelling 'fleetch' at each other, it developed into a game of words that sounds like 'fleetch', such as 'steve', 'peach', 'cheese' and so forth. We assume the neighbours hate us and our games. ("They're doing it again!"  "Carol, really, you have to let this go."  "No! It's 8 in the morning and they are yelling one syllable words at each other. WHY?"  "...I'm beginning to wonder if we got married too fast.")

Although these are all completely genius, I think the best example that sums up our time together happened last week. I went to the bathroom, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. As I walked in, I caught sight of my facewash, and then I began to laugh hysterically, because this is what I saw.

Me: Fleetch?

Fleetch: FLEETCH!

Me: I... love what you've done with my products.

Fleetch: I'm expressing my artistic side.

Me: Uh huh.

Fleetch: And spreading the message of Yo Momma. And by message, I mean her legs.

Me: Dude. You're the best. Around. Nothing's gonna ever keep you down.

Fleetch: I know.

Me: If I'd been asked, I would have assumed you'd have gone for the 'Blueberry Cream Pie' first. It's the most obvious joke.

Fleetch: I'll get to that in time. This is just the beginning. Say, you haven't been in your sock drawer yet, have you?

Me: ....No?

Fleetch: Oh, good.

To cap this off, I want to show you an amazing video which one of my Twitter friends recommended earlier this week. Since the Fleetch's favourite Harry Potter character is Snape, I feel it is an apt way to end this post.

So, otterminions, please raise your glasses to my Fleetch, who is indeed a true wizard on the inside (even if she is a Slytherin), and the best friend a girl could ever have.
I'll miss you so much, dude.

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

The Birds And The Butterflies

In order to explain this post's conversations, I have to give a little information to get you up to speed. The Fleetch finished up work about a month ago and since then has apparently done her best to fuse her body to the fibres of our couch by spending as much time as humanly possible on it. I was beginning to question whether she'd ever had legs at all, since it was so long since I'd seen them.

In any case, she'd been reading a lot of fanfiction, sometimes repeating the best/worst (these terms are interchangable where fanfiction is concerned) parts out loud to me as I play video games. These nights have been possibly the most hilarious nights of my life. I have heard eyes described as "orbs" and boobs described as "globes" more times than I care to remember. I have heard many ridiculous euphemisms for sex, and many farcical situations have been described to me ("Okay, so in this one, Luna is Hermione's psychologist-"  "No. Stop right there.") in which everyone is equally satisfied with the performance (rarely true), people orgasm simultaneously with multiple other characters (a level of personal time management and organisation that impresses me more than anything), and occasionally people frolic with animals (hey, whatever floats your otter-shaped boat *wink*).

Fleetch: (giggling) Listen to this one- "In Hermione's stomach, the butterflies were wailing."

Me: Ha!

Fleetch: "Wailing", dude. The butterflies were "wailing".

Me: (button mashing) Do butterflies have throats?

Fleetch: I'm pretty sure they aren't capable of howling.

Me: That's such a weird choice of word.

Fleetch: It would have been better if the author had meant "whaling".

Me: (pausing my game) I'm sorry, but "the butterflies in Hermione's stomach were whaling" is not a less confusing sentence.

Fleetch: Just imagine it. "Stupid whales, taking up all the mass. We weigh like a gram! Do you know how that makes us feel? UNDERAPPRECIATED! Die, large sea mammals, die! Man the harpoons, butterfly brethren!"

Me: Huh. I guess no one expects the butterflies. Do they wail while they whale?

Fleetch: Of course they do.

Me: (unpausing) Glad we sorted that out. Oh, hey, you know what we should read? My Immortal, the worst fanfic ever written.

Fleetch: I think I tried to read that once.

We found an audio version on YouTube (link here for those of you brave enough to take this titan on) and listened to the first ten chapters in hysterics.

Fleetch: Dark-apostrophe-ness! That's what I'm calling my first child. "Dark'ness Enoby Fleetcherella".

Me: He or she may have a hard time writing that on his or her nursery school paintings.

Fleetch: I can't believe this story. Seriously. "It was snowing and raining at the same time". Bullshit! That doesn't happen.

