Saturday, 16 November 2013

Photographic Confusion

So I have a photo on my wall.

Many, in fact.

I printed off a bunch of motivational quotes and whatnot to stick above my treadmill at eye level, so that when I feel like I can't go on and might well die, the quotes will guilt me into going on.

One of them, though.. I don't know what it is about it, but I can't read it the way it's supposed to be read. Perhaps it's beacause I workout in the morning, or perhaps the peculiar mismatch of colours confuses and frightens me, but I started to write down over the last couple of months the weird things I read in place of what's actually there.

What'll follow here is the ACTUAL photo, and then the list of things I've mistaken it for reading:

Actual photo.

Things I have mistakenly read it as saying:

"Stop wrestling, you idiot."

"Stop doing what she's doing."

"Stop washing - silly doings!"

"Stop doing the washing up!"

"Swishing tart."

"Cat, wish, art, oink." (Incidentally, that's the name of my gallery show in the trendiest part of London. Send me £50 and I'll send you an invite.)

"Stop, wish, deny."

"Stop washing your dong."

"Wish-washing the step."

So yeah, that's it's for now. I'll write an update in a while if anything else vaguely humourous comes from me mis-reading this or any other sign. There's a roadworks sign near where I live that says "HEAVY PLANT CROSSING" which always makes me giggle.

Love you, awesome nerds.


Thursday, 7 November 2013

If you're a bird, you're an asshole.

I do not much like birds.

It is an irrational thing. I can certainly appreciate how beautiful some of them are, and I even think that Kingfishers are pretty cute, but they're all assholes, nonetheless. I think it's something about how graceless their movements are on the ground. They're too fast, too sudden. Calm down, bird, you asshole. Why are you jumping around like that anyway? Like, are you super busy? Do you have a bird-meeting to get to? An owl parliament? No? THEN GO SIT IN A TREE OR FLY OR SOMETHING, DO YOU KNOW HOW OFTEN I WOULD BE FLYING IF I COULD FLY? ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. SO GO DO IT.

Anyway, I was lounging in my back garden this morning, minding my own business while my dog got to doing hers, and SUDDENLY a BIRD LANDED ON MY SHOULDER.

Well, I was shocked.

It was a little sparrow. I froze, it froze. Neither of us knew what the hell to do. I sensed the bird realised it had made a mistake but wasn't clever enough to work out how to rectify it.

I just closed my eyes in case it was a crow in disguise, and someone told me when I was five that crows will peck out your sodding eyes if they're given half a chance, because they're even more asshole-y than most birds.

Anyway, the whole encounter probably lasted less than a second before it took off and flew away, allowing me to un-freeze, dance the dance of the freaked out (many little hops, fingers flailing like out of control jazz-hands) and swallow a scream. I was in danger, man. You can't trust a bird.

I was obviously not quick (or able) enough to take a photo for you guys, but I have done this drawing to accurately recreate what happened:

Frankly, I'm lucky I escaped with my life.


Sunday, 3 November 2013

That Outside Place.

So, usually my spare time is generously divided between sleeping, eating and playing World of Warcraft. There's some televisual wonders thrown in there, as well as some running and general exercise-y activities to prevent me from slowly growing into my computer chair; but generally I like doing things that don't require me to go outside where there's all kinds of weather and strangers and situations I might not find interesting.

I just don't know what I would do here.

I mean, don't get me wrong - I am a social person and I enjoy doing shit with people I know, but it's those unfortunate other people who I'm loathe to run into. This isn't just something I've created in my mind, either. This is a thing I have learned through experience. I lived in Manchester for two years after I ditched out of university (Do you know they make you learn stuff there? Yeah, I was shocked too) and during that period of time I was incredibly outgoing and even welcoming towards strangers. I used to walk around at night just because I liked how the city breathed after midnight. I was mugged four and a half times, accidentally engaged in a serious relationship with a corner-dwelling drug-dealer, and once ended up going to a midnight mass with a group of very religious people whom I thought were taking me to a killer nightclub.

"Oh, you meant-- You meant an actual church. Ohhh."

The drug-dealer thing wasn't actually a relationship, I hasten to add. I didn't even know he was a dealer. I just thought he was homeless. I used to talk to him for ages and was mildly amazed at how many people he seemed to know. Turned out he just thought I was really shy about asking to be one of his girls.

Man. I did not want to be one of his girls.

I have, therefore, spent enough time outside bumping around into, onto and around strangers. Once you've seen a homeless man defecating into an empty McDonald's bag, you've seen 'em all, and you're much less likely to come across that kind of scene while in the warm, snug walls of your own house.

