Female. English. 31. Verging on fabulous.
“I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it.” ~ Harry Emerson Fosdick
"I think constricting anus 100 times and denting navel 100 times in succession everyday is effective to good-bye depression and take back youth. You can do so at a boring meeting or in a subway. I have known 70-year-old man who has practiced it for 20 years. As a result, he has good complexion and has grown 20 years younger. His eyes sparkle. He is full of vigor, happiness and joy. He has neither complained nor born a grudge under any circumstance. Furthermore, he can make love three times in succession without drawing out.
In addition, he also can have burned a strong beautiful fire within his abdomen. It can burn out the dirty stickiness of his body, release his immaterial fiber or third attention which has been confined to his stickiness. Then, he can shoot out his immaterial fiber or third attention to an object, concentrate on it and attain happy lucky feeling through the success of concentration.
If you don't know concentration which gives you peculiar pleasure, your life looks like a hell".
I'm not sure whether he's talking about having a problem with trapped wind or sex. Shooting immaterial fiber definitely sounds dirty.
Ps: If you decide that this book is what's missing from your life you can buy it from Amazon ... Oh! And don't forget to buy it via Dr. Zibb's blog That Blue Yak, he could use the cash and it saves me from having to click on his damned links.
Every choirboy's nightmare ...
Is there a Homer HendelBergenHeinzel in the house? ...
Ladies and gentlemen, Girl Interrupted's creative mojo has left the building.
I've been watching a show of vintage music videos and just HAD to share this one with you.
Apparently this is what the Brits decided was the best song in existence at Christmas in 1982 (I can't believe us sometimes)
* Disclaimer: The author does not take ANY responsibility for any mental scarring, disturbance or downright trauma in any way, shape or form that may ensue as a result of viewing the attached clip
PLOTLINE: As far as I can tell, the "plot" is that hapless Renato, an italian sausage maker, maybe a little too fond of his own wares and of ill-fitting knitwear, meets (possibly through a prisoners pen-pal network) and falls in love with what appears to be a female impersonator with the most dubious wig and hands like a WWF wrestler. I suspect that Renee the shemale has busted out of jail and is on the run, unable to wait for the tickle of Renato's moustache any longer (which could explain his .. sorry, her reluctance to face the camera).
He wines and dines his love, doing all the things he swore he would, even fulfilling his number one fantasy of serenading the lovely Renee under the moon and stars above and chucking her the reddest rose he could find, (complete with comedy slide whistle effect) all under a dreamy, fuzzy wuzzy haze of soft focus.
Ahh, who said romance is dead?
But ... Oh No! Heartbreak awaits our lusty lothario. Following a night of semi-naked staring at each other, Renee decides she's off, probably to Vegas where s/he's heard Barry Manilow is auditioning for Copacabana boys, leaving a devastated Renato to sob into his Mortadella.
However, all's well that ends well ... as they bid their touching farewells they realise they're just not right for each other; his garlic breath makes her eyes water, endangering her carefully applied blue eyeshadow and she nearly discovers the fact that he wears a weave. Suddenly parting isn't such sweet sorrow and with both breathing big sighs of relief they wave fondly as Renee flies into the smog ... er sunset, never to meet again.
The rather posh, bumbling man with the mad hairdo is Boris Johnson, Tory MP and the editor of the Spectator magazine
Scary huh?
Want to know something even more bizarre?
Boris is the current Lord Mayor of London.
Yep. I know, how the hell did THAT happen, right?
No Dick Whittington is he? ... Well ... maybe the dick bit ...
Starting as he meant to go on, one of the first things he announced as Lord Mayor was a plan to ban the consumption of alcohol on London public transport in a bid to cut alcohol-related crime. Genius. Except that on the final evening on which alcohol was to be permitted on London transport, thousands of drinkers descended on the Underground system to mark the event. Six London Underground stations were closed as trouble began, and a number of staff and police were assaulted. Police made 17 arrests as several trains were damaged and withdrawn from service.
So you can imagine how popular he was.
Now he's lauched a tourism push for London snappily titled "Only in London: the 100" referring to 100 suggested things to do in London exclusively.
For someone who originated in London and knows it well, it's an amusing and bewildering read. (As a tax payer who will be generously contributing to the £2 million price tag for this marketing campaign ... not so funny.)
Here are some of the things Boris and his happy gang of loonies suggest London tourists might enjoy:
1. See where the Gunpowder Plot was first contrived at Eastbury Manor House in Barking (Ah, if only Guy Fawkes and his chums had tried harder and been a bit more organised, we all might have been spared the likes of Boris Johnson)
7. Visit the resting place of Karl Marx at Highgate Cemetery (Because nothing says excitement like the grave of a German communist?)
9. Sleep alongside the Egyptian mummies at the British Museum (Sleep? I'm fairly sure you'll be politely asked to leave if you do this)
14. Visit St Paul's, once the largest cathedral in England, with the largest crypt in Europe (Or ... you could go to the Liverpool Anglican Cathedral which actually IS the largest cathedral in England)
34. Visit the Fan Museum – the first and only museum in the world devoted entirely to all aspects of the ancient art of the fan (Still awake?)
12. Drink at Europe's longest champagne bar at St Pancras International 36. Drink at Dickens' and Thackary's pub, the historical Trafalgar Tavern in Greenwich 41. Enjoy an organic pint at the World's first organic pub, The Duke of Cambridge in Islington 73. Drink in the George Inn on Borough High Street – London's only surviving galleried coaching inn, mentioned in Dickens' Little Dorrit (So basically get totally smashed everywhere ... EXCEPT for on the London Transport System, of course)
38. Look out for "The Diver" in Rainham – the only sculpture to stand in the river Thames (Just make sure you're not standing downwind if you intend to visit in warmer temperatures)
39. Connect to the world at Heathrow, Europe's largest air hub (Never mind about the delays and lost baggage, that's all part of the "experience")
43. Join the party at Notting Hill Carnival, Europe's largest street carnival (And enjoy the soaring crime rate whilst you party)
55. Enjoy strawberries and cream at Wimbledon Centre Court (Just be sure to take out a small loan to pay for it beforehand)
63. Picnic in the world's greenest city – almost a third of London is green space – more than any other city its size in the world (And for added family fun, play "Dodge the dog poo" and "How many pieces of litter can we spot?")
