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How I Spent My Holiday…

See what happens when you have a major meltdown and take some time away from your blog – the bastards go and change it all! I’ve spent twenty minutes just finding the New Post button. If this post ever goes live, it’ll be a bleeding miracle…

Okay, so it’s safe to say the past year hasn’t been one of my finest. In fact it’s been pants. I’ve veered away from Funny Internet Dating and blundered into Whiney Doctors-Really-Get-On-My-Tits territory, but hey! I’m still here. I’m still breathing. I still have a stupid sense of humour. Life is just great.

In the last six months I’ve experienced just about every emotion known to man – well, to woman, because we all know that blokes don’t have emotions. Except maybe joy when Arsenal score a goal. Or envy when they spot someone with a bigger willy. But my mind’s wandering again…

I guess it’s normal to go through an angry stage when you’ve just been landed with a life-altering illness. I think I’ve come out the other side, but who knows. Maybe morphing into a pre-menstrual monster is something I’ll do regularly from now on. Mind you, if you spoke to The Ex, he’d say I’ve always been one…

Aaaaaarrrggghhh!

But enough of my madness, I really wanted to share all the things I’ve learned or discovered in the last six months, things that may help you if you’re ever find yourself laid up on the sofa with a horrible illness:

  • Wearing pyjamas, a dressing gown and slippers outside of the house,  at any point during the day, will elicit strange looks and laughter. Really, what’s the problem here, people? I’m talking fleecy jammies, a towelling robe and – well, you’ve seen the slippers. It’s not as if I’m parading through town in a Babydoll nightie or crotchless knickers and a peephole bra. And I usually slip a jumper over the top if I’m going shopping…

  • Four days and three nights is the absolute maximum you can spend in the same set of clothes before you start gagging on your own stench. Three days is pushing it to be honest but, you can just about stretch to a fourth if you keep squirting yourself with air freshener. Although this masks your odour,  unfortunately  it does absolutely nothing to keep the flies away.

  • When a crop of cold sores break out on the end of your nose, you really do look like Rudolph. Yeah, I know he looks kinda cute, but believe me,  it’s not such a great look on a middle-aged woman in a clashing fuschia-pink dressing  gown.  I think it’s something to do with the way ME affects your immune system, but I seem to always have cold sores – on my nose, up my nose and around my eyes. And people are so rude; they stare and make grimacing faces as they step away from you in case it’s contagious. I’ve found the only way to deal with this situation is to step closer, as if you’re about to confide a delicious gossipy rumour, and say,Yes, such a shame. I’m absolutely riddled with herpes.’
                                                                                                                          
  • The body is a wonderfully skilled feat of genetic engineering. Until it goes wrong and then it’s about as effective as a man trying to find your G-Spot. Even I can’t believe how you cannot have the strength in your arm to lift a cup a tea or chop a poxy vegetable for dinner, or how, at the end of the day, you really do not have the energy to get undressed, and just collapse into bed, shaking with the effort of getting your fat arse upstairs. It is truly incredible, but it’s true! As evidence I should have kept a vlog of me looking like Rudolph in a tea-stained, fushcia-pink dressing gown and Eeyore slippers, crawling up the stairs to have a pee. Amazing.

  • Underneath all that chemical dye, my hair is, in fact, white. I haven’t been able to dye my hair since Christmas last year because I just can’t keep my arms up long enough to do it. So I’m now sporting about eight inches of grey roots – Wrong! Underneath all that Auburn Sunset hair dye, my hair is pretty much all pure white. I don’t know whether it’s been this pale for a while or whether I’ve literally gone white overnight from the shock of not being able to reach my tea cup, but one thing’s for sure, if I ever manage to dye it again, the colourant is gonna react reallywell on white hair: Auburn Sunset is going to be more like flaming flourescent orange. It’s gonna cause a major clash with my dressing gown…

    Arrrggghhh!

