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Profile for Lieutenant Colonel Oblivious:
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http://maggiebloome.livejournal.com/profile

Quite a lot of my stories here have been on my Livejournal at some point or another. That's really all the lj consists of, apart from a bit poetry and occasional fanfiction.

I'm a Ukrainian Aussie starting uni, biding my time till the inevitable zombie apocalypse.

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Best answers to questions:

» I met a weirdo on the interweb

Bloody Merkins.
The weirdest person online? Well, I had quite a lengthy conversation with several people who were sharing a head once, but they were all quite nice actually.

So the winner will have to be Crazy Nazi. Here's the deal:

I was, at the time, involved in roleplay on Nationstates - it was a game where you create a country, the actual game just keeps track of your economy and stuff but some of us would play out the actual stories of diplomacy and war in the forums.

So this 18yrold fellow I was RPing with, he has this nation which is basically Nazi America. In his imaginary world, which he said several times is his ideal real life world, most of Asia is a nuclear wasteland and blacks, gays and weird people get lynched. All his characters were lecherous middle-aged men. My first ambassador to his nation left since she couldn't get anywhere without sleeping with anyone, and I was fourteen at the time so that was a resounding NO. My second one was run out of the country for being gay (so I didn't read his rules properly until then...)

I had several conversations with him over msn, and he was exactly as freaky as his country. He spent quite a lot of time arguing with me about the genetic deficiency of Jews and blacks. He even linked me to all these dodgy articles.

One time, in response to a "what's up?", he said "Oh, not much, I was just out buying ammo for my AK-47."

Stop. Re-read. AK-47.

I reasonably reacted with a bit of a WTF and some scepticism... whereupon he promptly proceeds to switch on his webcam and WAVE A HUGE FUCKING GUN AROUND.

Well, aside from the fact that he was CLEARLY compensating for SOMETHING, it makes me quite glad that I don't live in America when I think about the fact that someone that prejudiced is armed, and still out there... that's if he hasn't done something stupid and been arrested yet.
(Fri 17th Mar 2006, 11:04, More)

» Buses

longwinded post is longwinded
I used to work at Bakers Delight when I was fifteen, and occasionally brought scones to school. Now, my friends hung out in a computer room, we weren't allowed to eat in the computer rooms, so I was joking about the clandestine manner in which I was distributing them - like people were gonna be coming up to me in dark alleyways and going "pssst... got any... *shifty eyes* ...scones?" And the police would tape the conversation and go "hmmm... 'scones' must be a codeword for... CRACK!!"

At this point my friend Nicky burst out laughing and sprayed crumbs everywhere. "I'll never be able to look at a scone seriously again! ...not that I did in the first place. But, you know."

All this is a prelude to me on the bus home, telling my bus friends about that conversation, and Jenny, a girl in the grade below us,
asked "Wait, what's crack again?"

I said "Cocaine, don't you listen in PD?" (which some of you may know as Health class or similar)

The following hilarious middle-class-teenage-girl conversation ensued:

"No, who the hell listens in PD? So what's pot then?"
"Marijuana. Cannabis. It's a plant."
"Right, so crack is nicotine?"
"...no."
"No, that's not, I mean, right. So pot is tobacco-"
"LOOK, OKAY!"
"Argh, wait no, what?"
"Tobacco is nicotine. Nicotine is tobacco. Pot is marijuana/cannabis, which is a plant. Crack is cocaine, which is... I don't actualy know what it's made of."

And at this point... the bus driver chimed in. "It's a white powder made of ground up leaves of the coca plant," he said. "It's used to [bit I wasn't listening to cos I wasn't entirely sure he was talking to us. How often does your bus driver spontaneously lecture you about the medicinal properties of recreational drugs?] Lots of ancient cultures and things used it."

Us: Uh... thanks?
Me: Wait, coca plant? Like chocolate?
Jenny: I don't think so.
Bus Driver: No, but it's in the same family.
Us: Okay. That's... nice?

Thanks, druggie bus driver.
(Mon 29th Jun 2009, 16:36, More)

» School fights

Well, actually...
We don't have fights at my school because we are Well Brought Up Young Ladies(TM).

The teachers have fights instead. Rar, the rivalry in the Art faculty... well, let me tell you about a certain Ms W.