77. Be inspired by more theatrical performances than anywhere else in the world (*Jazz hands*)
79. Travel on the world's oldest subterranean travel system in the world – the London Underground (Now ignominiously recognised as the most unreliable transport system in the world)
80. Shop in the UK's leading retail city – more than 40,000 shops and 80 individual markets (And enjoy the unique service provided by the capital's several hundred pickpockets and bag snatchers to make the experience complete)
86. The most popular European City for business (Credit crunch, anyone?)
93. Stare in wonder at Van Gogh's Sunflowers for free at the National Gallery (And marvel at how ugly it is and wonder why any fool would pay US $39,921,750 for it)
94. Go behind the scenes at Lords, the home of cricket (Because, let's face it, that's going to be alot more interesting than the actual game)
100. See the original Mamma Mia! in its 10th year in the West End (If you wasn't already sufficiently embarrassed by the movie)
Don't get me wrong, like any other person who doesn't actually have to live there I think London is a rather cool place, and there really is a wealth of great things to do and see ... I just don't think this list does it any justice. It looks hurried and somewhat desperate for ideas, like they got to number 7 and suddenly thought "Crap! Where are we going to get another 93 from!? Oh wait! Let's tell them to moonwalk to a Michael Jackson concert! Yeah! That works!"
£2 million for that? Seriously?
It's a joke. Just like Boris Johnson, who still hasn't realised that we are all laughing ... and we are most definitely not laughing WITH him.
Frankly, there is a long, long, LONG list of things I'd rather do than go to the dentist.
Things like ...
Getting my eyeballs waxed
Limbo dancing naked in front of several hundred jeering strangers
Discussing foreign economic policy with a German street mime
Attending a week long film festival of such "classics" as Pearl Harbor, Legends of the Fall and The English Patient
But, I like having nice teeth ... so I make myself go.
Today I had to go for my 6 monthly check-up. I grumpily trudged round on my lunchbreak, having obsessively brushed and flossed my teeth at least 3 times beforehand (I also wash, condition and style my hair before I go to the hairdressers ... go figure).
To be fair, my dentist is lovely; a tiny little Indian lady with gentle hands who says everything in a somewhat impish manner. She's one of the few things that makes going to the dentist bearable. So I was rather put out when on arriving at the front desk I was informed that she wasn't there! Apparently a family matter had called her back to India unexpectedly.
The self-preservation part of my brain started to work overtime, this could be the perfect excuse to get out of my appointment, I thought cunningly. But alas, the receptionist was a canny one, giving me a knowing look that scarily reminded me of my mother she said brusquely "But don't worry! We have someone filling in for her. Mr McKenzie will see you instead". There was no room for argument in her tone and I knew without a doubt that Mr McKenzie would indeed be seeing me. Giving her a sulky, resentful look I slouched over to a seat in the waiting area and awaited my doom.
After about 10 anxiety-filled minutes of staring longingly at the doorway to blessed freedom the nurse came and called my name. As I followed her down the corridor, dead man walking style, she looked back over her shoulder at me and grinned, "Don't look so fed up" she said "You're in for a treat".
I barely had time to give her a slightly suspicious yet enquiring look when she pushed me through the door.
"Hi Kate, I'm Tom McKenzie, I'll be filling in for Nisha today"
I stood staring at him, in all likelihood slack-jacked and looking like the village idiot.
Because this couldn't be the dentist! Surely this was Adonis' younger, hotter brother with bigger wedding tackle (hopefully) come down from Mount Olympus just to make my day! He was well over 6', dark golden hair that was just long enough to curl slightly, broad shoulders, slim hips and the most charming grin.
I grinned back at him inanely, still incapable of speech ... until he asked me if I was alright, which embarrassed me enough to break the spell. He told me to hop onto the chair, which I did, lasciviously thinking of how much fun you could have in a dentists chair if you were so inclined.
He moved in close and told me to open wide. Good gosh, he smelt good, I actually felt a bit weak at the knees and thanked my lucky stars I wasn't standing up. He was very gentle, which was even more amazing given the fact he had hands the size of small hams. There's something extremely intimate about having an attractive man's hands in your mouth and I could feel my cheeks growing pinker by the second.
He did the usual dentist thing, asking polite questions such as "So, got any holidays planned this year?" ... why do they do that? They must know it's impossible to answer when you've got somebody's hands half way down your throat. Is it some kind of sick dentist humour? Not that I could've answered him sensibly anyway since I was too busy staring at his thighs. I figured that at least if I drooled I'd have a plausible cover story.
The nurse was flirting with him outrageously. I squinted menacingly at her, sending mind bullets flying her way, thinking "Back off bitch, you get to flirt with him all day, this is MY time!" ... I must work on that whole threatening telepathy thing.
In five minutes he was done. Disappointingly I didn't need any work doing, except for a quick polish. I think it was the first time I actually longed for there to be something wrong. Maybe a couple of fillings, or a nice lengthy root canal. But no! Fate was against me. That bastard.
He wrote up his notes while I was putting my coat back on. The nurse left the room and suddenly I realised it was now or never.
"So are you new to the area?" I asked, I imagined him replying "Why, yes! I am! I don't suppose you'd like to spend an excessive amount of time with me and show me round?"
In actuality he said "No, I'm commuting from London. It's a bit of a drag really".
I mentally adjusted the goal posts, thinking how much I liked London and how I wouldn't mind spending some time there and framing my next question, when he said "My partner certainly isn't impressed with me getting home late every evening".
And there went all my pretty, cosy dreams, spiralling down the spit basin like used mouthwash.
