Happy Valentine’s Day, Baby

Hey all, have you missed me?

The movies keep coming back and so will I

The movies keep coming back and so will I

I’ve been awol for a while dealing with… well… that pesky little thing called life. Trying to create life really gets in the way of actually having one. But, I’m back now and I’m sure the blogosphere is spinning on its www axis in excitement.

And what better day to make my re-entry than the day of teddy bears, flowers and all that rubbish, a day to share the love? Valentine’s Day, or Singles Awareness Day, or “my husband only needs to love me one day of the year.” Well, I think I can beat any giant boxes of candy, oversized cuddly toys and bouquets of flowers so big you think you’re living outdoors.

Now this is more like it.

Now this is more like it.

I had a date with Sparkly Wand. It’s been three months since Sparkly Wand and I have been intimately acquainted and I almost resorted to starting another blog writing sad romantic ballads and suicide poetry. Wait… I said almost.

sparkly wand

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Stick a wand inside me
And I might sparkle too

 

Last week we started the IVF process. IVF, short for I Vent Freely, is the G rated version of baby making. There is no need for physical intimacy at all, except with Sparkly Wand. So what better day than this, the day of puking hearts, to reunite with that magical rainbow shaft?

The first thing they make you do when you start IVF is go on the pill. I kid you not. You want a baby? Well then take the oral contraceptive. Er… contradiction anyone. Well, apparently it’s priming my body for a baby… now what the fuck have I been doing all these months? Has Sparkly Wand been leading me on? I feel betrayed.

Sparkly Wand can buy back my trust…. with a king sized box of chocolates.

sorry

Storkhunter:

I thought I was an expert on all things pee related.

Originally posted on :

TheaterPeeHeader copy

To pee, or not to pee? That is the question. Everyone who has ever gone to a movie knows this predicament- whether ’tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of painfully watching a movie when you have to relieve yourself, or to take arms against a sea of porcelain and miss a few minutes of a movie you’ve paid to see. To help you determine the best possible time to pee during a movie, I’ve created this flowchart.

View original 10 more words

Four Eyes/No Eyes

It's not all it's cracked up to be!

It’s not all it’s cracked up to be!

I’ve finally cracked. My insanity is now manifesting itself on to my belongings and Thursday morning my glasses became its latest victim. I had just come in from the freezing cold outdoors and my lenses began steaming up as the heat rose, or something. I don’t understand the science bit of why this happens, I just know it’s annoying.

I took them off to clear the steam and there on the left lens was a giant crack right across the centre. Putting my glasses back on caused me to see everything underlined. Suddenly all the dust and dirt in my house was glaring at me with a massive underscore. I’m just waiting for someone to turn on the bold feature and perhaps then I’ll feel guilted enough into actually doing some cleaning.

Now that's what I call bold dust.

Now that’s what I call bold dust.

With me being me, I obviously do not have a spare pair of glasses. Oh no, that would be the sane thing to do, and we’ve established that sanity has long given up the ghost in Storkland.

Of course, I live in Merry Old England and in this super efficient country one should never be inconsiderate enough to have any kind of emergency just before the weekend. Break your leg on a Friday and you will be stuck in hospital until Monday. True Story!! That actually happened to Offspring the First a few years ago. I spent the entire weekend with him, whining, annoyed, impatient and wanting to get the hell out – and that was just me. Did you know that your chances of dying in hospital increase by 10% if you are admitted at the weekend? Next time I get sick on a Friday I’ll take my chances and stay home.

And he's not even a patient.

And he’s not even a patient.

The opticians thought that I obviously had nothing else to do because I couldn’t see anyway and they decided that since my last sight test was over a year ago that I should have one prior to them fixing my glasses. Luckily, there were only few idiots like me around on Thursday, so they had time to make me read tiny letters straight away.

Have you ever had a sight test? It’s a fun experience. They sit you in a darkened room on a leather chair and then make you wear a contraption straight out of a science fiction movie as they keep interchanging lenses making your vision go from super sharp to blurry and then back again. It’s like a roller coaster for eyes. Barely have your eyes recovered from that 0-60 adventure, when the optician gets really close and whilst he makes you look at his tiny light, he gazes into your pupils. I swear I had more intimacy with the optician that I have ever had with Sparkly Wand.

Between this and Sparkly Wand, I feel like I've had an alien probing.

Between this and Sparkly Wand, I feel like I’ve had an alien probing.

The good news is I passed the test. No need to change my prescription at all. Oh, thank you for that. Can I please have my glasses fixed now? As it turns out, my trusty spectacles, which I have had for three years, were quite literally on their last legs. They had definitely seen (no pun intended) better days.