  • Chronic Fatigue or ME is ‘all in yer ‘ead, love!’ I don’t know if this is the same overseas, but in the UK, ME is very much an imaginary condition. In true British-Stiff-Upper-Lip fashion, we are often told, ‘Pull yourself together, chaps! A jolly good dose of psychotherapy and graded exercise routines will have soon have you back in the trenches!’ Despite the fact that 250,000 people in the UK suffer with this illness – a quarter of whom are pretty much bed-bound for decades of their life – our government spends less money each year researching the causes and possible treatments, than it spends on researching hay-fever. True, dat. And in the meantime we have no effective treatments or even the sniff of a cure. I won’t go on (too much) but it’s pretty much the only illness that evokes no sympathy or understanding from our society – and that includes the medical profession.

  •  Twitter is God. Yeah, yeah, I know I’ve slagged it off in the past, but it’s been a real link to the outside world while I’ve been ill. I haven’t been able to spend more than about 20 minutes on the computer at a time, so I couldn’t keep up with my blog or your fabulous blogs and I was missing the company. Because the messages are so short I’ve been able to keep in touch with you wonderful peeps on Twitter. You  do find out who your friends are when you hit a crisis, and you lot have been stupendous (posh British word for awesome)     😀
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Am I Hosting a Porn Site Here, or What?

I’ve had some pretty disturbing search engine terms appear on the blog recently – so strange, in fact, I’m wondering if people are  confusing me with somethingverykinky.com. And if  they’d only leave their e-mail addresses, I’d be glad to answer their questions or offer some sensible advice:

How do you draw a penis with a keyboard? ~ An excellent question! Keyboards aren’t terribly well-known for their artistic qualities: I’d suggest using a pencil.
Groping mummy ~ Get some therapy, you pervert!
Too much soy milk hurts my arse~ Stop sitting on the cartons then, duh!
I’m going to have a heart attack.Oh my God! Oh my God! ~
Disconnect Google, love and phone a bloody ambulance!
How to have a flying human cock ~ that’s easy! Chop it off and lob that pesky little sucker out the nearest window.
What does Heroin look and smell like? ~ How the friggin’ Henry would I know? Do I look like DrugsRUs?
How do I reply to, Can I have your number? on the internet?~ Now this one’s a toughie…umm… how about Yes  No?
 Where to buy penis stockings? ~ See Bernie. She crochets a beautiful line in willy-warmers.
Tights for my penis ~ Jeeze! I just told you – see Bernie!
A picture of a pair of mens’ legs sticking out of a cow’s bottom
~ WTF?! Get out of here, and don’t come back!
Where can I buy Star War’s condoms? ~ Well, that depends – were you looking for a specific type, like The Dark Invader? Or the Chewbacca range for large and hairy ones? Or the ribbed Star War’s rubbers with a special head shaped like R2D2? Maybe you’re a single male suffering from Obsessive-Complulsive Disorder? If so, you’ll be wanting the Han(d)s Solo. Or, if you have a really tiny winky and your partner often complains that she doesn’t know when you’ve started, try our brand-new Yoda condoms. Fitted with a specially formulated heat device, once installed, your prophylactic will cheerfully announce, ‘Inside you, I am’.
   
 

The final computer-generated Yoda as seen in t...

Image via Wikipedia

 

And I thought I was weird!
Maybe I start a new blog-hop called Strange Search Engine Terms Sunday. What do you think?

What Every Guy Wants for Valentine’s Day…

Anthropomorphic Valentine, circa 1950-1960

Image via Wikipedia

This is the post I so wish I’d written. When I read it on Ellen’s Guide to Bad Internet Dating, I peed myself, laughing! Hope you enjoy as much as I did!

I keep hearing ads on the radio for ‘what to get your guy for valentine’s day’.  They tout everything from sweaters to watches to romantic trips to whatever. 

Duh, it’s not that hard.  Sure, I don’t have a guy this Valentine’s Day (or for any Valentine’s Day in recent memory for that matter), but it doesn’t matter.  I know men.  I know what they like and what makes them happy (I just usually choose to do the opposite). 