This woman was actually clinically insane, but they didn't want to fire her because it might look Prejudiced (oh noes), so they just put her on a years suspension. Somehow she got it into her head that when she came back she was going to be Head of Art. In fact, Ms S was made head of art. You can see where this is heading, right?

So the announcement is made. Zoya (who I heard this from) was visiting Ms S's class to talk about missed homework or something, when Ms W walkes in...

Ms W: YOU FUCKING BITCH!
Class: ._.
Ms S: Um... *discretely points at ickle year eights*
Ms W: [Lengthy rant about how Ms S tricked her out of the head of Art position, has been conspiring against her for five years and arranged to take the position from her just cos she hates her]
Class: O_O *edges back in seats*
Zoya: *still at the front* *cowers*
Ms S: *frantically trying to placate crazylady* Oh, no, I'm sure it's just because I have... management skills, you're the more artistic one, you have a... creative spirit!
Ms W: Don't you patronise me! I'll teach you to steal peoples jobs! *grabs short Ms S by the shoulders and pushes her into the art storage room and locks the door* Who's so great NOW, huh?
Class: |O_O|
Ms W: And you can STAY THERE! In fact I'm going to throw away the keys! *stalks towards the window*
Class: *terrified* {someone should stop her?} {are YOU volunteering?}
Ms W: Oh, fuck it. *Throws keys at wall and storms out*
Class: *Sits in stunned silence for about thirty seconds*
Ms S: *in muffled tones from behind the store-room door* Um, girls? ...could you please let me out?

Ms S is let out and tries to tell the class that Ms W has issues at home, it's alright and they don't have to tell anyone. Meanwhile Ms W is pacing outside the class room screaming at the top of her voice and breaking things. Ripping artwork off the walls and stuff and destroying HSC artworks

And do you know what she actually got fired for? The HSC artwork thing. Not for locking somebody in a CLOSET, oh no, (well maybe partly for that) for destroying the artwork, which apparantly she had done before. Although admittedly it being about a month before the due date would NOT be pleasant for the students it belonged to.

There are Other tales about this teacher, but they don't involve fighting, so it would be a bit of a stretch...
(Mon 13th Mar 2006, 10:30, More)

» God

Fucking Pascal and his fucking gambling addiction
I cannot tell you how SMUG proponents of Pascal's Wager are when they throw it in your face. (If you've no clue what I'm talking about, look it up. go on. I'll wait.)

They're never actual Faithful types, either. They don't engage with their religion on any meaningful level, they basically just use it to score points and feel superior to atheists.

Then I point out to them that given the complete and utter absence of evidence in favour of any particular religion, if all you want is to cover your ass on the off-chance that there's an afterlife of some kind you ought to pick the friendliest religion you can find. After all, there's no greater or lesser odds for it than for the one you belong to now, is there, the one you happen to have been brought up in or that happens to be dominant in your region or social class, right?

You'd be amazed how many of them completely fail to immediately convert to unitarianism or buddhism or something.

Don't lay claim to a rationalism you don't even remotely possess, fuckers.
(Sun 22nd Mar 2009, 11:30, More)

» Darwin Awards

My social life was somewhat more exciting when I was fourteen than it is now i'm turning twenty
Owing in large part to my best friend at the time, M, who was something of the party animal. (Operative word "was" - she's since sworn off all drugs and whatnot and last I heard was studying law and considering a move to New Zealand. *shrug*)

We made friends at the Saturday school where our respective parents sent us to learn Russian - and learn it we did, to this day I do not know what the word "conjugate" means (unless it has to do with marital relations) but I can recite the mnemonic for a list of terms in a grammatical category that just plain does not exist in English. Also there was poetry and this old guy lecturing us about the Soviet Union, my memories are a bit fuzzy on that bit as I actually spent most of my Saturdays soaking in M's bad influence (by which I mean letting her convince me to let her demonstrate the principles of eyeliner on me using a lead pencil).

Anyway, the point is I would not have met her without the Baconesque limits of Russian cultural circles as her everyday social life was not generally conducted in the same spaces as mine. I wouldn't have traded it for the world though, she was a bitch but she was a lot of fun.

Like the eyeliner pencil there were a number of things I let her talk me into that could probably be considered unwise, suicidally moronic even, but somehow by the luck that watches over children, fools and extremely foolish children nothing terrible ever happened to me. Chief among the scrapes she led me into was the adventure which follows. EVERY decision in this story was a MONUMENTALLY bad idea - and yet!

