Intervention!

It has come to my attention that Sirius, my Mac, has an unhealthy obsession with Shakira. Nay, he is addicted. To her dulcet tones, to her hips not lying, and to her pleading for him not to bother. 
I quote from my conversations with Glen:

Me: Sirius appears to be in a Shakira mood tonight...

Glen: Dare I ask?

Me: Last 5 songs have all been Shakira... And this is on a 2000-or-so song long playlist that is being shuffled... clearly, Sirius has a love interest.

Glen: LOL... 'Whenever, wherever, Sirius and Shakira will be together'

Me: Hahahahaha! OH MY GOSH, SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH SIRIUS.

Hehehehe, that sentence still makes me giggle, read it aloud. 

Anyway, what song is now playing? La Tortura. Shakira feat. Alejandro Sanz. This is more than infatuation.

This is a serious love.

Glen: LOL

Me: If the next one is Shakira, forgive me, but I'm going to have to start drafting intervention plans and painting a sign.

Glen: I almost hope it is now just to see your reaction.

Me: I sort of hope it is too... I've never held an intervention... Nope. Sirius has realised I'm onto him. He's now gone on a 20-song streak of no Shakira... And she's back... Do I have due cause for an intervention?

Glen: LOL, yes. Yes you do.

So my very first intervention must be staged to help Sirius. I consulted Google with 'how to stage a successful intervention' and came up with this site, titled - lo and behold! - How to Stage a Successful Intervention.
Jared More, I offer my sincerest thanks for your article. Together, we may help Sirius get out of this horrible place he's in.

If you feel your friend or family member is steeped in a dangerous addiction, staging an intervention can be an effective way to get that person to seek help.

Well, Sirius is definitely addicted. And I think it's rather dangerous. It's like Don Juan de Marco... centrefold/singer from Colombia addiction and infatuation is unhealthy.

Go to the people around him or and speak to them privately about the idea of an intervention. You want the people closest to him, who care about him, and who he cares about as well. Even if you do not like someone who he cares about, it’s important to let these biases be put aside for the purpose of this. If he doesn’t care about the people confronting him, it won’t work. He has to respect these people, and value their opinions. The threat of these people walking out on him needs to have great impact. 

After discussing this with Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Lupin via email, James via telepathic communication, Harry via the iPod dock, Stanley and Glen, our group is formed. Sirius holds great respect for his fellow Marauders and his godson, and as the man behind his construction and the man responsible for Microsoft Office on his hard drive, he clearly respects Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Sirius also respects me, as his owner, and Glen, as Glen is knowledgeable about computers.
So if this does not scare Sirius into submission, I don't know what will.

It may be beneficial to talk to an interventionist, who can guide you through the intervention process and, if requested, be present during the intervention. Having an addiction specialist present can help moderate the group if the group does not know what they are doing. 

Consulting the How I Met Your Mother cast should do the trick. Right, next.

The group should meet beforehand to lay out how they will approach the addict and what they will say to him. Treatment options should be researched in advance, so that help can be suggested and offered immediately. It may be good for everyone to have a speech or something to say written out beforehand, so that everyone’s impact can be felt on the person. That way, everyone can adjust their speeches if they sound too blaming, rather than loving.

I have decided to go with, "Sirius, I am concerned about you. You have been infatuated with Shakira for far too long. In response to your inevitably defensive look, it is a fact. We still love you, however. We just want you to get help." [open arms for a hug]
As for treatment plans, I vote a heavy dosage of the Beatles or Coldplay. If that does not work, we move in for the kill by borrowing Chris's copious amounts of Kanye West.
Kanye will interrupt even the most stubborn of fetishes.

Following the intervention, the addict will either admit it or deny it. If he admits it, escort him to his place, help him pack a bag, and take him to a treatment center for admission. If he denies it, unfortunately, the ultimatum’s consequences must begin immediately. Hopefully, the lack of his loved ones supporting him will prompt him to take action in a few days.

If Sirius denies all of our truthful arguments, that's it. I pull out his cord for a day and rely on Harry to fulfil all musical requirements.

NOTE: I am aware that Sirius is a computer and wholly relies on computing patterns and binary code and other technical terms to formulate his playlist.
But I am dramatic and I wanted to write a story. Why would I pass this opportunity up? 


UPDATE: So on Saturday the 14th, just when I'd gotten past the looks of disbelief at my claim of Sirius being in love with Shakira, I put on some music and left Trina and Nick in my room while I made dinner.
Trina came out a bit later.
"Tash," she said, sort of hesitantly (because prior to that I'd been on a deathrage), "Sirius is playing a lot of Shakira."
"How much is a lot?"
"Last 10 or so songs."
I was nervous. "He's still on shuffle, right?"
"Yeah, we haven't touched him."
I strained to hear. Sure enough, Sirius was playing Illegal. 
I can't be bothered giving him consequences, though I did stubbornly play Chartjackers all night long and now they've taken over my Top 25 most played.

