The Great Facebook Debate

The Ex and I have an ongoing argument about social networking. He says things like, ‘Facebook has ruined the art of conversation’, or ‘People should keep in contact by phone. I mean, how can you tell if a person’s really okay if you can’t hear their voice?’

I say stuff like, ‘What about the disabled or sick who rely on sites like Twitter or Facebook for keeping in touch with people they might otherwise never see,’ or ‘I’ve made loads of friends through these sites, that I would never have ‘met’ through conventional channels’.  And it gives members of my family the perfect platform for verbal abuse. Who am I deny such perfect vehicles for vitriolic communications?

Image via Wikipedia

On Saturday evening The Ex and I were re-hashing the same old argument. It went something like this:

The Ex: ‘So, have you heard from Eldest Son since he’s back at uni?’

Me: ‘No, but I know he’s fine ‘cos I’ve seen his comments on Facebook.’  Too late, I realised my mistake and tried desperately to suck those flammable words back inside my treacherous mouth, but the little bastards refused to be contained: like mischievous toddlers escaped from the playpen, they were free and out to cause chaos.

The Ex, spluttering: ‘What d’you mean, you’ve seen his comments on Facebook – you can’t tell anything from those; he could’ve been writing those status updates from the Bristol Royal Infirmary – with one finger because  the rest of him was in a body cast!’

Image via Wikipedia

Me: ‘Had that been the case I’m sure he would’ve posted that on Facebook. In fact he would’ve exaggerated it to wind me up by saying  a cute nurse was typing because he’d lost all his fingers.’

The Ex: ‘You’re missing the point. You can’t tell from the written word whether he’s happy or stressed or hanging from a noose in his flat!’

Me (smugly): ‘I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to reach his laptop if he were hanging from the rafters. And I’m also confident that he would phone me if there were a problem.’

The Ex: ‘Aaah, but you don’t know for sure. I’m surprised you haven’t phoned him.’

Me: ‘I’m trying not to Mom all over him.’

The Ex: ‘Even so, he should have rung you.’

Me: ‘It’s only been a week! I’m sure he’s fine, just busy catching up with mates and stuff. And we don’t normally communicate much at the beginning of term. It’s more in the last few weeks when he’s starting to run out of money. Or when I get concerned about his bowels, and have to ring and ask, “Have you eaten any vegetables this term, son? I know, I’ll send you some money – you can buy frozen peas. Peas are easy, peas are good for you. I like peas.” ‘

Image via Wikipedia

 And peas have a social conscience.

The conversation burbled along, and as soon as I put the phone down, it rang again.

Eldest Son: ‘Hi Mum, gotta problem. Well, not so much of a problem, more of a query. Do I put the lid on the casserole dish for pasta bake, or leave it uncovered?’

Ha! I was right! But, just to be on the safe side, I slipped in a few subtle questions: ‘So…. ummm… where are you at the moment?’

Eldest Son: ‘Well, where do you think I am? I’ll give you a clue: I’m trying to put my tea in the oven, if only someone would tell me whether it needs a lid or not.’

Me: ‘Yes! Put a lid on for the first twenty minutes, then grate some cheese and leave uncovered for the cheese to brown. Now, where are you?’

Eldest Son: ‘I’M IN THE FLAT, OBVIOUSLY!’

Okay, so I can cross the hospital off the list. I know the NHS are making cut-backs, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have the patients making their own dinner. Especially ones wearing an all-over body plaster cast. Now I just need to make sure he isn’t suicidal: ‘Now, where exactly are your feet?’

Eldest Son: ‘Same place they’ve always been, mother. On the end of my legs.’

Me, sighing: ‘Yes, but where exactly are they in relation to, say – the floor, or the … umm… ceiling?’

Eldest Son: ‘Have they put you on wacky drugs or something?’

Me: ‘No. I’ve just been talking to your father.’

Eldest Son: ‘Oh, right. That explains it, then.’

Image via Wikipedia

So, my question to you is this: Are social networking sites the work of the Devil? Are they causing a breakdown in communications? Are we being too lazy by relying on sites like Facebook or Twitter to keep us in touch? Or, do you think that they add to the whole communication process? Do they play a valuable role in keeping us connected to both people we love and the outside world?

I would love to hear your comments. Please, add your opinion to this ongoing, never-ending debate of ours!