Today was a brisk, Autumn English day, and I ended up in the woods.

They're nice woods, as woods go. Pretty trees and old waterfalls, stone statues dotted around between ancient rock seats that you can sit on and go "Hm." Or whatever you want to do, I suppose. There used to be a castle in the middle of it, but they've since made it into apartments, which pretty much sucks ass.

It was probably hard to make stone look like water back when this was made. At least, that's what I think it's supposed to be.

I climbed three trees.

I would have climbed more but there was this moment during the descent of the last one where I wasn't sure for a moment how I was going to get down, and therefore decided to stop pushing my luck.

Next time I shall take more pictures.


Friday, 1 November 2013

This Post is Dedicated to Amber


Am I right? Of course I'm right.

I can't pinpoint exactly the moment when spiders changed from fairly benign creatures who lived at my childhood home (all of whom were named Boris by my mother) to these hideously disjointed and unnerving creatures who frankly, look as if they could do with a good damn wash. All the Boris' were black. Black spiders. Spider-shaped, as spiders are supposed to be. I didn't care much about them to look very closely at them as a kid, but in my memory, they looked like this:

Now, though? NOW?

Whole different, dark game. Hunger Games, in fact. The spiders I find around my house are a sickly brown colour, too small to justify calling 999, but far too large to get anywhere near enough to squash. They're squat, terrifying beasts, malignant and malicious and I'm pretty sure are actually host to the souls of serial killers. Their horrid twisted legs are arranged poorly, LAZILY even. All the Boris' made sure they came out looking their best. Sleek and black in their dinner suits. Top hats. Silver-topped canes.

But THESE motherfuckers? Oh no. They're wearing stained and faded combat pants on (EVEN THOUGH THEY NEVER SERVED) and some kind of nicotene-yellew string vest. They're the worst. They look like this:

Pale brown, shifty-looking, twisted up and just.. THEY ALL LOOK DIRTY. I feel like they ought to have eyestalks, even though I'm fairly certain no spider does. ALL the legs on these spiders are stalks. Disjointed, disgusting, badly put-together stalks.


Here, have all of my nopes.

And when they die, the curl their grotesquely misshaped legs in on themselves and roll onto their back, giving the overall look of a teeny, HORRIFIC, inside-out sarlacc, ready and eager to digest your finger over a millenia if you're insane enough to pick it up. I do what any sane person would do - put a mug over it and wait for rescue to arrive.

I have only recently found in myself the fear of spiders. In the past, I didn't care about them one way or anther, but I hated wasps with a passion. Now I know that wasps are dumb enough that you can give them a careless thwack with one hand and carry on your merry way, while they're still spinning around on the pavement trying to figure out what manner of train they just flew into. THE J-TRAIN, BITCH.

Anyway. Spiders.

When I was six years old I had my first sexual awakening by dancing after a gently flying ladybird until it was caught in a spiderweb. The spider came out, wrapped it up, and all I could do was watch. HEY, I don't fucking know why that was a sexual awakening, I just know that somehow it was. I HASTEN TO ADD that I had no sexual FEELINGS for the spider (Please, oh please, internet, please don't make attractions to spiders be a real thing. I'm not Googling it, just in case.) I just sort of watched the ladybird get wrapped up and devoured. More like a: "Shit. I'm a woman now."

Can someone explain to me why spiders love bathrooms so much? Are they secretly using the powershower while I'm out, or maybe they're going to the toilet or brushing their teeth or-- I have no idea. Checking their make-up? I realise it's distinct possibility that it's because they climb up the plug-holes, but whatever. My theory is better.

I actually had to stop leaving my clothes in the bathroom overnight. If I happen to have a particularly evil day, sometimes you just want to throw on your PJs, toss your day clothes on the bathroom floor and collapse face-first into bed, preferring to deal with tossing the clothes in the washing machine the next day.

On one such occasion, I pulled a pair of jeans on that had been in the bathroom overnight, felt a tickle on my leg, gave it a shake, AND A SPIDER FELL OUT.


....I have to go. The memory is still too traumatising. Oh god.

It was on me.

Sunday, 27 October 2013

How a Red Wedding Goes

I can't stop listening to this. You should listen to it too:

It's a song inspired from the 'Red Wedding' episode of Game of Thrones. Go, listen. You'll be glad you did.

Tuesday, 1 October 2013

Something something birthday.

So, it's my birthday like, now.

I have not abandoned this blog, nor will it remain dormant forever. I have had some ups and downs this year, but things are levelling out now and if the old gods and the new deem it so, I shall return with snark and sarcasm and all that kind of shit in the near future. The near furniture. I'm a little drunk.