And I might as well enquire why, with so evident a design of insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your better judgment!

Hey, Tash, what are you doing?
Hey, Random Questioner. Just watching Pride and Prejudice. 
Didn't you watch that yesterday?
Yeah, so?
And the day before?
What of it?
And pretty much every day this week?
[insert witty comeback]

Yes, I've been watching much Pride and Prejudice, and Austen-related stuff. I'd like to say it means something. It probably doesn't, because there's no use trying to deconstruct life. You do that, you take away the beauty of spontaneity, and the wonder that life always creates.
Life is here for the taking. That's all we need to know.

Prettiness aside, today marked a return to something which I believe was aptly documented by myself, a few weeks ago, on my calendar:

SEMESTER 2 OH NOES!

Semester 2. Oh no indeed. I am slightly okay about its impending doom/wrath/taking away from my naps, but it could be worse. As I found out, sitting calmly in my 102 lecture this afternoon (though also wondering if I punched Lupin for being slow and freezing, would it count as abuse/animal cruelty/violence against machinery, Australia Says No), there is an 8am lecture for 102. 
I should feel pity for those stuck in that lecture, but I don't. As previously discussed, I put in the effort for once, and won in the realm of awesome uni timetables. I feel relief.  
Anyway, so uni is on again tomorrow. 2 hours there. Wednesday, 1 hour there. And then, what's that hitting me in the face? Oh yeah, that's my weekend, because it begins on Thursday.


Whoa, scene change, Pride and Prejudice. Darcy is failing, ever so cutely, and Lizzie is shutting the man downnnn.


What? Right, I'm sane. I promise. Hey, what are you doing with that straitjacket? Did you look at my friend's Facebook wall where I conversed with Christian from Moulin Rouge? Well, I don't care. This is like a constant hug. You'll never defeat me!


Ahem.

So, for something of worth, I went to Mana Bar last night. Again. Trina, my lovely pal who I have mentioned, also came along, as did Nick. I told our Mana-pal Matthew that Nick was my step-father, and Trina was my mother. 
(Trina is 1 month older than me but Trina has the epicskillzors.)
And we had a Sunshine crew accompanying us. Joe, Stanfield, and the new guy on the block, Nathan.
-Stanfield, if you met Nathan before you met me, now is not the time to mention it, 'kay?-
We had picnics, at Roma Street Parklands. They have swings, I forgot to use them. We went to my church, it was radicalfuns. (Joe knew more people than I did. It was embarrassing.) Then we went Mana Bar hopping, and Guitar Hero funs was had. Some fighting game funs were had. Raskulls funs were had. 
Walking along the Valley streets, shivering, notsofuns were had.
Drinking water from a square bottle thirstily funs were had.
I could go on for awhile.
There were the Mac/PC debates, and then talking in jargon about IT topics and gamer topics which danced, cackling with immense glee, over my head. Instead, I reverted to Shakespeare. In my head there was a combination of shallicomparetheetoasummer'sday and trying in vain to remember Shakespeare's grave inscription. (I know it now. The gist and nub is essentially, Move mah bones, suckah, and I'll put a moooove onnnn yoouuuuu!) 
It was great, it was spectacular, we went to a park.
I ate Kool Fruits (HECK YES. Love you, Spar in the Valley) and sat nicely on a net. Stanfield swung from side to side. Joe balanced himself on top of a pole which was a great effort there. Nathan exchanged sarcastic remarks with myself.


Tiredation. This post has taken far too long to write as I am now contemplating waging a war with my brain. Bring. It. Ownnnnnn.

Inner Monologues

A friend informed me that my inner monologues, when transcribed to paper/computer, are really quite confusing. I’m on the verge of an inner monologue and I want to see how true this is.