Me: It does in Emo Angst Land. Snowing AND raining! When one weather condition isn't gothic enough!

Fleetch: You know what my favourite part was?

Me: When Dumbledore, totally in character, yelled "what are you doing, you motherfuckers?"

Fleetch: You know me so well.

That might have been the end of it (since we stopped listening in order to preserve what sanity we had left) except for one thing. As you probably know from the news, the weather here in Scotland has been appalling over the past few days (hashtag #hurricanebawbag in case anyone is interested). Last night, while the Fleetch and I were watching tv, the streetlight outside our window flickered. I glanced up just in time to see what was unmistakably both snow and rain falling at the same time.

Me: (in horror) Fleetch! No!

Fleetch: I saw it too! Oh god, what have we done?!

Me: I feel so ashamed. We mocked that for ages and it turns out we are meterologically ignorant.

Fleetch:. ... Screw it. That story was stupid. We're still smart. Right?

Me: ...Um. Sure.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

The Electric Kool-Aid Blanket Test

I recently bought an electric blanket for myself, because the windows in my flat appear to be made of rice paper and let in a draft that could power a windmill. It's nice to crank the blanket up before bed and then slide into a mass of hot, steamy blanket soup. I find it soothing, like a mug of warm milk, or the sight of Laura Dern's beautiful face. The Fleetch, however, reacted quite differently on her first meeting with the blanket. In hindsight, given all that I know of her, I really should have seen this coming.

Me: Go on, try it.

Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.

Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.

Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.

Me: I know.

Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!

Me: I know.

Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!

Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.

Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!

Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?

Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.

Me: Please step away from the bed.

Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.

Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.

Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.

Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.

Sunday, 4 December 2011

That's The Power Of Scarves

Today has been an awesome day in many respects. I went shopping with my parents and my cousin, which led to many amusing conversations. It turns out my mother has discovered a new hobby - making scarfs. She's using special wool, which means that they are not really knitted, but more like parted gently into a sea of strings. They do look very pretty, I admit.

Mum: (proudly showing me a green scarf) So, what do you think?

Me: (squinting) It... kind of looks like seaweed.

Mum: (indignantly) Oh, thanks!

Me: In a good way.

Mum: I made a red one too. Your dad got a bit too enthusiastic about the colour.

Dad: (enthusiastically) It was just so warm! I told her it would go incredibly well with a smart black blazer.

Me: That's very metrosexual of you. Well done.

Mum: Yes, and then he came downstairs later that evening with not a stitch on apart from the scarf and a black blazer.

Dad: And didn't it look fabulous?

Mum: Well... yes, I suppose it did.

Me: Ha!

Cousin: I don't know why you ever moved out. This is hilarious.

Me: Exactly this reason.

When I got home, the Fleetch was in her usual place on the couch, surrounded by cats, but before long she came bounding into my room.

Fleetch: Dude. I saw the best video ever on YouTube today.

Me: Oh really?

Fleetch: It's about scarves.

Me: You have my attention.

We watched this video through once without stopping, and spent the entire time squeeing in rapturous delight.

Me: Oh my god. This is the best video ever.

Fleetch: Isn't it? ISN'T IT?

Me: I can't believe I was limiting myself to so few ways to wear my scarf. The European Loop and the Modern One Loop were my staple scarf-moves.

Fleetch: I know, fleetch. I know.

Me: I was so blind and now I can see.

Fleetch: Let's watch again and do them all.

Me: Best. Idea. Ever.

And so we did. We mastered the Double Infinity, the Magic Trick and many more. Even the Mens Tie, which has given me problems in the past (due to my complete inability to follow instructions - see previous mentions of being unable to successfully put together Lego), was my bitch. Afterwards, we performed a small impromptu hugging joyful dance in celebration of the fact that we now have the ability to wear our accessories in different ways (in my case, my collection of 18 scarves, which I firmly believe is a reasonable number) which was possibly the gayest thing to happen in our flat for some time. We scarfed so good, otterminions. We scarfed all over the place. Now go forth and scarf others. I believe in you. And the power of scarves.