So by now I’ve been tested in oh so many ways, chosen new frames and have to decide between wearing my oversized prescription sunglasses on the year’s most cloudy day or the ancient pair of reactive to light glasses, which are not completely the correct prescription and hark back to the days when rimless glasses were fashionable. They’re so old that they’ve given up on life and now remain a permanent shade of dim. Kind of like some people I know!

This is my world now

This is my world now

Just for funsies, I chose option two and now have the pleasure of seeing a skewed shaded world until I get my new pair. The opticians were kind enough to put them down as urgent and will have my order expedited for Monday…. or Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. Definitely some time this week. I’m still having my old pair fixed. One never knows when one will need a spare set. Probably never, now that I’ll have them.

So whilst I am definitely  not seeing the world through rose tinted spectacles, I’m not seeing the dust either. So I guess I’m seeing silver linings after all.

UPDATE: I now have my shiny new glasses, so I no longer have a distorted view of the world. Not a physical one anyway.

Fifty Shades Freud

Emergency. Is there a Dr in the house? These women seem to be brain dead.

Emergency. Is there a Dr in the house? These women seem to be brain dead.

I have a little background in psychology, and by that I mean there was one page, in one chapter, in one module of my degree that mentioned Psychology, so obviously I am now a total expert in all matters of mind-fuckery. Well, at least I didn’t graduate from the Dr Flynn Academy for Quacks and Charlatans.

Now I know that most of Freud’s theories have been discredited, but come on, nothing in this book is credible at all, so what the hell.

So here goes my diagnosis.

Fifty Shades of Grey: A Case Study (for added fun read with an Austrian accent).

Before we begin looking at our patients, let’s start with Freud’s theories of Oral Fixation. You know, the notion that our sexual urges start from a young age – a theory E L James is in complete support of, you know with Ana’s fetus liking sex and all.

We know that Christian was hungry when he was four years old so his oral stage was stunted, and therefore all his fifty shades of fucked upness is totally not his fault, but it looks like Ana must have suffered orally too because she also seems to suffer from an oral fixation, maybe because her mommy didn’t give her a buttplug shaped pacifier to suck on.

And that's why she grew up to be Ana Steele

And that’s why she grew up to be Ana Steele

Oral fixation has two possible outcomes.

  • The Oral receptive personality is preoccupied with eating/drinking and reduces tension through oral activity such as eating, drinking, smoking, biting nails or lips. They are generally passive, needy and sensitive to rejection. They will easily ‘swallow’ other people’s ideas.

  • The Oral aggressive personality is hostile and verbally abusive to others, using mouth-based aggression.

(Source: http://changingminds.org/explanations/learning/freud_stage.htm)

I can’t imagine who this reminds me of!

 The Patient:

I’m sure I read somewhere, in the book or on another blog, that Christian likes hitting and fucking girls who look like his crack whore mother. Nothing Freudian about that; nope, not at all. He’s pissed off at his mother for being murdered by a pimp (how very inconsiderate of her!!), and now we discover he’s gone all Oedipus complex on her.

But let’s take this even further. Apparently, the delightful Mr Grey looks like the crack-whore who gave birth to him (his words not mine). So not only is he metaphorically fucking his own mother, but the narcissistic creep is actually having sex with himself. Or maybe someone just told him to go fuck himself and he took it literally.

And if Christian is sleeping with himself, wouldn’t he be self-flagellating. And why does he hate himself so much? Because he likes hitting girls. Don’t you just love it when life goes around in an endless circle of nothingness? Well, stop beating yourself up Christian. Seriously. Stop it.

Well, it saves me the job!

Well, it saves me the job!

 The Girlfriend:

Oh Ana, Ana, Ana. Where to begin. Well, Ana, obviously doesn’t have a brain or a spine. Wait! Is she even human? Does she have a psyche to analyse? Until I figure out that particular conundrum, I’ll start with those pesky voices in her head.

Ana’s inner goddess and her subconscious are what Freud would call the id and the superego;  the complete pleasure principle versus the overly moral self. Or, the metaphorical little devil and angel on her shoulder – heart versus head, or in this case the vagina versus the brain.

Ana's inner goddess. She has a better wardrobe than I do. Bitch!!

Ana’s inner goddess. She has a better wardrobe than I do. Bitch!!

The inner goddess is definitely the horny little devil, but for a little angel, the subconscious is kind of a bitch. Well, wouldn’t you be? Inner goddess is basically Ana’s vagina, and we all know that Ana’s supervag is all magic and stuff with sparkles and rainbows, whereas the subconscious is acting on behalf of Ana’s brain. No wonder she’s pissed all the time!