I admit, I may have pouted at this stage.
Knowing I was obliged to say something out of politeness I remarked how difficult it must be, and hoped there was enough sympathy in my tone to appear genuine.
"Oh well" he said, "he's very understanding. I can't complain".
I looked heavenward and muttered something that was most definitely blasphemous.
It's Tuesday and the "Ladies wot lunch" as my friends and I have christened ourselves were partaking of a delightfully liquid lunch when one of my friends casually mentioned that as a "gift" to herself in celebration of her impending 30th birthday she is going to have plastic surgery ... a nose job to be precise.
I don't know how long the stunned silence actually lasted, but it felt like several months at least.
Then, in perfect unison we chorused "OH MY GOD!!! ARE YOU INSANE? THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR NOSE!!!"
And there really isn't. But apparently she's always wanted a "cute little button nose" ... yeah, well so did Michael Jackson, love and look what happened there ... if your stomach's that strong.
Now I can appreciate not being entirely happy with one's looks, it's a girl thing, we're our own harshest critics ... personally I think my nose is too long and my top lip too thin ... but there is NO WAY I would actually have anything done about it! For one, I'm a total wuss and have zero tolerance for pain and two, I prefer to have something that makes me insecure so I can whine every single time I'm getting ready to go out. (Like I said, it's a girl thing)
We ranted at her for a good 15 minutes but she remained unmoved. The really worrying thing was she then said that if she was happy with the nose job she was considering having other work done, namely lip fillers and a boob job!!!! I wish you could see this girl, because she's beautiful, and it's so disturbing to know that she is seriously contemplating messing with her naturally good looks. She say's she just wants to enhance what she has but it's like that saying "If it ain't broke, don't fix it".
I've read numerous articles on plastic surgery gone wrong (it's like serial killers, gruesome but fascinating) and they've all mentioned that there is a high addiction factor once you start, especially if the procedures go well to begin with. Already our friend is talking about having further work done and you can't help but wonder where it will stop. Or if it will ever stop.
Here are some well known cases that went horribly, horribly wrong:
Meet Jocelyn Wildenstein ... pretty, isn't she?
One unfaithful husband and God only knows how many procedures later, this is what she looks like now. Apparently Mr Wildenstein liked big cats so she thought if she made herself look more feline then he wouldn't leave her!
He left her.
Now they call her "The Bride of Wildenstein", obviously a play on "The Bride of Frankenstein"
Although if you look at Mrs Frankenstein I think you'll agree that's rather unfair ... on Mrs Frankenstein
Ok, so Donatella Versace was never exactly a stunner, but at least she looked natural and not how I imagine Barbie would look like if she were mummified.
I can't help but wonder how these people convince themselves that this mutilation is actually making them look better!
Although maybe in the lovely Donatella's case ... it's all the freeloading sycophants on the blag for some free designer gear?
This is Leslie Ash. She was one of Britain's top TV actresses/male lust objects in the 80's and 90's.
This is Leslie Ash the last time she got any TV work.
Mind you, the trout pout would prove to be the least of her worries in the following years.
Then there's this woman ... I have NO idea who she is, I'm guessing an American soap star from the 80's by the styling in the "Before" pic.
Isn't that just terrifying? (I thought the 80's pic was bad enough) I left this pic in colour so that you could appreciate the full horror of what she's done to her face.
And then we have the DIY expert.
This lady, as you can see was very pretty ... and then she became addicted to plastic surgery.
When it got to the stage where every surgeon she approached turned her away, refusing to carry out any more work, she decided to have a go herself ... and injected cooking oil into her face*.
The article I read about her said that at the time she was refused further surgery one of the doctors had "suggested there could be a psychological problem" ... !!!! Sheesh! Ya think? And only ONE came to that conclusion?
*Don't try this at home, kids
And to avoid claims of sex discrimination ... yep, the guys are at it too
And what post on bad plastic surgery would be complete without ...
St. Jacko de Wacko ... Patron Saint of Rhinoplasty (and chimps)
Now that I've put you off your food (and hopefully made you feel a bit/alot better about yourself) I'm off to send a link to this post to my friend.
I could delve into the deeper, psychological ramifications of this issue ... but I've had a long enough day, I'd quite like a cup of tea ... and I pretty much just want to laugh at the freaky people.
I loathe "Blogthings" ... no wait! This requires caps and bold (I'd underline it too if I could figure out how to! :/) I LOATHE "BLOGTHINGS"!!!
I don't have MySpace but some of my friends have it and they're nearly all plastered with these inane and pointless ... what are they even? Tests? Quizzes? Exercises in futility?
They're one of my pet peeves. They make me want to write angry letters of complaint ... and I'm British! We NEVER complain!
The only one I've ever seen (and taken) that I thought was mildly amusing, was titled "What Should You Call Your Boobs?" (well a girl needs a bit of inspiration sometimes, can't just keep referring to them as "Devils Dumplings" ... the answer was "Pinky & Perky" btw).
The rest of them are just cringe-makingly awful. God knows who creates them ... I just really hope they're not getting paid.
Here are some of the worst ones:(for added entertainment value, try reading them in a perky, Valley Girl accent) "Are You Bipolar?"(Yes, why go to the trouble of consulting your GP or some other medical professional when Dr Blogthing can tell you right here? Next week ... "Do you have Alzheimers?") "What Hand Gesture Are You?" (I dunno ... but guess how many fingers I'm holding up right now?) "Are You Boring Or Interesting?"(Well you're taking this test ... go figure!)
"What Does Your Burger Say About You?"(That you have a very poor diet, should eat more salad and should probably get more exercise? ... burgers can be so cruel!) "What Does Your Nose Say About You?" (That you need a Kleenex?) "Did you vote for Obama or McCain?"(Er ... you voted! Do you really need to take a test to know this? ...) "Should You Be Allowed To Vote?"(See previous Blogthing on list ... did you take this test? then NO! You shouldn't!) "What Holiday Cookie Are You?"(Urgh! Bite me!)
