Sexy Pink Pyjamas and a Happy Dance

Hellooooo, world, I’m here! *Waits for the cheers to subside and then does a Happy Dance* Well, it’s more of a slow shuffle, but you get the idea.

Image via Wikipedia

How are you, peeps? What’s been happening in the Wonderful World of Blogging? I’ve missed you! But I so needed to take a break and then I kind of got out of the habit. I will do better. I will do better. I will.

Let me bring you up to date: I’m loads better and have a new job. Now, don’t get too excited; I’ve not joined a team about to find a cure for cancer. I’m not running for parliament, and I’m still not Jason Statham’s salaried sex-slave. (Yet. But I remain optimistic; I just need to work off all those Christmas mince pies and Quality Street chocolates that cling stubbornly to my lardy arse and I’ll be ready for a wild, animalistic, hotel-room trashing, chandelier swinging romp a grown-up, deep and meaningful relationship.)

Image via Wikipedia

Anyway, my new job… I’m now a Housekeeper at a small holiday lettings company. It’s about 12-16 hours a week and I can pretty much keep my own hours as long as I’m there for Friday changeovers. I just hope I can keep it up during the summer when I’ve got twenty cleaners and thirty cottages to manage on one day! At the moment I’m just happy to be well enough to work. This time last year I could barely get off the sofa and had to crawl upstairs for a pee.

C0mpletely random, but here’s our dog:

He’s not new, in fact in doggy years  the silly sod is now entering middle-age, but he still thinks he’s a puppy. Poor thing, he’s always had Special Needs. He’s called Deefor, as in A for Apple, B for Ball, D for Dog, but we just tend to call him The Dog With No Brain. Bless!

And then, there’s the new hat I bought myself, ready for the predicted mini Ice-Age. It’s January and it’s been the mildest winter on record, but hey! There’s still time for the snow.  I proudly present Youngest Son modelling Tiny’s New Furry Hat, comeplete with built-in ear-flaps and nipple-warmers:

That's my boy!

Ummm, what else? Oh, I know! I had some pretty cool pyjamas for Christmas. I’m tempted to post a photo, but I’m not sure I should. I mean, they are pretty sex-kittenish. I wouldn’t want any of you getting over-excited and drooling over your keyboard…

Hey, I know – we’ll compromise – I’ll post the picture if you go and grab a paper bag. That way, should you be so sexually aroused that you start hyperventiliating, you’ll have a handy bag to breathe into. And it also doubles quite nicely as a sick-bag.

Okay, here I come, but remember I did try to warn you…

Take me, Jason. I'm yours!

How cool? And they’re not just fleecy, they’re soft and  furry! Furry, I tell you! Like a silky pink cat. I put these on in the evening and can’t resist giving myself a little stroke, and out of my mouth pops a perfect purrrrrr.

And they’re even printed with a little message:

Purrrrr!

Are they not THE perfect present for me? Pink, furry jammies, Eeyore slippers and a snooze on the sofa. Could my life be more complete?

Actually, there is one thing missing: a man. And not just any man – oh, you so know where this is going… The Christmas Fairies gave me a four-film JS DVD set. Actually, I probably shouldn’t call my two 6 foot sons fairies, should I? Anyway, that’s 7 hours of back-to-back, action-packed Jason. Just think if it were front-to-front  – oh, be still, my twitching knickers…

My favourite one in the box has to be Chaos, where he plays a maverick detective trying to solve a bank robbery where nothing was actually stolen. He’s a gorgeous, walking sex-machine at the best of times, but in this he wears a bullet-proof vest and he’s just Phwoarrr!

Ooh, and here’s another mean ‘n’ moody one:

And the last one:

Who’d have thought a woolly hat could be so sexy?

Now, normally I’m careful about the images I use, making sure they’re copyright free, and linking back to the owner, but this time, I’ve just posted. My next update could well be from sent from prison, but I’d be proud to say I went down for Jason.  😉

A Little Something for the Weekend…

Let’s start with a small treat for the guys:

Angelina Jolie - Image via Wikipedia

 And now, a HUGE something for the girls:

Phwoooooooaaaaaaaaarrrrr!

Last week I watched The Mechanic – eyes as wide as dinner plates, mouth hanging open and drool dripping off my chin.

Ladies, you have to see this film; within the first five minutes, the smokin’ hot JS had stripped down from silky wet wetsuit to black Calvin Klein’s.
Oh, be still my twitching knickers!

Despite the title of the movie, Jason doesn’t actually play the role of a mechanic – well, not in car-repairing sense of the word: he fixes people – for good.
Gulp.
That gorgeously erotic mass of streamlined, pulsating muscles is, in fact, an assassin. But he’s not a ‘shoot ’em first, ask questions later’ kinda guy, he’s smart (as well as sexy) and makes every death appear accidental.

This has nothing to do with the film. I just couldnt resist...

All is going well in his world, until he’s ordered to kill his boss – a man he’s been friends with for the last twenty years…

I won’t tell you any more of the plot and spoil the story – I’ll just say, WATCH IT!

And, guys, you’ll enjoy it, too – there’s action, intrigue, double-crossing, guns, suspense and hot, steamy rumpy-pumpy. Oh boy! Just those scenes’ll keep me in fantasies ’til Christmas.

*squeal*

Further Follow Friday Fill-In Fun!

It’s Friday already, and time for Follow Friday Four Fill-In Fun, hosted by Hilary over at Feeling Beachie and co-hosted by Irene on her Soapbox!  Every week Hilary and her co-hostee post four sentences for us to fill in the blanks. Here goes!