Ana's subconscious. The picture says it all really!

Ana’s subconscious. The picture says it all really!

Moving on to the brainless wonder. Can anyone say Daddy Issues? She consistently thinks of Ray at completely inappropriate moments, like when she’s in the car with Christian, “I’m catapulted back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I don’t need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband. Hmmm!”  Okay, maybe this is just me, but those two sentences ought to be complete non-sequiters. They shouldn’t even be on the same continent, never mind in the same book, on the same page, in the same fucking paragraph.

Oh and she makes it very clear that Ray isn’t her biological father, he’s “the man I consider my dad.” Because that makes her sexual daddy references all okay. As far as I’m concerned it just dials up the creepometer by a factor of, well, fifty.

The Doctor:

Ana calls him an expensive charlatan, which is quite possibly the only clever thing she says in the entire million pages of garbage. But, dear sweet Ana, says it TO HIS FACE!! Oh honey, do you really think it is a good idea to piss of the one guy who has access to your psycho boyfriend’s mind?

Dr Flynn is no better though. How long has he been treating Christian? And he thinks that bidding on his crazy patient’s girlfriend is a good idea, why? Oh, yes, I know, let’s piss off the psycho sadist. But, don’t worry, it was a joke. Phew!! What a relief. Of course, Christian is renowned for his sense of humour. I’m sure every time he sets his mouth in a hard line he’s really laughing on the inside. Dr Flynn, I so see buttplugs somewhere in your future.

Time for a career change, Dr Flynn.

Time for a career change, Dr Flynn.

The Therapy:

Solution Focussed Based Therapy, or whatever crap E L James found on Wikipedia.

The aim is to get Christian where he envisages himself he wants to be. Er, paging Dr Flynn. Again I have to ask, how long have you known this patient? He’s already where he wants to be.

He’s a billionaire business mogul with is very own bodyguard, housekeeper and private jet. But most of all he has is very own sex dolly, who is so very lifelike. She’s always ready for action, she never says no and she’s completely flexible with not having a spine and all. He doesn’t even have to worry about blowing her up or accidentally puncturing her (although he’d probably enjoy that). The only thing he needs to worry about is letting the air escape from her head, because then there really would be nothing left.

Ana Steele, only with more life!

Ana Steele, only with more life!

And if he wants to turn her off all he has to do is pat her on the head and say, “go to sleep, Ana,” and the sweet little thing is finished for the day.

Much like this blog post.

 

AWOL

awolNo, I’m not dead, nor am I hiding beneath a pair of stirrups. I’ve actually been looking for a modicum of sanity, but I fear that’s gone for good.

I’ve been a bad bad blogger lately. I ought to be ashamed of myself, and believe me, I would be if I had any shame left. Well, I have excuses, reasons, flights of fancy to explain my lack of blogging connectivity lately. Well, my life has become one crazy blur of activity, largely to blame is my doctorate in procrastination. As deadlines loom, that pile of paperwork is mocking me whispering ‘you’ll never finish with us in time,’ my bills are bleeding red reminder notices and that stupid magazine I’m working on is still not finished.

In short, I’ve been too busy dealing with that thing one calls life to find the time to write about it. My lack of priorities not withstanding, therein is my explanation for being an absentee blogger and commenter recently.

Please hold on whilst I pass you to a representative who will promise you that normal blog activity should resume next week. Hopefully. I, however, won’t bill you for your time.

Thank you for your patience, your blog is important to me … beeeep.

I Have A Confession…

I cheated on Sparkly Wand today. Yes, everyone, I had a date with Sparkly Wand’s bad-boy cousin, InSPECt’er Cavity. He was nothing like Sparkly Wand; he was cold, hard and frankly quite hurtful. I’ve tried apologising to Sparkly Wand. I’ve told him it didn’t mean anything. But Sparkly Wand is sad; he might need to borrow Sad Pony for a while.

Sparkly Wand has lost his sparkle.

Sparkly Wand has lost his sparkle.

InSPECt'er Cavity ... only with fewer teeth

InSPECt’er Cavity … only with fewer teeth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

InSPECt’er Cavity, a gynaecological instrument of torture designed by the Spanish Inquisition … or possibly Christian Grey …   subjected me to the kind of test that Human Rights activists should protest against with placards and angry letters to their politicians. Forget water-boarding, these vaginal forms of torture are being performed right under our noses, in clinics everywhere, and we’re all being seduced into believing that it’s for our own good.