"What Does Your Belly Button Say About You?"(!!! ... mine says I bath daily and don't have a problem with fluff-gathering) "What Metal Are You?"( :| Seriously ... how self-obsessed do you need to be to do this one? Unless you're a metallurgist or maybe a scrap merchant what possible reason could you have for wanting to know???)
See! Just writing this has me all riled!
Hmm ... I wonder if there's one titled "What Kind of Psychopathic Acts Are You Capable Of?"
So today at dinner my family resorted to one of their favourite topics of conversation ... "Why is Kate still single?"
I'd already been subjected to the usual scrutiny/criticism as soon as I walked through the door, although to be fair my mum did wait to give me a hug and a kiss before launching into ...
"Darling, there's nothing to you! Are you eating properly? Did you eat today? When was the last time you ate? And you're so pale! (said as she's painfully pinching and rubbing my cheeks) You really should have put something warmer on! You must be half frozen in that silly little top! (today was probably the mildest one we've had all year) Don't you have any dresses, dear? You look so pretty in dresses. Did you think to wear the bracelet John (mum's boyfriend - AKA "The Silver Fox") bought you for your birthday? (said in an anxious whisper ... and I had, even though it's totally blingtastic and not really my taste) You know he'll be so hurt if you haven't" All this said in the space of about 5 seconds (how do mum's do that??)
Rather naively, I hoped I had gotten through the worst of it and would be left alone for the rest of the day. But no, just as the broccoli was being passed around ...
Silver Fox: So Kate, how's your love life?
Me: (Said through slightly gritted teeth, madly trying not to grimace or roll my eyes) Oh, you know, not much to tell
Uncle T: What? No interesting dates even?
Me: (Keeping my eyes firmly on my glass of wine, wishing it was a magic glass that would keep refilling, no matter how much I drank) No, not at the moment
Silver Fox: Well I don't know what's wrong with the young men of today, if I was 40 years ...
Me: Would you like some more peas, John? (silently screaming "EWWWW, EW EW EW")
Mother: I don't understand it either, I know I'm somewhat biased but she's such a pretty girl and quite delightful when she wants to be
Me: Thanks Mum (beginning to "get" Lizzie Borden by this stage)
Mother: Well you are, dear. You're intelligent and funny, everybody likes you ... even if you are a bit ... quirky
Me: Quirky? (er ... WHAT?) What's that supposed to mean?
Mother: Well, you know, a little out of the ordinary
Me: !!!!!!!!!
Grandad: Don't worry dear, it's quite charming
Me: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Having made me totally paranoid, as only close friends and relatives can, they turned their attention to some other poor sap and I was left to ponder their comments.
Was I quirky? And if I was, how could it possibly be charming? When I think of someone as being quirky I'm pretty much thinking they're ok, but that I wouldn't want to be in a confined space with them for any length of time.
Clearly I couldn't judge the matter impartially, so I sent a quick text message to some of my closest friends ...
"Do you think I'm quirky? Family outrageously allege I am. Don't see it myself. HOW am I quirky?"
Gradually the responses started coming back ... I am very disheartened. I can only say that my friends are a rotten, disloyal bunch.
Here are the results:
Gerbil! (Text 1 of 7: "Well, there is that gerbil thing. That cracks me up")
Explanation: For some reason, when asked to think of an animal I invariably think "Gerbil!" ... (which I don't think is a big deal, I also always think "blue" when asked to think of a colour ... which is odd, because my favourite colour is pink) my friends have sussed this and use it as one of their many sources of amusement at my expense, so now they make a big point of asking me and I have to consciously rethink before I answer. Sadly my answer of "Manatee" or "Amazonian Tree Frog" never fools them... "You're thinking Gerbil, aren't you?" *cue cruel, hysterical laughter*
Fear of Popcorn (Text 2 of 7: "Of course you're quirky! For God's sake woman - you refuse to eat popcorn when we go to the cinema")
Explanation: I have a fear of eating popcorn in a cinema while the film is on ... I am convinced that if I do so I will not only choke, but I will choke at a really tense stage of the film, when it's really quiet, and all people will be able to hear is me choking. Not cool.
Scary Santa (Text 3 of 7: "Um ... you hate Santa")
Explanation: I’m probably the only 29 year old who’s scared of him. Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate him from a distance, on TV and Christmas cards etc, I just don’t wanna be anywhere near him in person. When I see Santa I just see a big fat guy with too much facial hair who likes to dress all in red and knee high boots … that’s scary! Same goes for clowns … I used to have nightmares about Ronald McDonald.
The Etiquette of Eating A Mars Bar (Text 4 of 7: "I've never seen anybody eat a Mars Bar like that :/")
Explanation: Ok … the CORRECT way to eat a Mars Bar is:
Nibble off both ends
Nibble away at the sides
Carefully bite off the toffee layer (preferably without breaking the base layer)
Eat the base layer
*Or just dunk it in hot tea until the chocolate and caramel are all squishy as a tasty alternative.
Kettle OCD (Text 5 of 7: "You have that scary thing about your kettle")
Explanation: My kettle MUST be placed so that the spout is facing to the left AT ALL TIMES! Universal chaos will ensue if it isn't ... you have been warned.
Drunken Nose (Text 6 of 7: "Hahaha! 2 words missus: drunk & nose")
Explanation: As soon as I become squiffy I become obsessed and highly amused by the numbness of my nose, even going so far as to invite friends (and on occasion total strangers) to feel how numb it is.
Unique Finger Formation (Text 7 of 7: "Freaky. Fingers. Woman. Even your mum says you're deformed")
I refuse to explain this one!!!! It's NOT even a quirk!!! Just because my fingers curl back at the ends does NOT mean I'm deformed!!! My Great Grandmother always said it was a sign of great musical ability and THATS what I'm sticking with!!