It doesn’t have to be expensive, or cost a thing, for that matter.  It doesn’t have to be wrapped in a bow or gift wrapped in any  way at all.  It’s really no secret, but just because I’m a giver and want to help those of you that are stumped on what to get your guy for Valentine’s Day, I’m going to share my top secret, make-em-cry and be sooo nice to you the rest of the day present.

What does every man want for Valentine’s Day?  Regardless of age, height, weight, socioeconomic status, bank balance or anything else it’s plain and simple.  He wants a blow job.  Duh. 

I for one feel that those things need to be earned and not just handed out willy nilly.  Actually, to be perfectly honest, I’m not a huge fan.  Any wonder I’m single?

*note – this gift also works for Christmas, new years, birthdays, anniversaries, st. patrick’s day, kwanza, hannukah, president’s day or any random Tuesday (or monday, wednesday …. you get the idea) 

Ellen has as much luck dating as I do, and it’s never right! She’s funny, insightful and gorgeous! And she knows what every guy wants for Valentine’s Day! Could there be a more complete package?

Thanks, sweetie, for letting me steal your post. Happy Friday!

How to improve your sex life…

Construction Worker

Image by Fouquier via Flickr

 

  • Find yourself a partner!  😉
                     
  • 

 

How not to behave on a date…

Thorim costume

Image via Wikipedia

It’s that season. Everyone’s looking for a jolly good rogering love, so I thought I’d devote a couple of posts to great date etiquette. We’ve just had Things You Really Shouldn’t Say On A Date, and today, for your titillation, here is How Not To Behave On A Date…

Don’t:

  • forget to shower
  • forget to wear clothes
  • turn up in fancy dress
  • arrive late
  • arrive on a camel
  • arrive with someone else
  • forget to arrive at all
  • get yourself arrested
  • do a strip at the dinner table
  • ask to meet his parents
  • use baby talk
  • cut up his food
  • wind him
  • ask if he needs a wee wee
  • talk to your food
  • pretend your food talks back

Only follow these simple guidelines if you’re serious about dating. If you’re only going out because there’s naff all on TV, then have some real fun and DO all of the above. Not sure where you’d find the camel though….        😉

 

10 things guys should never say on a first date…

healthy penis

Image by sninky-chan via Flickr

  • My penis is called Mr Winkey ~ Do I need to elaborate? No, I thought not.
  • Do you like it doggy style?  Maybe, but you’ve just lost the chance of ever finding out. Introducing anything sexual on a first date is like signing your own death warrant. A girl wants to be wooed, not rude.
  • I live with my mum ~ and I’ve never had to take responsibility for any of my actions, or do my own washing. You won’t ever make a steak and kidney pie to match my mum’s, but I’ll expect you to spend your life trying. And laundering my Y-fronts.
  • Hi, my name’s Stuart and I’ve written a book ~ if a bloke ever says this to you on a date, take my advice and run! Don’t look back, just run. Run like your arse is on fire.
  • Can I kiss you? What a wussy-wufty thing to say! But it tells me everything I need to know: this guy is an insecure schoolboy incapable of taking the lead. He needs to man up and grow a pair.  Instead of asking permission, he should just bloody well do it!
  • You look much younger in your photo ~ crikey, and that’s before he’s seen you naked. Imagine how cherished he’ll make you feel when he’s got your flabby thighs wrapped around his neck.
  • God! Did you not ask anyone how big your bum looked when you put those jeans on? See above.
  • I’m on antidepressants, and/or I cry a lot ~ just put the poor bastard out of his misery right there and then, and stab him with a steak knife. Seriously, if he coughs up this much intimate info on a first date, he’s way too happy in his own wretchedness, and clearly not yet ready to let go. If you haven’t got the stomach for murder, walk away. Now. Before you’re begging him for Prozac.
  • Are those for real? Nobody’s ever made this comment to me as it’s pretty damned obvious I’ve never had a boob job; who in their right mind would pay  for a couple of fried eggs (penny-sweet-sized) boobies? But rather more endowed friends have assured me this is a common question. Ye Gods!
  • I’m still a virgin only acceptable if your date is aged sixteen. If he’s reached forty and claims never to have done the dirty, then don’t be fooled; he’s either lying or he has no pecker. And God help us all if he really is a middle-aged innocent. I mean, who wants to re-live that particular cherry-popping moment – ‘No, love, technically you’re still a virgin. It doesn’t count if you come in your pants.’