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.  😉

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)     😀

Well, Bugger Me! Got Myself a Doggone Diagnosis…

Image by Luke Robinson via Flickr

It’s official: I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/M.E. I’m in shock and it’s mostly because of actually getting a diagnosis. It’s only taken 11 months. And seven years. Yeah, that was always depression as well… And I’ve already had a run-in with someone who thinks ME is just ‘Lazy Cow Syndrome’. Can’t wait for word to get around and the bitchy finger-pointing to start… God, I love my life! 🙂

Anyway, I have to see my GP on 4th July to discuss possible drug treatments and I’ve just been referred to an Occupational Therapist for – well, who knows, whatever it is that OT’s do.

On a brighter note, I’ve been doing some research for the book and I thought I’d share: niche dating sites. If golfing is a huge part of your life, for example, it stands to reason that you’d want to date a golfer. Why, then, trawl through hundreds of general profiles when  you could just join a golfing dating site?

And believe me, there’s a niche dating site out there dedicated to fulfilling all your needs, requirements or plain old kinky desires.

Ten Incredibly Specific Niche Sites:

1. Adopt a Guy ~ every girl loves shopping, right? Guys fill out their profiles and sit on the ‘shelves’ until a gorgeous girl comes along and pops him into her ‘shopping trolley’, and only then, is he allowed to spark up a conversation. Is this girl power or just girl power gone bonkers? Great for shy guys or female control freaks.

2. Date My Pet ~ in case you’re worried about the whole bestiality issue, this site just concentrates on matching mutual pet-lovers. I think. But then, couldn’t that cause potential problems? Suppose I met The One I Just Couldn’t Live Without and my dog and his cat hated each other. Or suppose my pussy just
gobbled up his pet mouse. What then? Would True Love conquer all? Or would we all end up in step-pet’s therapy?

3. Ugly Bug Ball ~ because beauty is all in the eye of the beholder (or the severely intoxicated), this is for the more aesthetically challenged amongst us… A site dedicated to purely ugly people. How liberating! You’d never need to shave your pits, ladies, or keep your acne under control. And if he ever complained, you could snarl, ‘I’m beautiful on the inside, remember?’

4. Trek Passions ~ for anyone with an interest in science-fiction – no, an obsession; you’d have to be besotted to want to spend your days discussing lien abduction and doing that strange Vulcan sign thing with your fingers. But, as they say on the site: Love Long and Prosper.

5. Pounced ~ this is the place for anyone who enjoys dressing up as an animal, and ouncing on an equally hairy mate – or ‘furry’ as they like to be called. Yeah, I know, but it takes all sorts. And can’t you just imagine the ads: Lonesome Rabbit in Need of New Hole. Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing Seeks Lamb for Breakfast.   Hairy Brown Bear Wants to Dip his Paws in your Honey. Randy Dog Needs  Somewhere Safe to Bury His Bone…

6. Positively Singles ~ are you hampered by Herpes? Scuppered by Syphilis? Clammed-up through Chlamydia? Or gummed up with Gonorrhoea? Do you worry you’ll  never find The One because you slept with way too many of The Others? Well,  help is here! You need never again fret about passing on your sexually transmitted disease to users on this site because they already have them! How cool is that?
A match made in Heaven…

7. Cougar Date ~ yep,  this one’s all about  young men dating older women. I can kind of see the attraction – a Toy-Boy’s going to be cuter and more virile than say, a fifty-year-old, bald and beer-bellied bloke, but c’mon,  some of these guys are eighteen. What on earth would you talk about? Lady Gaga? And where would you go on a date? Homework Club?

8. Instant Quickies ~ feeling horny? Do you fancy an instant, uncomplicated  shag? Well, look no further than the McDonald’s of dating sites – Instant  Quickies, the place where you can find and hook-up with a consenting mate for the night. (Or early afternoon if you have to be home to do the school-run.) And if you see someone you like and he suddenly disappears, don’t worry, he’ll be popping up again next week on Positively Singles.

9. Uniform Dating ~ ooh! If you fantasise about being rescued from a natural or a thug-made disaster by a hunky guy in uniform – and let’s be real: what woman with a pulse doesn’t? – then this is the site for you. Pages and pages of  testosterone-fuelled Alpha males. Oh, be still my twitching knickers.

10. Daily Diapers ~ okay. So here’s the thing – some people like wearing nappies. Yep. And rubber pants. And even babygros. They even like to soil themselves. And be bathed, dressed and fed liquified mush by their partners. It’s fun. Relaxing, apparently. If this appeals to you and you’re not quite sure where you’d find a like-minded playmate, log onto Daily Diapers and, er… go, poop!

