i just want to conquer people and their souls

Last night, I lay cuddled in bed in the late stages of an eggnog buzz, idly flipping through the channels waiting for something, anything, to take me away from the plethora of fame-whore reality show contestants and nauseating variants of decoding- the-Bible "documentaries". Suddenly, my glassy eyes locked on a vision of perfection, a scene which transported me back to the halcyon days of a young Montebellucci. It was the church scene of Home Alone in which Old Man Marley, a misunderstood neigbourhood codger discusses the intricacies of love, family, sin and redemption with young Kevin McCallister. One thing that you must know about myself (and any Anglo, really) is that we cannot emote, yet are deeply sensitive. I'm talking ludicrously sensitive and sentimental. This manifests itself in a variety of ways: a propensity for hitting the sauce, crippling politeness, uncontrollable facial tics and a deep river of insecurity which binds us all. Hence, dear reader, I often e...

As a passive-aggressve Antipodean, one of the things which makes me most happy is order, politeness and knowing the goddamn system . When any, or all, of these elements goes awry I start to climb my mental clocktower and silently begin going postal. Of course, to the average troglodyte bystander, it would appear as though I am carefree, content and happily observing the hustle and bustle of everyday life. No, in reality I am disemboweling you and your future progeny in my mind. Allow me a little self indulgence as I outline my highly- structured morning routine. It is sacred. It cannot be messed with. I know it as precisely as John Patrick Mason knows the fire breathing mechanism's timing to enter The Rock. In fact, anyone lucky enough to witness the phenomenon which is my morning routine would be my own personal Stanley Goodspeed. I set my alarm to unleash its ungodly wail a full hour before I am to awake. Then, I proceed to slap at the snooze function like an ill-mannered ranga...

A warm welcome to all of you, my fellow denizens of the interwebs. Finally I, Veronica Montebellucci, have decided to grace the blogosphere with my very own brand of logorrhoean stylings. What prompted this pin-dive in to infamy, you ask? Well, it came upon me as I made the customary soul-destroying trip to my place of employ. As the New York City Mass Transit System transported me, Boruta-style, to my "job" (more about this later) I steadied my game face which looks a little something like this: Peering out in to a myriad of word-searchers and mouth-breathers, my gaze locked on to a young couple entwined. These two have successfully ruined my commute with their doe-eyed "no, i love you more" murmurs for three days now. THREE M-Fing DAYS!! (For you non-New Yorkers, seeing someone on the subway more than once makes one deeply paranoid. I was about to bust out my best Jason Bourne moves if they tried anything funny). At that moment, as I choked down the bile risin...