Ok, in the interests of manufacturing cheerfulness I needed something completely stupid and pointless to lift my mood after that last post (sorry for the melancholy schmaltz folks) I found this, part of a series of commercials for Doritos that aired in the UK in the 80's/90's (can't remember when exactly), this is just my favourite two but the others are worth a viewing ...
*Did you know that Lassie was technically one of the first female impersonators in film history?
I would have enjoyed "Enter the Dragon" a whole lot more if he'd really spoken like that
It's Mother's Day in the UK today and I have been summonsed to my mum's house for Sunday lunch.
I love my family and I especially adore my mum, but I have to admit that I'm not particularly looking forward to the day. It's not going to be an easy one, for any of us.
We're still going through that awful first year of unhappy milestones without my Grandmother; this is the first year my mum has to get through Mother's Day without a mother, and as fate would have it yesterday was my Grandmother's birthday, the first one she didn't get to celebrate with us.
My mum's way of coping is to take control, bullying everyone into gathering around her and then force feeding them into oblivion. She'll be enthusiastic and cheerful and she'll expect the same from us ... and there lies the rub. Because it's not always easy to force yourself into a cheerful frame of mind when you desperately miss someone who was the hub of the family and who's absence has left a gaping hole that no amount of roast beef and yorkshire puddings is ever going to fill. My grandad will be there, in body at least, silent, sitting staring back into the past, his pain filling the rest of us with a gloom that is hard to shake. Nope, I'm not looking forward to it one little bit.
But ...
It is Mother's Day and I am a loving, dutiful daughter and I want my mum to have as nice a day as possible. She refused my offer to cook dinner, like I said, that's something she needs to do this year to get her through the day, and she'll be too busy taking care of everyone else to be fussed over and pampered. So I will go for lunch, I will grit my teeth, plaster a winning smile on my face and be cheerful, I will try to engage my Grandad in conversation and distract him from his loss, I will be charming and chatty and lead by example.
That will be my gift to her. That's all she really wants this year.
That and a big bunch of flowers, of course.
I wanted to share one of my Grandmother's favourite songs, not easy to choose as there are so many good ones, she loved amongst others Sinatra and Nat King Cole, Doris Day and Louis Armstrong ... I remember watching my grandparents dance in the kitchen one Sunday morning to his version of La Vie En Rose, I think I must have been about 7 at the time, and thinking it was the most wonderful, romantic thing I'd ever seen ... I still do actually, so that's the one I'll choose.
I don't know whether it's because I took one step closer to the big 3-o this week, or whether the conversation I had with my cousin last weekend about our favourite shows when we were kids left me in a nostalgic mood (probably a bit of both) but all week I have found myself trawling YouTube for clips of shows I'd long forgotten. Some were frankly embarrassing and made me cringe to think I'd once been able to enjoy them so much; others hit me like a sledgehammer in the heart, I could practically taste my lost childhood and ached for it.
It also struck me how much kids TV has changed in recent years. Things were so much less complicated and I suppose unsophisticated when I was a little kid in the 80's, but at least the shows had charm and magic. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and losing my own ability to be charmed, but I watch the kid's programmes today and I almost feel sorry for them. It seems like they're expected and are being encouraged to grow up fast ... too fast, in my opinion. The programmes seem to be either insultingly inane or there is a hard edged reality to everything, even the cartoons, and whilst I still enjoy cartoons I am enjoying them through an adult's eyes, which makes me wonder where the charm content is for children.
Maybe I'm old fashioned, and I know that in today's harsh world we should prepare children for what's coming ... but c'mon! Let's allow them to have a bit of wonder and magic before they have to deal with broken relationships, financial worries, responsibilities like having a good career and the right house and the right car, blah, blah. Sadly, there is going to be more than enough time for worrying about that stuff later. Let them BE children, with a shitload of fairies and wizards and speaking animals and rainbows and ... smurfs! Yeah! Give them smurfs, dammit!
Speaking of rainbows ... one of the staple kid's shows in the UK for anyone growing up between the early 70's and 90's was a programme called "Rainbow".
It was essentially about a grown man named Geoffrey; Geoffrey was a simple soul who loved brightly coloured trousers and garish sweaters that looked like they'd been knitted by his Gran, he shunned the real world to live in the most spartan house ever with Bungle (big, sinister looking bear with a whiny voice that made you want to insert building blocks into his parts most private), George (gentle, sweet, pink and very camp Hippo ... with eyelashes courtesy of Max Factor and lingerie by Victoria's Secrets under that desk, I suspect) and Zippy (irritating, loud, opinionated gobshite who left millions of bewildered kids wondering every week just what the fuck he was, but who was also without doubt the star of the show).
There was also a house band called "Rod, Jane & Roger", a winsome and hairy folk-trio ... although this had morphed into the catchier titled "Rod, Jane & Freddy" by time I started watching it in the 80's (Jane having left poor cuckolded Rod for the dashing Freddy after a torrid affair ... oh yes! It was better than Dallas, let me tell you).
The show ran twice a week, and each episode consisted of a running storyline, at the end of which lay the obligatory moral lesson, a short animated sketch, a story and a rousing sing-a-long ("Three Fat Sausages Sitting On A Wall" being a classic example).
Ok, so it was a bit naff ... well totally shite actually, but kids (myself included) were drawn to it. Because it had a bizarre charm all of its own.
Sadly it got scrapped in the early 90's, kids had become more demanding, more discerning some would say. It also became a victim to the growing trend for political correctness and like so many programmes was more and more heavily edited for fear of offending someone, somewhere. "Gay" didn't mean happy & carefree anymore.
It's now considered a cult of course and has been used in a variety of sketch shows, pieces of modern art and even rave music. It's also gained some notoriety over the years for being tongue-in-cheek and using homo-erotic double entendre's (much like the other children's classic "Captain Pugwash" with its "Master Bates" and "Seaman Staines" characters), however this is mostly unfounded, stemming from an episode that was filmed as a bit of fun for the production crew one Christmas and was never actually aired. But of course it eventually got leaked and added to the legend.