Me: Mwahahahahaha. 1.5 hrs til I have to go to the city.
Me2: What are you going to do?
Me: Eh. Facebook.
Me2: Your room’s kind of messy.
Me: What are you, my mother? Get outta here!
Me3: What about the kitchen?
Me: I hate you all.
Me3: Look, don’t rag on us just because we’re right.
Me2: Yeah, you have a red bucket in your room filled with paper.
Me: I will move that. Eventually… anyway, who cares?
Me2: Why don’t you have a snack? Kathryn bought you bread. You could attempt another omelette.
Me: Sounds appealing.
Me3: But you have to clean the kitchen to do that.
Me: I am not a maid.
Me2: You should hire one.
Me: HA! Have you looked at me?! I’m broke.
Me3: If you got a job….
Me: Oh, right, because people hand those out everywhere.
Me2: She does have a point.
Me: Thankyou.
Me3: I still don’t understand your aversion to cleaning the kitchen.
Me: You have to unstack the dishwasher, pack the dishwasher, unstack the drying rack, fill the sink, scrub aimlessly, then leave. AND THEN THE CYCLE STARTS AGAIN.
Me2: [facepalm] Oh no.
Me: Oh no, what?
Me2: You’re not going into your existentialist phase, are you?
Me: What? No! I believe there is more to life.
Me2: So the whole, ‘endless cycle of dishes’ is not pointing towards the fact that you’d really consider life a meaningless drudgery of tasks that have no redeeming qualities?
Me: My head hurts.
Me3: Mwahahahaha, you tell her.
Me2: [high fives Me3]
Me: Why must you two conspire against me?
Me2: Look, Tash, it’s your own fault. If you’d suggested something DECENT to do, we’d not be nagging.
Me3: Think of us as your Jiminy Crickets.
Me: Is drawing on my Converses a decent task?
Me3: No.
Me: Reading?
Me3: No.
Me: Attacking the killjoy?
Me3: No.
Me: [sigh] Well. Perhaps we could… umm… clean the kitchen and eat?
Me2: You’re a bright one.
Me: Really?
Me2: Yes.
Me: Awwh! Thanks!
Me2: [raises eyebrow]
END INNER MONOLOGUE.

Now, I’ve just realised, this isn’t technically a monologue. But as the leads are all variations of myself, I’m keeping it that way.
Confusing?
I hope not.
Good day.

(Kathryn, your phone calls telling me you’ll meet me at 2, rather than 1, and with slight concern over my sleeping habits prompt these.)

Sadface.

The sadness comes from an unfortunate incident at the library today.

Me: [about a million books, crammed into a bag] Returning books! Halting overdue fines!
I am notorious for overdues.
Me: [wanders over to holds section] And lookie here! A hold for me! Hurrah! [attempts to borrow book] Why flashing red, screen of general love? Dost thou hate on me? [wanders over to counter, pays off fees and tries again] Confusion! Excuse me, library sir? Why is my card blocked?
Library man: [scans card] You have $23 of overdues when that pile of books is processed.
[cue dramatic music]

So, yeah. Brisbane City Library users, I hope you’re happy. I fund your books. Now one of you must give me a job so this cycle can continue.

Anyway, as I am broke, I am avoiding the library until funding arrives. It will, cause God’s looking out for me, but yeah. This puts a significant halt on the reading list. Glancing over it, I own few of these books.

As my lovely pal in crime Kathryn said, I should be paid for being such an avid reader. I should have overdues cancelled. This is a great idea in theory, and I know in practice it fails, so don’t ack at me, as fun as it is. I will return my books on time, or overdue and pay my fines. I abide to the law.

Anyway, Kathryn then bought me a hot chocolate and I realised that ingesting whipped cream, marshmallows and Starbucks’ signature range in grande form is not the best thing… especially when one must rush to a bus station, to home to grab a laptop for a recently remembered tutorial, and then to said tutorial, then back home upon realising the tutorial was cancelled. I spent most of the afternoon on my bed. Then on my floor, curled up in a ball waiting for this to happen:

“And that was it. Right there. That was the moment. I suddenly realised that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where… I’d finally die… and be found three weeks later half-eaten by Alsatians.”

Ah, Bridget Jones.

My brother kind of does this thing where he Kramers his way into my room (if you don’t understand that reference, I disown you), and he chose this contemplative moment to do it.

Me: You’ll come home, find me dead, and being mauled by German Shepherds.
Him: Why?
Me: I am broke.
Him: Right.
Me: So yeah, make sure that happens.
Him: Are you kidding me? I’m tossing you in the Ganges.
Me: Huh?
Him: Well, it’s supposed to be spiritual and stuff. Then you get an overseas holiday, too. And your corpse might meet up with George Harrison’s. Then you get to meet your favourite Beatle.
Me: I can deal.
Him: But if I can’t afford that, you’re going in the Brisbane River.
Me: You truly care.
Him: Don’t say I don’t love you.

I later call my father to inform him of my eventual demise, lack of money/job/mind, and my brother’s funeral plans.
Dad: Well, you get to go overseas, right? And then you might cross paths with George.
Me: *facepalm*

I think my funeral, which hopefully will not happen soon, is only safe in my mother’s grip. And Kathryn’s.

Or, this entire thing could be solved by getting a job (or Centrelink payments), and paying off overdue fees.

Back to the hunting of jobs. Another reason we didn’t evolve - I suck at hunting.