1. I am probably in the minority, but I really don’t like  Twitter.  Yeah, yeah, I know it’s the fastest growing social media site ever, but really! So many people (like me)  think they have to have an account and either, have nothing mind-blowing to say so they rarely post anything (like me), or they fill up their day with inane, inconsequential tweets: I am watching a film!  Yep, just like a million others. I am having a poo!  Yep, thanks for sharing. 
One day we’ll fondly look back at this Twitter obsession and laugh at our own Tweeting Twattedness!

Image via CrunchBase

 

 2. I get so mad when I see someone without testicles masquerading as a man!  Cry at Bambi! Tell me your inner fears! But at the same time, be a man!  Make a decision once in a while! Take some responsibility! Don’t just behave like a weedy, needy wet blanket! God gave you a pair – now use ’em!

Image via Wikipedia

 

3. After I rant and swear  I feel better!  You may not have realised it, but I’m quite a stressy person… I get incensed over stuff like injustice and lack of common sense. And bloody doctors who think you’re thick! Honestly I’ve never progressed past that five-year-old mentality of stamping my foot and squealing It’s not fair!  If I were to keep all that angst inside, I’d spontaneously combust! And there’s nothing quite like swearing as a means of de-stressing. Try it! Say Oh gosh! It’s not exactly anxiety busting now, is it? Now try,  Oh fuck it! Bastarding bollocks and fuckety-fuck-fuck! See! Instant mind and body detox! And it’s free!

Image via Wikipedia

 

4. If I don’t regularly pooper-scoop the garden –  it really stinks! I’ve got a big dog and I recently worked out this complicated formula, pertaining to this particular problem: 
Big dog + big dinners + big bin scavenging hunts = BIG piles of poo!
On fine days I love parking my arse in the swingseat and writing outdoors. It’s bearable on chilly days if I wrap myself in a blanket, but it’s wonderful on warm, sunny days, if I’ve been vigilant. Otherwise, as the sun warms up the grass, I end up gagging on the smell.  Mmm… eau de Dog Doop.

Image by My Name Is Taylor via Flickr

Well, that’s been fun! I’ve had a wonderful ranting session – a perfect way to start the weekend  🙂

Hop over to Feeling Beachie and join in the fun!

Dating Bambi…

Image by Don Hankins via Flickr

Okay, am going back to early autumn for this particular dating delight. Meet Tom – we’d been chatting online one night, and he offered, at 2am, to shower and hop in his car for the hour’s drive to my home, to have sex. What a gentleman, eh? 😉

I refused his kind offer, but agreed to meet him for dinner the next night. You’re probably wondering why. Well, Tom was different to anyone else I’d ‘met’ online; he seemed confident and assertive, manly even.

And he didn’t send me pictures of his willy.

Oh damn you, online-dating-fake-persona! Within a few minutes of us meeting, I just knew Tom lacked testicles.  Call me a cow, but I cannot stand that ever-adoring, puppy-dog, you’re-so-lovely-and-I’m-so-grateful-I’ll-do-anything-to-please-you face on a man. It makes me want to slap him, and yell, ‘Grow a pair, you wuss!’

His idea of conversation was to agree with every Tiny thing I said. I began contradicting myself and making the most ridiculous of statements just to get a reaction. No chance! Tom just simpered and bobbed his head like one of those nodding dogs you see in the back of a car.

In fact, the only interesting comment he made all evening was this:

‘God, I walked past this old wreck of a car in the car park. It was falling to pieces. And it didn’t have a proper back lens cap, just a piece of Christmas pudding wrapper taped over the brake light.’

‘Was it a faded green Fiesta?’

‘Yes! Did you see it, too?’

‘Kind of,’ I replied. ‘ It’s my car.’

But the best bit of our date, the pinnacle of our jovial time together, the absolute epitome of our shared experience was walking through town and stumbling across a Gay Pride gathering. The streets were awash with loud lesbians and happy homosexuals, high on celebratory, unfettered sexuality. And beer.

How did my confident, assertive, manly date react? He darted from his roadside position to the inside pavement position, so that I was shielding him from ‘danger’, his eyes, wide, like Bambi caught in oncoming headlights. He thrust one arm across my shoulders, and wrapped the other around my waist. The bloke was terrified! If he’d possessed balls, they would’ve shrivelled to the size of acorns.

And the moral of this story, children? Never, ever believe an online dating profile. Even if he comes across as a testosterone-fuelled ‘real man’, underneath there’s just a scared, pathetic, homophobic Big-Girl’s-Blouse!

 

Jason Statham. Now there’s a guy who doesn’t faff with exfoliation…

Well, I’ve bitten the bullet, done the deed and shaved the hairy donkey. (I made up that last one, by the way) I’ve joined an online dating site! I’m looking for a man. A real man. A man with stubble, and dry patches on his cheeks ‘cos moisturising’s for girls. A man who loves and respects his mum, but doesn’t still live by her rules.  Or in her house. A man who has a fine pair of testicles, and knows how to use them.

Oh, and a pulse would be good, too.

I mean, look at him! You’d never catch Jason Statham faffing in front of a mirror, exfoliating, or hot-oiling his locks. He’d be down the gym, or working out, or smacking some wimpy guy’s head against a wall. Not that I’m condoning violence; wimpy guys have feelings, too. But this guy just oozes testosterone and sex appeal. God, you’d never want to get out of bed. Unless, of course, he was waiting for you in the shower…

Oh be still, my twitching knickers!

So now, I’m on a mission; there has to be one middle-aged, unattached, emotionally healthy bloke lurking somewhere in Cornwall. Doesn’t there? Just one, surely.

And once I’ve found him – well, I’m not sure I can remember what to do with him. I mean, it’s been so long, I expect it’s all done by computer these days. Is that what these social networking sites are all about?

A quick Tweet, anyone?

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• Jason Statham shirtless for Men’s Health (pinkbananaworld.com) But have a cold compress handy, girls. This guy is hot.

Photo via: www.picapp.com/