10 things women should never say on a first date…

The film's famous sequence where Jack sticks h...

Image via Wikipedia

  • All men are bastards ~ yeah yeah, I know this is your personal religion, the mantra that keeps you going through all those no-hopers, but let me break it to you gently – the person opposite, your date for the evening, is in fact a bloke. He’ll take it personally, honest. And he might not even be a git; there has to be one good ‘un for every ninety-nine wankers you date. Doesn’t there?
  • I want a baby ~ utter this shocking sentiment and it’ll be like learning to read all over again: See Tom Run Home to Mummy. However much your biological clock is chiming, however much you admire this guy’s jeans genes, however horny you are, DON’T ever mention the ‘baby’ word on a first date. Even if you are only talking carrots on the menu.
  • Sorry, what was your name again? I know there’s been a few – Tom and Andy and Mitch and a couple of Davids, three Dicks and a William, but do try to focus, love. How would you feel if he called you Amanda? (If your name wasn’t actually Amanda, I mean. ‘Cos if you were called Amanda, I’m sure you’d be thrilled that he got your name right and didn’t confuse you with Deirdre or Ethel.) If you’re really useless with names or you suffer from amnesia, then surreptitiously jot down his moniker on a Post-It and stick it to your wine glass. Problem sorted.
  • Shall I tell you about the book I’ve written? No, no, no, no, no! Unless you’re Stephen King, just NO! Nobody wants to hear a word-for-word account of the novel you’ve written, especially if your bland e-mails show you can’t actually string two interesting sentences together, and you have all the personality and charm of a dead flea! (It’s okay. Any second now I’ll stop hyperventilating. Breathe in! one, two, three. Out! one, two, three…)
  • What’s your star sign? Now I know you’re thinking compatibility and how long before you’re forced to shell out for a birthday pressie, but he’s thinking ‘weirdo’. Men hate anything that smells remotely New Age (except for his festering socks, of course…) It may seem like a perfectly innocent, innocuous question to you, but to him, it’s witchcraft. Unless he’s wearing a hand-knitted rainbow-coloured jumper that smells of patchouli oil, then he’s an honourary girlie, so ask away!      😉    
Hippie dude

Hey, dude! I'm a Virgo...

  • I love you! See Tom Run. Again. Yes, you may like or lust after your date, but never mention the other ‘L’ word, even in jest. Or as reference to the food or the ambience of the restaurant. In fact, to be on the safe side, avoid all words beginning with ‘L’. Unless your date’s name’s Leo. Or Lionel. Or Luigi.
  • Just a glass of water and a breadstick for me. I’m on a diet ~ despite everything the media tells you, your date wants a woman not a bloody stick-insect. Ever heard that well-known, deeply philosophical phrase – ‘More cushion for the pushin”? Honestly, be normal. If you show a healthy appetite for grub, you’re showing  you’ve got an insatiable appetite for er…other things…
  • So, how big’s your doodah?  Have I taught you nothing? Don’t go there! Before you know it, you’ll have seventy-five pictures of his pecker in your inbox. He’ll have drawn a smiley face on one, added a beret to another and gone Brazilian for the third. If you’re desperate to know, ‘accidentally’ drop a beermat and take a discreet peek at his goods under the table. I said, discreet! That means no poking!
  • I see dead people ~ you may well be attuned to the inner vibes of the late Princess Diana and Michael Jackson, but for the love of Mars bars and other things holy, don’t let on! Seriously, you’ll freak him out! He’s a bloke. His idea  of spirituality probably means getting laid in a churchyard during full moon. Have a quiet word with his dead granny instead. Tell her she’s looking great for her age, and with any luck she’ll haunt him into asking you out for a second date.    😉
  • Technically I’m still a man… On second thoughts, say it anyway just to see the look on his face!   🙂
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