I was randomly looking at stuff on YouTube today when I came across a clip from a show called "Monkey" that was originally shown in the 70's in the UK but has since been repeated on a couple of occasions, due to it's massive cult status. It's truly bizarre stuff, but extremely entertaining if you like that kind of thing (which I do). So I thought I'd share it with you ...
Basically, there was this mountain in Japan that gave birth to an egg (I know! Rubbish omelettes, right?). But this was no ordinary egg, it had the ability to roll up hill for starters, and one fateful night in a raging storm it was struck by lightning and hatched ... a monkey. Not just any old monkey though, oh no, this was a monkey king, “the funkiest monkey that ever popped” apparently (I think they say popped).
The monkey king is vain and arrogant, wild and reckless, and has the most amazing sideburns, he gives himself ridiculous important titles such as “The Great Sage, Equal of Heaven” (Seriously dude! Get over yourself already!) But soon his narcissism pays off and he draws the attention of the heavenly bigwigs who decide to offer him a job as “Keeper of the Peach Garden of Immortality”. Nice! But then he goes and blows it by eating all the peaches. (Tsk! Monkeys today, eh!) Even more arrogant now that he's immortal he causes much fuss and rumpus, cruising around on a pimped-up cloud, fighting anything that moves with his magic staff (which he seems to think is a big deal, although all it does it change length ... so not THAT impressive) and summoning monkey-warriors by rather oddly blowing on hairs he has plucked from his own chest! So understandably the VIP's upstairs get bored of dealing with his shit and imprison him under a mountain, supposedly so that he can learn humility ... but actually so that they won't have to look at his scary facial hair.
And there he stays.
Until ... the young priest Tripitaka, (who is supposed to be a boy but who is quite obviously a girl) releases him, wanting some monkey muscle to protect and aid him on his pilgrimage to India. Of course Monkey tries to escape, wanting to return to his old ways of throwing poo and causing chaos, but Tripitaka is as smart as he is bald and enslaves Monkey with a magic head band that only people from the 70's could truly appreciate. Monkey grudgingly accepts his fate and sets off for India with the nubile Tripitaka.
They soon accrue other companions; Sandy, ex water demon and cannibal who speaks with an inexplicably English accent and has the hairstyle of a franciscan monk joins them, having been somewhat harshly chucked out of Heaven for breaking a cup! And Pigsy, a blonde, greedy pig monster with a penchant for tam-o-shanters, who likes to fight with garden implements and who was also expelled from Heaven but for the rather more serious charge of sexual harrassment. All it needs then is for Tripitaka's horse to get eaten by a dragon, who is then so overcome by remorse (understandable, I feel the same way every time I eat bacon) that he assumes the shape of a horse and pledges his life to serving young baldy. And there you have it, our merry band of weirdos heroes.
Every week they would have a new adventure, battling spirits, ne'er-do-wells and even each other, always outrageously overacting on the lookout for an exciting opportunity and always finding some worthy moral to patronise enlighten others with.
Good stuff.
All I can say is, there must have been an awful lot of drugs being taken in the 70's
I hate having to do my weekly grocery shopping; it's tedious, it's expensive, it brings me into close contact with people who make me think bad thoughts and the smug cow at the checkout always gives me a pitying smile on seeing my basket full of ready-made frozen meals for one.
Bleh!
The one reassuring thing is knowing that I'm not suffering alone; you can spot the singletons a mile off, grumpily trudging around with their baskets of said frozen meals, bottles of wine and humungous bars of chocolate, casting surreptitious, evil looks at all the smug couples, secretly hoping their "family size" packs of sausages give them a mild case of salmonella.
They say that supermarkets, especially in the evening hours, are prime spots for meeting the man/woman of your dreams ... frankly I think thats a crock of poo, I don't know where all the hot guys shop in this area, but it's certainly not in the supermarkets I frequent. I'm starting to think hot guys just don't eat ... either that or they're getting free meals cooked for them bydesperate generous single women.
Anyway, here's some ideas for relieving the tedium of shopping in supermarkets:
1) Nonchalantly "test" the brushes and combs in Cosmetics. (S'ok, it's not like you have cooties ... right?)
2) When someone steps away from their trolley to look at something, quickly make off with it without saying a word. (Being chased is both fun AND good exercise)
3) Dart around suspiciously while humming the theme from "Mission: Impossible."
4) Whilst handling knives in "Household Goods", suddenly ask if anyone knows where the anti-depressants are. Act as loony as possible. (*WARNING: This one could get you arrested/sectioned)
5) Make up nonsense products and ask newly hired employees if there are any in stock, i.e., "Do you have any Groiters here?"
6) As the cashier runs your purchases over the scanner, look mesmerized and say, "oOoh! Magic!"
7) Whilst walking through the clothing department, ask yourself loud enough for all to hear, "Who BUYS this crap, anyway?" (Funnier if you're wearing one of their sweaters)
8) Walk up to complete strangers and say, "Hi! I haven't seen you in SO long!..." - see if they play along to avoid embarrassment (Could backfire if they actually know you)
9) Walk up to an employee and tell them in an official tone, "I think we've got a Code Red in Pet Foods" and see what happens. (Consider it a "Social Experiment")
10) Challenge other customers to a duel with tubes of gift wrap (Speak in an "Olde English" style for extra effect, i.e. "A pox upon you for being a scurvy knave, sir!")
Had lunch with a friend today, who's main goal in being my friend (or so it seems to me) is to remind me as often as possible of all my past, little, social faux pas.
"What's your most embarrassing moment - out of the many?" she cruelly asked with a smirk that made me want to stuff our complimentary breadsticks up her nose.