I would love to talk about the Breaking Bad finale right now, but I'm aware it's too soon. People haven't seen it. I have to restrain myself.

So, I'll go continue to drink champagne and salute the stars and all that.


Wednesday, 20 February 2013

What I'm Watching Wednesday

Yesterday was traumatic. somehow knew I was mocking some of their more questionable products, and when I went to buy the things I'd spent all day choosing, my shopping basket was suddenly empty. EMPTY. Half of those things were impulse clicks, how the hell am I supposed to remember what I wanted to buy two hours ago when I was probably hungry?! That's just unreasonable. It was past one in the morning, so I cried a little and went to bed.


Today I have trawled back through all the sale pages and remembered most of the things I wanted. Two of them were wigs. I have exactly zero need for wigs, but for some reason I keep buying them. If I ever want to disappear, I'm set. I also bought a scarf that's also a hood, a masquerade mask (why? idk man) and a pair of tights that have tattoos all over them. Jesus, everything I've bought could be used as a disguise. Clearly I secretly want to run away and live a new life as a pink-haired, bemasked woman covered in leg tattoos. I'll discuss it with my therapist, don't worry.


There are so many good US TV shows on Tuesday nights, and I get to watch them on Wednesdays. I love Mathew Perry's new sitcom Go on, mostly because of Matthew Perry. I wasn't expecting to like it, but he's just so damn likeable. Today's episode involved a rather contrived plot involving a meditation retreat and off-colour jokes about boner cream, but there were three laugh-out-loud moments for me, and that's a rarity with TV shows. Usually if something funny happens I just exhale really fast down my nose in an amused fashion. The second laugh was a "HAH!" that was loud enough to startle the sleeping dog, and caused me to explain "That was funny," to her. Then I felt pretty dumb, because all she can understand is me making noises at her, and she can't eat those. Eating is her primary joy.

Smash finally got opening credits, and they're delightfully gay. Lots of twirling and flashing lights and rah-rah music. I still don't understand why they brought in Jennifer Hudson, but she's got a pretty voice, so I'm okay with it. I'm sure they have been waiting for my approval.

Raising Hope is an okay show, and today's episode was above average for them. Cloris Leachman is a treasure and I want to give her hugs.

Cougar Town continues to be a joy, despite the unfortunate name, though they recognise it's terrible and it's become a running joke in the opening credits. I like that, good on you, show. Don't take yourself too seriously. Though, as a person who has given up alcohol, watching people drink that much wine is depressing. Because I want to drink that much wine. But I have no self-control, so a glass turns into a bottle and then I'm running around semi-naked throwing garbage at the cops because it's hilare. Also, I want to play Penny Can. Someone play fucking Penny Can with me, for God's sake.

WHERE is my episode of New Girl?! I swear, US shows have the most frequent and baffling breaks. NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE SOUP-A-BOWL. Hmph.

I still have Hart of Dixie, The Lying Game, and Bunheads to watch. They are.. not good shows. But they're guilty pleasures, don't fucking judge me.

And look! Twelve days old now!

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Internets: Fuck, yeah! has a sale on. It's great because they sell some really needless junk that I derive pleasure from hoarding, but they also sell some super-stupid shit. It's a thin line between one and the other, but a line I have learned to enjoy treading. Today I have mostly been buying crap I don't need, and compiling a list of items that could be purchased from Play to make someone look like a total asshat.

Firstly, the worst t-shirt ever. What exactly would you be trying to say about yourself if you wore this shirt in public? Not only are you a lousy human being, but you're a dirty pube-scratcher too? Who the hell even thought that was a funny slogan? Someone pitched that idea to someone else, and they agreed that it was a good idea. I think everyone can agree that this shirt would make a person look like a complete dickwad.

Aw yissssss, culturally insensitive items of clothing! Pair this with the shirt and you're onto a winner! Well, either that or really, really close to losing. Hard. Actually, now I come to write this I'm not actually sure if a fez is a culturally insensitive garment. I've only ever seen one during the move Aladdin, and on Tommy Cooper. Oh fuck, am I the culturally insensitive one?

Don't forget a douchey bit of accessorising. A blue rubber wristband with the word 'SORTED' emblazoned across it in that elvish-y font people use when they're trying to look sophisticated. PAPYRUS. Papyrus is the key to class.
A badge that looks like a Jammie Dodger. Hours of fun! Watch strangers grab vainly at your coat in the street, only to be FOILED by the cleverness of this incredibly realistic badge. So good you'll forget that you're a gargantuan tool for wearing it. Badges in general really, especially a large number of them pinned to a slouchie hat. I have this recurring fantasy in which Jigsaw from the Saw movies gets a bunch of hipsters in a dark room, and when he turns the lights on all the walls are covered in badges, with the pins out. They have to unironically wear a 90's cultural icon badge in order to be freed.
Well, shit. What use is there in having an iPad if you can't make it look like a criminal?