Doesn’t it make you just wanna go and sign up?

Speechless. Completely Speechless…

Cover of Speechless

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or throw a tantrum; I went to the docs today, armed with my new book – marked to page 96 – and psyched up for a fight. I was resolved to use whatever weapon necessary to present my case – tears, mega-strops or staging a sit-in. And if I ended up on a psychiatric ward, then so be it. At least I’d get out of cooking dinner.

‘Hello, Tiny. How are you feeling today?’

‘Still breathing…’ I answered.

‘Well, I’ve just been re-reading your notes and looking at the test results and I think it’s time I made a Chronic Fatigue referral. How do you feel about that?’

Erm… Gobsmacked. Speechless. Confused.

‘Well, I know you’re the doctor, but I honestly don’t believe this is depression.’ Nope, that didn’t quite answer the question, but my brain had kind of reverted to Planned Speech mode.

‘No, I don’t think it is either.’

‘Huh? Huh?’

‘When any patient presents with fatigue, we always consider depression as primary diagnosis, especially when there’s previous history.’

And who made up that rule? Hitler?

I was honestly too shocked to say anything except a mumbled Thanks, as I left the surgery. It’s been ten months! Ten fucking months! I’ve been arguing with them for at least eight of those months. Unbelievable. Eldest son is home from uni in a fortnight: he’s got a third of a degree in that time! And I’ve got another two or three months’ wait for an appointment.

Speechless. Completely speechless.

* Sorry, guys. I’ve written this badly – I’m relieved about the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome referral; it means they’re taking me seriously. I just find it incredible that they’ve hammered on about depression since September and then, today my GP just casually says it isn’t. I’m glad, just amazed because I’ve been telling them is wasn’t depression for the last eight months! Talk about irony!  Oh, and I promise to write one non-medical-non-whiney post this week. I bet you’re as sick of my health as I am!!*

The Good, the Bad and the Metrosexual…

Good news: I’m still alive! Bad news: it’s been so long since I posted, I’ve forgotten how to write.

Thank-you all so much for your messages and comments. I hope to be back in action soon…

Latest test results all came back clear which is great because it means I don’t have tumours, diabetes or any of the other stuff that they were testing for. I’m not menopausal or vitamin B12 deficient, and I don’t have thyroid problems.

Trouble is: I’m no closer to a bleedin’ answer, and in some respects, I’m getting worse. I have to rest in between changing a double duvet cover. I can’t lift a 3 kilo bag of dog food. Last Friday night I slept for 18 hours out of 24 and then spent the rest of Saturday slobbing on the sofa because I literally couldn’t get up without the world spinning. And I seem to have developed an unhealthy obsession with Robert Pattinson.

Image via Wikipedia

 As you know, I like my fantasy men mean and meaty, not lean, clean and metrosexual, so I’m quite worried about this new symptom. Perhaps my brain has atrophied from lack of use. Or maybe it’s because I’m definitely not menopausal, maybe my unwithered eggs are screaming for last-chance impregnation and have fixated upon the young male of the species. I suspect it has more to do with the fact that, while prostrate on the sofa, I read the whole of Water for Elephants – in between snoozing, of course – and Master Pattinson adorns the front cover. In my poorly state, I seem to have got him confused with, well, a romantic hero. Scary.

I adore this book; it’s a beautiful love story set in a 1930’s circus. I could explain the plot, but I have Durr-brain, so I’ll make this easy and probably more entertaining:

Ahhh…

So where do I go from here? Apart from re-reading the old Twilight series, of course. Don’t judge me; I really can’t help these perfectly normal teenage obsessions, you know. In fact it’s not really an obsession at all until I start following him on Twitter, or plastering his juvenile mug across my pink bedroom walls. But where was I? Oh yeah, medical stuff. My GP has now decided that I have to wait a month for all medication to leave my system and then try another anti-depressant before she’ll refer me to a Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/ME clinic or whatever the hell it’s called this week.

I replied with a few choice sweary words and just thought Fuck it! I give up!  I’m wasting the bit of energy I have got, fighting doctors and it’s pointless. I may well not have Chronic Fatigue, but I certainly do have chronic fatigue, so I ordered a book, written by a CFS sufferer who also happens to be a GP.  And today it arrived, and there on page 96, it says CFS should never really be mistaken for depression because of the basic clinical differences between the two. And it lists ’em all! Yep! all the points I’ve been arguing since bloody September!