It started me thinking. After a long afternoon of pink-cheeked nostalgia, this is what I've come up with:
1) Shame at Madame T's
The time my mum took me to a well-known waxworks museum in London and I thought I'd knocked one of the figures over, so I grabbed hold and clung on for dear life, hoping to keep it upright ... only to have it look down at me and laugh! Turns out it was just a rather flamboyantly dressed tourist. *Note: Can I please point out that I was only 7 at the time!
2) E-mail Embarrassment
The time I thought it would be amusing to send my line manager at the time a joke e-mail, saying how I wanted to eat his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti ... and then somehow managed to send it to everyone in the Local Authority I worked for (couple of hundred at least), including the Chief Exec. I actually had people coming downstairs from other departments just to meet me!
3) Karaoke Cringe
The time my "beloved" friends got me hideously drunk at a Karaoke night and talked me into thinking getting up and singing would be an "Ace" idea ... only to discover (too late) that the song I'd chosen wasn't the song I'd been thinking of at all ... that in fact I didn't know the song playing AT ALL! ... I tried to wing it, but even I wasn't drunk enough to kid myself I'd succeeded.
4) It's a Mum-Thing
Each and every time I go in my mum's shop and she asks any vaguely young and possibly single man if he' d be interested in taking her daughter off her hands. ... that and the tap-dancing thing she always does in supermarkets
5) Shame by Proxy
The time a certain person I know and love finally went on a date with a guy she'd been crushing on for weeks, (despite having a nasty cold ... she was THAT desperate to date him!), was having a lovely time, but then coughed in the middle of a flirtatious conversation ... and shot a big wad of phlegm onto her date's shirt! I wasn't even there and I feel embarrassed by that story.
*Note: They've been happily married for 3 years now ... so there's hope for me yet
Why do Morrisons think it acceptable to force their customers into buying multiple numbers of bananas?
Maybe I just want ONE banana! Maybe I just want three! That is my God given right as a banana eater.
So why am I faced with the option of buying at the very least 5 or 6 bananas or going without?
I only eat one a day, so by time I got to banana no. 3 they would be starting to turn yellow and soft and yicky! Not green-tinged, slightly crunchy and yumtious, which is how I LIKE my bananas!
This filthy banana dictatorship must stop!
I am henceforth boycotting Morrison's and taking my business elsewhere (Tescos)
Every morning I wake up with a song in my head! I don't know if this happens to everyone, but it's something I've done for as long as I can remember.
I don't know what causes it, whether it's subconscious thoughts or just plain weirdness, I just know that the songs come out of nowhere, sometimes it can be a song I haven't heard in literally years, yet I'll wake up and there it is playing over and over in my head like a stuck cd.
It can be both a blessing and a curse; sometimes it can be a song that I really love but had forgotten I loved, or it can be a song that makes me think of someone or of a happy moment in my life and it will make me smile and hum and start my day off nicely, kinda cool!
NOT so cool to wake up to "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl ..." and then not be able to get it out of your goddamned head, even when you listen to other (better) music!!! Bleh!
Anyway, good or bad it's kinda interesting and sometimes it can actually be quite therapeutic and give you an insight into what's (or who's) on your mind.
This morning I woke up with "Michael Row the Boat Ashore" in my head!!!!!!!!
GAH!!
That's only one step from "Kumbayah", patchouli oil and a pair of dodgy sandals!
I have decided that old people are brilliant (well, some of them ... well OK, mainly the loopy ones).
My reasons for coming to this conclusion was a steady stream of fine specimens tottering past the office window this morning.
These included:
A fine old fellow in a very smart, if somewhat outdated, suit who had chosen to top his natty ensemble off with a bright pink bobble hat.
A lady with rather fetching lilac knee high socks ... I know she had these because one of her trouser legs was tucked in up to the knee (I prefer to think that this was a delightfully quirky fashion statement rather than a wardrobe malfunction).
And best of all a very little, very old lady, hunched and whiskery, who had an equally little, old, hunched and whiskery dog whom she was pushing around in one of those little plastic cars they make for toddlers, you know, the ones with a long handle? The dog had a tiny jumper on too, not a designer shop-bought one, oh no! This was a proper knitted-by-your-senile-great-aunt job, and he clearly thought he was the business. That one definitely had the Aww-Factor.
Yep, geriatrics rock! I basically love their whole "Eff it! I'm old! I'll do what I like!" attitude.
Bless 'em!
We should all be more like that.
It's amazing what you notice when you stop and pay attention.
Shopping this morning followed by lunch at a rather swanky thai restaurant with my Mum, then home for a bit of a girly pampering session before heading out for cocktails with the girls.
Nothing spectacularly exciting, but I enjoyed myself.
The girl's night out was a somewhat subdued affair for the most part, we all have work tomorrow so did the responsible thing and didn't get completely squiffy. Just elegantly muddled.
Which was enough, in some cases more than others, to let our hair down and set tongues wagging.
Our friend ... (I shall call her Friend X) was recently smitten with a guy she met through work (I shall refer to him as Male X). For weeks we endured her obsession. We heartily applauded and congratulated her when he finally asked her out and waited with genuine interest to see whether it was going to be the big romance of the year.
It started out well; according to Friend X he was male perfection. They had 3 or 4 "awesome" dates and we were soon being bombarded with a running commentary on his numerous charming qualities, not to mention a constant stream of "Male X thinks ..."/"Male X says ..." etc.
Then suddenly it all stopped. We were all out one night and she simply didn't mention him, when asked how things were going she shrugged, a little too nonchalently, and said it was over. We cast intrigued, questioning glances at each other, this was the first we'd heard of it. Being the good, thoughtful friends we are, we of course didn't let the matter drop and probed poor Friend X until she became very tight lipped and said "I don't want to talk about it. OK!" in a tone I'm fairly sure only dogs could hear.
Ever since then we've taken every opportunity we can to grill her on the subject; we're cunning, we drop it into conversation mid-sentence hoping she'll answer before she's had time to realise what we're up to, we've tried to break her down with a barrage of texts, e-mails and IM's. That's dedication to snooping for you. But she has remained annoyingly silent on the entire matter.
