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Category Archives: Random Thought for the Day

Life’s Just too Bleedin’ Short for…

ironing ~ I used to spend hours – nay, days! – of my life toiling to make clothes crease-free, and it was simply a waste of time! Kids just sit on your neatly pressed piles of laundry, or chuck it on the floor and kick it around the carpet, or the sweaty-wet dog, who’s just bounded through a dirty stream, makes it into a bed, or – best-case scenario – the kids’ll jam it into unforgiving drawers or cupboard recesses along with last week’s mouldy peanut butter sandwich.
And whoever laid on their death-bed – white and teary – mourning the demise of knife-edge creases running down the front of their favourite crimpoline slacks?

Got Caught
Image by DeHKsY via Flickr

… hanging your undies out on the washing line ~ it’s a fiddly, fart-arsey, far too time-consuming waste of life. And it’s no fun retrieving your favourite pair of comfy thongs from the elderly male next-door neighbour because there just wasn’t enough material to keep the little bastards pegged on the line. You know the ones ~ five-years-old, elastic chewed and dangling, dyed a murky grey from being washed, balled-up in the leg of your favourite pair of black, bootleg jeans, and marked with poo stains from that day you bent down to forage for a missing contact lens and the stringy bit really did go up your arse?
No? That’ll just be me, then…

A rear view of a woman's thong underwear.

Image via Wikipedia

… glossing woodwork ~ I hate, loathe and detest gloss paint with a passion reserved only for Jason; it’s just so gloopy, and you have to be really careful, working the paint, avoiding drips runs and drips on the carpet, and despite having to do it so carefully, you have to work super-fast, blending sections, because the paint you applied thirty seconds ago has already started to dry and just refuses to blend with the fresh stuff, leaving a lumpy, uneven ridge that looks like it’s been applied by a semi-conscious, drunk, blind cat  And, then, when it’s dried you notice a sketchy bit, but you can’t just dab a bit of paint on to fill in the gap, like you can with emulsion. Oh no, ‘cos then, it’d just looks awful, so you end up re-painting the whole of the bleedin’ skirting board or door. And, then, when that coat’s dry, you notice another sketchy bit and – arrrggghhhh! 

Thrown paint

Image by Rockies via Flickr

… moaning  ~ nope, I’m wrong. There’s always time for bitchin’.

… making the bed in the morning ~ sorry, Irene and Hilary, but I just don’t get it. Why waste the energy when you’re only gonna go and rumple it again at night? And if your duvet’s permanently crumpled, nobody’s ever going to suspect that you succumbed at 2pm and crawled into bed for an afternoon snooze.   😉

Messy Bed

Image by Patrick Q via Flickr

… regrets ~ however many ‘mistakes’ you make or ‘wrong turns’ you’ve taken, they’re in the past. Done and dusted. Gone. It’s just a waste of energy regretting stuff, unless you’re now in a position to put things ‘right’ – apologise or give it up or make amends, learn from it and move on.
Track back all those things that went ‘wrong’ in your life and, chances are, you’ll have learned an important lesson or developed as a person as a result of that trauma. Yeah, I know it all sounds a bit vomit-inducing and New-Agey, but you get my point!
Bottom line: we’re only human and we all cock-up from time-to-time, and let’s face it, even Spiderman could be a bit of a knob.


Image via Wikipedia

… wasting time on selfish, disrespectful people ~ we all need to develop a healthy dose of self-esteem and acknowledge our own worth, and either help teach these people some manners or kick ’em into touch. I’m not talking about friends who have an occassional needy moment – don’t we all? – or those who need support because they’re going through a crisis. I’m talking about people who continually put you down or abuse your kindness by taking all the time and never giving anything back.

The 1976 book The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawk...

Image via Wikipedia

… internet bleedin’ dating ~ ye Gods! I’d rather watch gloss dry than spend another minute of my pitiful life trawling the net trying to find a bloke with testicles in amongst all those weedy, needy, pathetic big girls’ blouses masquerading as men!

Nothin' like a dame...

Image by Lee Carson via Flickr

…listening to Rebecca Black ~ ‘It’s Frid-ay, Frid-ay! Gotta get down on Frid-ay! Everybody’s looking forward to the week-end, week-end…’ Actually, why should I just suffer?

And so endeth today’s rant.
Now over to you: what else is life just too bleedin’ short for doing?


Random Thought for the Day #3

Whoever writes the instructions on those home-hair-dye packets is a knob.

‘Leave dye  for 15 mins for a subtle shade, 25 mins for a darker tone or for high-grey coverage.’

Yeah, right. What it should say is: ‘Leave hair dye for 25 minutes if you really want all your grey bits to go flourescent red. Or orange. Or, with shades 13 and 37, a vivid shade of plum. The rest of your hair will, of course, dye to a bog-standard mouse-brown colour, but we find it highly amusing to watch you all walk down the street with stupid- coloured highlights!’
On a sixteen-year-old adolescent  it  says, energetic, creative, exotic:

My new hair colour yay!

Image by reutC via Flickr

On a forty-odd-year-old woman, it just says feather- fucking- duster: 

en:Feather duster sv:Dammvippa

Image via Wikipedia

And there’s this other bit: ‘Rinse until the water runs clear.’ You could stand there ’til your arse turns blue, and the bloody water never runs clear! Two months’ later – when your roots have sprouted another inch of grey – the bastarding water still doesn’t run clear!

It should say: ‘Rinse until you lose the will to live.’
                             ‘Rinse until the neighbours send  in paramedics.’
                             ‘Rinse until your nipples drop off.’
                             ‘Rinse until you’ve used up all the water. In the street.’
                             ‘Rinse until your roots have turned grey. Again!’

Who writes this garbage? I bet it’s a man…

Random Thought for the Day…

Posted on
Smarties: Macro

Image by gadl via Flickr

Tell me – has anyone ever had any pain alleviated by paracetamol? It’s got to be the most useless medication ever, with Norethisterone coming a pretty darned close second! ‘Take these tablets three times a day and they’ll stop you bleeding!’
Yeah? And when exactly is that likely to happen? This year? Sometime during the next decade? When I’m seventy-bloody-three?

And it’s not as if I have a low pain threshold, either! I’ve had migraines, neuralgia, sciatica. I’ve had two kids. I’m no stranger to pain; hell! I’ve even been married!

And paracetamol has never offered pain relief. It doesn’t touch headaches, or backache, or toothache. It’s useless for period pain, pulled-muscle-pain and I’ve-dropped-a-tin-of-corned-beef-on-my-fuckin’-foot-pain. And let me tell you, it does absolutely Sweet FA for Wire-Brush-Whizzed-Around-Your-Doodah-Pain!

It’s useless! Pathetic! Ridiculous! I may just as well start popping Smarties!

Has paracetamol ever cured your pain?

Random thought for the day…

saggy man tights

Image by spikeyhelen via Flickr

Why are woolly tights so short in the leg?

I love wearing them with long skirts and boots at this time of year, but spend most of the day hiking the crotch back up from knee level! Why is that? I know I’ve got a huge arse, but my legs are tiny (in length, at least…) Why is there not enough wooly stuff to cover my bits?

More to the point, why is that hairy-legged bloke in the picture wearing tights? I mean Euww!

And it’s a nightmare when I’m out doing the shopping or walking the dog. You just can’t go rearranging yourself like that in public – if you wanna stay out of prison, that is… And by the time I’m nearing home, I’m waddling like I’ve had a nasty bout of diarrhoea in my nappy. It’s not nice, really.

And please don’t suggest I wear knickers over my tights. Tried that. They just end up wound around my knees as well!

Anyone else have this problem?

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