Hahaha! The bitch will be mine!

I’m Considered Gorgeous, Cute and Versatile – no, wait. It’s just Versatile…

May God, Buddha and the whole darn Universe shower blessings upon my beautiful bloggin’ buddy Bernie for she has bestowed upon me The Versatile Blogger Award! Yay! Go, me! *does that celebratory circular thing with her arms, like she’s stirring two lumpy bowls of cold custard*

I luff Bernie’s blog; she is quite mad, and does quite mad things, like dressing up a life-size mannequin, hauling him all over the house, and photographing him doing the dishes or taking a pretend pee! How wonderfully awesome and creative is that? 😀
Thanks, Bernie for my wonderful new award!

Now I must share seven facts about myself. To be honest, I’m a little worried here; you’ve had my phobias, my dreams, my crushes and my mega-sized tampon-rolling stories. What is there left to share? My bra size? Oh, okay then, perv…

• My bra size is 36B and my arse size is huge. Happy now? 

I don't have a tail though... Image by varun_shinde via Flickr

• I’ve got two tattoos – a Japanese symbol on the top of my left arm and a Celtic type thing just above my right ankle. It looks a bit like a flattened cactus. The Japanese one is supposed to mean ‘Good fortune, luck and prosperity’. I suspect it actually says ‘Stupid mare paid £50 for this crappy doodle. Lol!’

 

First the arm, and now the ankle – hell, at this rate you’ll be able to piece me together like scraps of dog-chewed socks. Okay, okay, here’s another morsel:

And I even shaved my leg – just the one in the photo though…

•  I got my Master’s degree a couple of years ago, and now I really, really really want to do a Ph. D, exploring the changing gender roles within modern society. I also think it’ll make for a great chat-up line: ‘Take your clothes off, mister. You can trust me – I’m a Doctor.’  😉

Image by Jeff the Trojan via Flickr

• I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Basically, this means I poop a lot. If I eat spicy, I poop; if I eat fatty, I poop; if I’m worried, stressed or scared, I poop masses. Once – just before starting the MA – I was worried, stressed and terrified, and lost two stone in two weeks through perpetual pooping. Really, it’s an art…

Image by dianaschnuth via Flickr

• I’ve never broken a bone and I’ve only ever had one operation – a tonsillectomy, and boy! was that fun! I was thirty at the time, and you know how hospitals always feed children ice-cream after they’ve had their tonsils removed, well, I wasn’t allowed to leave until I’d eaten two slices of DRY toast. Oh yum. And it didn’t hurt at all, ripping away at my bruised and lacerated throat.
  But the post-op pain was the killer! A week after I’d had ’em ripped out, I phoned the doctor in tears, begging for horse tranquilisers. ‘It hurts sooooo much, *wail* I’m in agony! Help meeeeee! *more wailing, sniffing and snotty sobbing*

Image by jpockele via Flickr

• Number six… I’m really struggling here … umm… I know! Twitter! I have 121 people following my bird farts (phrase courtesy of The Coupon Queen. Sorry, I love that term. It’s mine now 😉  ) 119 of them are 13-year-old girls who really think I’m Tinie Tempah. I mean, WTH? Apart from the whole different name-spelling issue, doesn’t the gravatar image give ’em a clue? Do they really believe a big, butch, black rap-singer parades around in shiny bright red high heels?
  And I keep tweeting tweets like ‘Just to let you know – I AM NOT Tinie Tempah!’ but do they listen? No. I keep receiving messages saying ‘U R gr8. I luv U and Justin Beiber *heart, heart*’ Oh, the pressure of stardom…

Image via Wikipedia

• Okay, I’m stuck now – ask me a question – any question – and I’ll edit the post to add the answer. C’mon, I know you’re nosy – what would you like to know?
  NB. I DON’T know where you can buy Star Wars’ Condoms, so don’t ask!  🙂

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?

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…

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! 

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.   😉

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.

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!

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?