But tonight ... ahhh! We hijacked her with cameraderie, daiquiries and cheesecake, a deadly combination of forces at work too powerful for a mere mortal to resist ... and AT LAST all was revealed.
Poor Friend X.
Turns out things had progressed rather well on the 5th date; they'd had a lovely meal, the conversation had flowed, he'd made her laugh, he'd mentioned possibly going away at some point for a weekend and she'd shaved her legs ... so of course she took him home. Things continued to progress well ... right into the bedroom, where playful flirtation edged with plenty of sexual tension promised to make the evening one to remember.
They even had a pillow fight ... how cute is that?
Very cute ... except that Friend X, in her excitement, had forgotten that under her pillow was where she kept her "lady's toy".
After she blurted this prime piece of information out to us there was a short, stunned silence, quickly followed by this conversation:
Friend 1: So, what? He just left after that?
Friend X: Yes, I swear, I have NEVER been so embarrassed in all my life!
Friend 2: What kind of a wuss gets scared off by a vibrator for f###'s sake!?!?!?
Friend 1: Well, to be fair, those Rabbit's do look a bit like instruments of torture
Friend X: I think it was the other 2 that really put him off
Stunned silence
Me: You had 3 vibrators under your pillow?
Friend X: Yes, he didn't say much, but maybe he was a bit intimidated?
Friend 1: Jesus!! No wonder you don't come out much!
My cousin came up from London today; we don't get to see him much due to his work commitments and his estrangement from my Aunt, so it's always something of a special occasion.
My mum made a lovely roast dinner (which was a bit of a struggle after last night's excesses :/ ) and then later we went for a walk and put flowers on my Grandmother's grave which, surprisingly, is always a comforting thing to do, I think we all feel closer afterwards somehow.
The afternoon was spent chatting, drinking tea and eating cake (I know! How British are we!) and naturally there was alot of reminiscing, about my Grandmother who we all still desperately miss and about when we were children.
Of course, no childhood reminiscence is complete without a discussion of favourite TV shows and we soon got onto the topic of The Muppets. I don't personally remember them that well, I know of them mostly from an older ex who had their best bits on DVD, but my cousin is a few years older than me and for him it was the ultimate in entertainment.
My cousin is gifted with the most wonderful sense of humour, "He's a dry old stick" my Grandmother would chuckle fondly, and he's also a natural mimic, his impression of Animal is nothing short of hilarious. He's quiet and often keeps a straight face, even when he's saying the most outrageous things. Unfortunately our family has it's share of skeletons and his decision to distance himself from certain members of his family brings him a great deal of sadness at times, but when he laughs it comes from his belly and his smile can brighten the whole room and inspire those that love him with pure joy. Because we don't see him regularly I sometimes forget just how funny he is, and it's always a happy pleasure to be reminded.
I wish he'd visit more.
So in fond tribute to a great guy, here is my favourite Muppets clip:
"I don't believe that life is supposed to make you feel good, or make you feel miserable either. Life is just supposed to make you feel." ~ Gloria Naylor
"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." ~ E. L. Doctorow
“I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” ~ Joan Didion
“It serves me right for putting all my eggs in one bastard.” ~ Dorothy Parker
"We all go a little mad sometimes" ~ Norman Bates
My current paper haven:
The Magnificent Mrs. Tennant by David Waller
I am the phantom jelly biter!
This awesome award comes courtesy of two of my favourite guys ... Mo "Mad Dog" Stoneskin and Mr. Condescending
In my version of utopia ...
I stole this from Erin's blog, over at 'Sticky Note It'. So what if I'm a klepto? The drinks are on me!
Why I'm glad I know you #1
Wordsx3 sent me this ... the poor, lovely, delusional man!
Shhhh! Don't tell anybody ...
I like to tell my secrets to the girl with the pink teacup
My first blog-award! w00t!
Courtesy of the rather fab Mo "Mad Dog" Stoneskin (please go check out his blog, it's one of the best out there)
Giving you the Royal "wave" ...
Awesummmness abounds, courtesy of Harmony @ Life in the L O
Still lovely ...
Lovely is as lovely does ... this time courtesy of the very kind TMC @ Return to Rural. Click here to check out TMC's groovy blog
I'm The Jules' favourite!
Neener!! Click on the pic to check out Jules' top notch blog ... don't argue with me! Just DO IT!!
The legendary Vic award
Courtesy of the beautiful & brilliant Vic @ What were you thinking ... click on the award and go check out her blog ... NOW! Don't make me tell you again!
Thank you J.J!
An award for making outrageous comments ... how cute is that panda??
An award from my US BFF
Thank you, lovely Lopez xx
I don't eat yellow snow! (Honest)
Chucked at me by Jerrod over at The Yellow Factor (click on the pic and go check out his blog, it's rather groovy)
I'm a scribbly scribbler!
Diane says so ... Click on the award to go check out her superior blog
Talk about mental scarring!
Only OWO could get away with this ... which makes her awesome, but don't just take my word for it, click & go check her out
w00t! I'm officially kreativ!
Courtesy of Zen Mama @ Stalking Sunsets ... go check out her blog! It's also kreativ, well written, funny ... and pretty to look at!
Total blog-slacker, but still loverly!
With many thanks to the rather splendid Cora ... click on the pic to see how blogging SHOULD be done.
MIA but still making a splash!
Courtesy of Diane @ Cooking Blind, one of my greatest blog-chums. Click on the pic to check out her wonderfully unique blog ... but be warned: It's addictive!
J.J Wants Me For A Sunbeam!
Click da pic to check out J.J's blog
Pants on Fire?
Apparently wordsx3 thinks I'm a "Creative Blogger" (Fibber) ... click on the pic if you must. Tsk!
Substance Without Abuse
Thanks again to J.J. for boosting my ego. Click on the pic to check out her blog, she has a photo of a tree that looks just like a cat's bum ... go on, you know you want to look ...