We meant to go ice-skating of an afternoon, followed by a sleepover. Now the only proper ice rinks in Sydney happen to be in suburbs reachable only be a half-hour train trip, so onto the train we hopped.

"Hang on a sec," she said nonchalantly. "We have to get off here."

"This is not the ice rink." says I.

"It's okay," says she, "there are no ticket gates here, we can just hop off and get my weed and get right back on again."

"Wait, what?" says I as she disembarks, but follow like a little duckling because I am a sheep. (Any relations between sheep and ducks are strictly hypothetical but were I a madder scientist (technically, were I a sciencier madwoman) I would create a Shuck or perhaps a Deep just to test the limits of the herd mentality. But I digress.)

So there we were in a dodgy little suburb named Punchbowl, rather appropriately I thought as it was watery, contained unknown quantities of intoxicants and had little floating bits you don't really want to identify. M's appointment with her dealer was apparently set for the porch of Punchbowl Public School, so on the porch we sat and waited. For over an HOUR before she finally decided her dealer wasn't showing up, so she rang up some other bloke she knew and then said "Nothing to worry about, friend of a friend is coming round, we'll be out of here in no time."

Well the friend of a friend turned out to be a pair of thirty-something highly sleazy Lebanese blokes, one stout and one skinny, straight from a cartoon about a plucky young lad foiling dastardly yet extremely stupid bank robbers. The fat one sleazed at M for a bit as she sent me increasingly desperate looks, which I answered in eyebrow-morse that translated roughly to "I don't know what do you want ME to do about it you got us into this mess!"

Finally she apparently decided they either didn't have any weed or didn't want to accept cash for it if you know what I mean, so made some excuses and we slunk off, drugless and late, back to the station. Where she happened to run into somebody who DID sell her some weed, so at least she was happy.

Anyway, after all that we made our way to the ice rink. It was after dark by this point, but I figured that was okay, it was light inside!

But no. No, she had run into STILL MORE random Lebanese blokes one of whom she apparently knew, thankfully this time a little closer to our age, sitting around outside the rink. So we stopped to chat, naturally. And then we accepted a ride back to the Eastern Suburbs. NATURALLY.

Of course the ride back was interrupted by HELLO THERE SCENIC DETOUR to a suburb whose name I don't recall, only that it started with a W or a Y or some such arse end of the alphabet letter to match its arse end of the world location vis a vis any bus or train routes at all ever. Where, OF COURSE, the blokes and M piled into a little townhouse to smoke some weed.

Now smoke of any sort is not my favourite thing in the world unless it's coming from something I can roast marshmallows on. My Sheepling tendencies were getting a bit strained here, so after a bit I went and sat outside on the steps mentally bitching about my failure of an evening. It was midnight and my parents did not know where I was. I had of course told them about the sleepover, handily skipping the bit where any part of the evening was going to happen anywhere other than M's house. I pouted.

After what I figured must have been a reasonable amount of time for M to get high and feel like going home to make toast, I wandered back inside and suggested we do exactly that. At this point, as my dad likes to say, "oshibochka vishla." Turns out, of course, that the guy among that lot whom M had actually MET before, was no longer willing to provide transport allll the way back to M's place. Luckily one of the other blokes was quite taken with her and offered to drive us instead.

M of course rode shotgun in order to flirt some more, leaving me to climb into the back seat, which was notably lacking in working seatbelts. Once we got on the highway M's paramour cheerfully informed us that he "bloody hoped we didn't get pulled over as me license is suspended."

So there I am, in sum, a sheltered fourteenyearold whose parents think she is currently painting her nails and reading Girlfriend with her best mate (not an activity I have ever actually engaged in), sitting with no seatbelt on in the back seat of a car in some godforsaken suburb whose name I can't pronounce driven by a man who a) is not technically legal to drive because of unspecified road-safety-related offences and b) has just spent half an hour in a small stuffy room inhaling large quantities of a drug not know for making people sharper, and all I can think is "I didn't even get to go ice skating. I hope we don't crash and die or my parents will ground me forever and I really want to learn how to go backwards."

Miraculously we did not crash and die, nor did we get pulled over. We reached her apartment in perfect safety. M exchanged numbers with the guy and sent him off and we went upstairs and made cookies.

Good times, good times.
(Mon 16th Feb 2009, 16:27, More)
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