I have gone slightly off topic now, since there's no real way to wear this, but my god, WHAT A TITLE. I feel like this is a wild romp of a movie, with many thrills and spills. Also, probably a little bit racist.

LOOK, it's a MOUTH EXERCISER! It 'tones and refines the face, giving you a beautiful smile'. Fuck off. No it does not. It gives you a Clockwork Orange smile.

This is not a licensed product. Someone gonna get sued. They're also going to be horribly murdered, probably by me, because if there's one thing the world needs LESS of, it's 50 Shades of Grey shit. Just looking at this makes me unreasonably angry. What about this is even remotely connected to that shitty book series anyway? I read those books so that I was legally entitled to spew bile and venom about them, and in none of them is Christian Grey described as a monotone beige, nor made of rubber, nor capable of growing four times his size in water.

That is the ugliest item of jewelry I've ever, ever seen. And I'm including the 'SORTED' wristband in that. LOOK HOW LARGE IT IS. Look at those dead black eyes. That's not a necklace, that's a weapon. You could use that sucker like a cat o' nine tails. Obviously, it's more of an 'owl of one tail', but whatever.

Usually I like to finish strong, but I just said 'owl of one tail', so I'm abandoning everything in shame. I was also going to include links to the aforementioned items, but honestly, if you want to buy any of them any obstacle I can put in your way is really a favour to you.

Monday, 18 February 2013

They're too cute, I can't stand it.


Ten days old. I think he's my favourite.

Still makes me unreasonably angry..

So, I just got done reading amberance's most recent review of some chapters of 50 Shades Freed. I haven't even read that damn book in forever and the reminders of it continue to enrage and baffle me. This book was a bestseller. People love it. People have in-depth and heated conversations over who is going to play Stupid Fucking Ana and Emotionally Crippled Christian in the FUCKING MOVIE. Why? WHY? UGH, IT MAKES NO SENSE. OF ALL THE BOOKS THAT COULD BE MADE INTO MOVIES, OF ALL THE BOOKS TO MAKE BESTSELLER LISTS, WHY IN THE FUCKING COOTER FAIRIES MUST IT BE FIFTY SHADES OF SHIT?



The recap also made me remember the bemusement and anger I felt reading the first of that thrice-damned series of books. I'm pretty sure if you did a running tally of how many times a character 'gasps', then took a shot for each time you'd.. well, you'd be dead is what.

'He touches my hair and I gasp'.

No you don't, you daft whore. You inhale sharply, or you take a breath, MAYBE. IF YOU WERE RAISED IN A LOCKED BASEMENT BY WOMBATS AND BADGERS FOR THE FIRST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF YOUR LIFE AND THEREFORE ARE UNUSED TO HUMAN INTERACTION. You don't GASP. That is an audible noise of shock and drama. If anyone gasped as much as Ana and Christian do in these fucking books they would pass out. In fact, 50 Shades of Grey is basically this:

It's that, plus a load of lumbering, laborious, libido-slaughtering sex scenes. Although, I would watch the movie if they had Alison Brie on board and allowed her to make any and all changes to the script/plot/characters she wanted.

His pointer finger circled my puckered love cave. "Are you ready for this?" he mewled, smirking at me like a mother hamster about to eat her three-legged young.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

Excuse me, I have to go away and cry quietly to myself.

Sunday, 17 February 2013


The kittens are now nine days old and have opened their eyes. Except when they're sleeping. Here are some photos. You may 'squee' now:


This bathroom. I have need of it. Look at the walls and the mirror and that REALLY enthusiastic shower. Yes, I think I need this in my life. Sure, it looks vaguely like something an evil queen would have in her boudoir, but I think a little bit of mystery in the bathroom is a good thing. In fact, I think a lot of mystery in the bathroom in a good idea, especially when taking into account the bodily excretions of other people.

This made me laugh until I cried. I have no idea why. I mean, it's quite sad. King Kong is clearly just trying to improve the diet of the other monster, but the other dude is all: "No, fuck you, I want a Double Down."

Yep. That seems about right.

Step One: Acquire child,
Step Two: Buy this carpet for her,
Step Three: Return child, avoid jail, keep carpet for myself.

It is now THE WITCHING HOUR, so I have to get to bed before the trolls and 'tween things get me. Had a hilarious conversation with amberance, so if you read my blog and not hers, then go read hers. She's funnier than I am.