10 Good Things on Monday…

I must apologise – sorry, sorry, sorry – for not reading any blog posts for a few days – I’ve been so busy, I’m all behind with the fun stuff. I went to a Creative Writing workshop on Saturday – I have to just share this with you – we all tried Automatic Writing (meditation, putting pen to paper and allowing a ‘higher force’ to guide the words – could be God, Spirit, or your subconscious mind, depending on your beliefs). Well, most of us had squiggles to show for it, but Diane, the lady next to me, had three lines of perfectly formed  letters – but written backwards! We all crowded into the ladies and shoved her paper up against the mirror – it read: ‘Hello. I am here writing.’ Wow!
We all stampeded back to our tables, determined to find hidden messages in our scrawl. Eldest son suddenly yelled, ‘Mum! Look! You’ve written LOL backwards!’   😀
Am I deeply philosophical, or what?

Anyway, moving onto today’s post where I’m linking up with Nina on Brush Up On Your Reading for 10 Good Things on Monday, and this time I’ve chosen my ten most-loved books:

       1.Wuthering Heights ~ Emily Brontë

Probably my all-time favourite novel – it’s about love, passion and tragedy on the Yorkshire Moors – a once-in-a-lifetime, all compassing love that transcends the grave. A bit like me and Jase…   😉

      2. One Day ~ David Nicholls

It’s the 15th of July 1988. Emma and Dexter spend their graduation night together. The next day, they must go their separate ways. David Nicholls tells their story on this one day every year for the next thirty years. I love this book! My favourite quote: ‘You’re gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence, Either that or a scented candle.’

         3. Dear John ~ Nicholas Sparks

Get your tissues out, girlies, this one broke my hardened, cynical little heart. Can love survive long-distance and the pressure of professional duty? Be warned: the book’s far more emotional than the film!

        4. Insomnia ~ Steven King

I’m pretty much in love with anything Stephen King writes, but I particularly love this one. It’s all about pensioner Ralph suddenly developing insomnia, yet as he needs less and less sleep, his mind becomes sharper. And then the hallucinations start – dun, dun, dunnnn – the colours, shapes and strange auras. Needless to say, there’s an evil force afoot, and Ralph must play the hero and save the world!

         5. Spanky ~ Christopher Fowler

Martyn Ross has a miserable life until he meets Spanky – his very own personal demon. Spanky makes Martyn’s wishes come true, but is Martyn prepared to pay the cost for such hedonistic pleasures? Really tight, witty writing with a story premise that explores the deeper issues of mankind, it’s a favourite, folks, it’s a classic!

       6. Blacklands ~ Belinda Bauer 

A chilling psychological drama set on Exmoor. Twelve-year-old Steven Lamb’s uncle disappeared as a child, and the family are still grieving. Everyone believes he was murdered by Arnold Avery and then buried on the moors. Steven decides to contact the child-killer, hoping to discover the whereabouts of his uncle’s remains… A fantastic story full of intrigue and suspense as we’re taken into the minds of both a small boy and a manipulative serial killer.

         7. Hot Six ~ Janet Evanovitch

Stephanie Plum is a blonde, sassy bounty hunter who keeps her gun in a cookie jar. Part six of a series that is outrageously, laugh-out-loud funny. This one starts off with: ‘Okay, so here’s the thing. My mother’s worst fear has come true. I’m a nymphomaniac. I lust after a lot of men. Of course, maybe that’s because I don’t actually have sex with any. And some of my lustings probably aren’t going anywhere. Probably it’s unrealistic to think I’ll ever get it on with Mike Richter, the goalie for the New York Rangers. Ditto Indiana Jones.’
I just love, worship and adore this woman: when I grow up, I wanna be Stephanie Plum.

        8. Where Rainbows End ~ Cecelia Ahern

 Aww, another we-can’t-quite-our-acts-together romance, but this one’s funny and touching. Rosie and Alex are naughty seven-year-old friends, then rebellious teenagers and finally, fully fledged adults. They nurture their friendship through misspelled notes in school, e-mails, postcards and misplaced, emotional love-letters. Will these two ever get it together?

        9. Play Dead ~ Harlan Coben 

I love, love, love this author and his clever plots and twists, always creating intrigue and suspense. I’ve chosen Play Dead because it’s the only one of his books where I’ve been able to work out whodunnit! Yay! Go, me! Laura Ayers is on her honeymoon when her new hubby drowns in the sea. Was it an accident? Or suicide? Or –gasp! – murder! A whole conspiracy plot evolves as Coben drip-feeds us clues and red-herrings.

        10. Pride and Prejudice ~ Jane Austin

Do I need to say anything about Pride and Prejudice? An all-time classic featuring the wonderful Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy, and let’s face it, we all need a Mr Darcy in our lives *sigh*   😉

Thanks, Nina, for hosting!

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*