Saturday, 16 February 2013

Daily.. motivation?

I am the most attractive I've ever been right now. Red. Sweaty. In pain. I just finished what turned out to be a WHORE OF A GRUELING workout. It was a DVD, so I sort of laughed like a 50's black & white movie star [You know what I mean, right? Ho! Ho! Ho ho ho! Like that] and felt superior. "I'm a runner," I thought. "I run. These silly DVD's are designed for people who are not runners! It'll have no benefit for me!"

I'm an arrogant, stupid, KNOW-IT-NOTHING. Considered me completely and utterly humbled.

I decided to work out rather than go to bed, but since my trainers are in the wash I couldn't go for a run, which is what lead to me flinging this fitness DVD across the room and into the Xbox. It's called.. HANG ON, LET ME GET IT.


..All right, so my legs won't work. I'll guess 'Ministry of Sound Hires a Steaming Hot Australian Chick from the Call on Me video to Destroy You with Aerobic and also Salsa moves that may or may not cause you to Fall Over your own Feet'.

Pretty sure it was something like that. I did the whole thing, start to finish - it was something like an hour and twenty minutes. Even when the perky Australian girl started to turn on me by making me jump around and do rib isolations and OH OH THIS ONE THING where you have to be in the squat position and then pulse your hips forwards until your thighs erupt into flames and you DIE.

I wouldn't stop because my damn pride wouldn't let me. Consequently I completed the whole thing without skipping any parts, including the push-ups, crunches and planks.

I have a healthy respect for fitness DVDs now.

If you'll excuse me, I need to go and have a long hot bath and cry for a while.



So, the most significant thing that happened this month is that River finally had her kittens. You guys, did you know kittens are teeny? Did you know they squeak?! They are the most darling things I have ever set eyes on, and I want to keep them all and become a crazy cat lady. The Spy isn't having any of it though, and 4/5 have homes to go to once they're nine weeks old. I am going to cry and cry and be sad forever.

But enough with the depressing stuff! Kittens!!!!!

That's River having a rest after delivering three of the five kittens. Khaleesi is her sister, just hanging out giving kitty support. It was the most adorable thing ;_;

I have nicknamed this one Fatty, because he's the biggest of the litter. Nicknamed in my head, blates. Apparently people like to name their own cats, whatevs.

Aunty Khaleesi stepping up to help feed the kittens. Albeit rather uselessly.

Sorry about the quality of this one, I swear I didn't take it with a potato. LOOK AT HIS WITTLE FACE!


Oh, all right. I'm a kitten. WHATCANISMELL?


So yeah, kittens happened.

Going through their birth with River was damaging. For me. Cats come out in embryonic sacs, so from where I was looking all I could see was River birthing a gloopy, inky black, shiny shadow that might or might not have been destined to go kill a gay pretender to the throne. But no, she ripped that sucker open and out came a kitty. Then Khaleesi ate the first placenta for her, while I dry-heaved. That wasn't pretty, y'all..

Don't worry, though! River got her fair share of veiny, thick placenta as well, since there's one per kitten.

They're a week old now, and I've just moved the nest from the spare room to our room where I can keep a better eye on them as they grow up a bit. There will be more kitty pictures as and when they decide to pose prettily for me.


Look at this. Just look at it:

Everything in moderation... Hurr hurr hurr
Doesn't that make you hungry?

My God, I would eat all of those delicious little bastards.

I want to be your friend, Zooey Deschanel.

WORD, ZD. Getting up and waking up is hard. We should really just all zombie-walk around and bump affectionately into each other until we feel capable of more complex interations.

And finally, before I climb back into bed for an hour (What? It's 8am on a Saturday, don't judge me) I will leave you with a NICE THOUGHT, because I am NICE like THAT:

peace, my lovelies x

Friday, 15 February 2013

Stopgap. No, stop it, gap.

I have been quiet for nigh on two months being a naughty blogger and also generally being struck by that thing you get every now and again, wherein you thought yourself a PRESUMPTUOUS POMPOUS PRICK for daring to think anyone would be interested in the shit that comes out of your brainpan, even when translated to blog form.

In any case, my ego is back now, so that's over. In the middle of a big post, but this is just a little hello to the three people who used to read this (one of the three is just me in incognito mode :(( ) Hope you're all WELL and SPIFFY, chaps.

Post inc. ETA - I don't even know, something might happen, like lunch, or I might be hit by a meteorite, but avoiding all those things, I guess I'll have it up in a couple of hours. (THINGS HUGH HEFNER SAYS.)

pce lovelies