I can handle it myself.

I can handle it myself.

I will omit the icky details of the exam, partially because even I, with my totally desensitised mind, don’t want to relive the experience, but mainly because I really like you guys and wouldn’t want to put you through the torture. For those of you with an imagination, now is not the time to exercise that gift; and for those of you without, be grateful.

As my Consultant, InSPECt’er Cavity’s wing man, prepared me for the InSPECt’er’s  assault, his nurse and I joked how fortunate men are with their appendages with no speculums (speculii?) in their futures and if the males of the species had to give birth, the world would come to an end. Great idea!!  Poke fun at the guy who is elbow deep inside you with a plastic yawn.

It comes out from where...?

It comes out from where…?

I do not have an intelligent vagina; no smart IQ points were found in my “down there.” On the contrary, it turns out that my husband’s super swimmers may be working in a hostile environment. Whilst they diligently come to work every day ready for action, my cervix is slamming the door in their faces. I fear I may have to kick my own vagina off Team Vagina. She’s letting down the sisterhood. Traitorous Bitch!!

InSPECt’er Cavity and I have history. A few months ago, before I met Sparkly Wand, I had a tentative first date with InSPECt’er Cavity. His team of doctor and nurses drinking buddies thought it would be a fun idea to inject me with a dye and see if my uterus glowed, like Ana Steele’s head would if someone shone a light in her ear.

I was prepared for the test, or at least I thought I was. The doctor warned me that there may be a slight pain and then proceeded to give me antibiotics and analgesics, with a street value of about £1000, to be inserted into every imaginable orifice before the test, you know, as a precaution.

The blue ones go in, the pink ones go up and the yellow ones go down.

The blue ones go in, the pink ones go up and the yellow ones go down.

I’ve become a bit of an expert at interpreting doctor speak.  If they say, “this won’t hurt a bit,” prepare for a little discomfort. If they try to prepare you with a “you’ll feel a slight pinch,” you should know that it’s gonna hurt like a son-of-a bitch. And if they actually ever admit that “this might be a little bit uncomfortable,” you should prepare your last will and testament. If any of those statements is accompanied by prophylactic painkillers, run, run away as fast as you possibly can, but remember to take the drugs with you, you can sell them to make your way across the border.

medical jargon

InSPECt’er Cavity was a real douche. Imagine someone shoving a duck’s beak inside you and then asking it to quack … loudly.* He wasn’t sensitive and careful, not like Sparkly Wand. His rough and ready attitude caused me a slight injury and I swear my vagina felt like it was on fire, and not in the cool King of Leon kind of way. I honestly thought that I would never pee again, never mind have the ability to procreate. There are not enough painkillers, or mind-altering drugs, in the world to block out the memory of that pain. I could feel what the walls of my house feel when I’m having a party. There was a party in my vagina, complete with hot chili and tequila, and I wasn’t invited.

burning vag

After that test I swore I would never see InSPECt’er Cavity again and I really meant it at the time, especially after I met Sparkly Wand. But then he flirted with me, showered me with a compliment or two and solemnly swore, “I only want to see you naked, I promise I won’t take any pictures,” and this stupid gal fell for it. Well, I could never resist a bit of a bad boy.

InSPECt'er Cavity's gang tattoo.

InSPECt’er Cavity’s gang tattoo.

But, now I know better. Sparkly Wand, I make this promise to you. I will never see InSPECt’er Cavity again…. at least I hope not.

*I came up with this duck analogy ages ago, and when searching for an image I discovered that speculum has another definition, “a bright iridescent patch of colour on the wings of certain birds, especially ducks.” True Story!! I couldn’t make this up.

Pretty on the outside - where it should stay!

Pretty on the outside – where it should stay!

Help Wanted

You’re lucky to get anything in this economy.

If I had £1 for every NaNo word I’ve written I would … well, you guys wouldn’t see me for a while. I’d probably be shoe shopping. Yes, I did it, I wrote 50,000 words in under 30 days. But novel, shmovel, who cares about that when I got me some new blog bling? Yes, it counts!

This is the real reason I did NaNoWriMo.

As I peeked my head out from behind my computer screen my eyes adjusting to the new light conditions I was faced with some harsh realities. It seemed my house had missed me; someone had written “clean me,” with their fingers in the dust, I have cobwebs that would make Miss Havisham blush and my shower, well, it needs a shower.

Yes, I am this filthy.

There’s also a strange man sitting on my couch, he looks familiar though, so I might let him stay and Offspring the First has resorted to eating out the garbage. But the last straw was when I realised the accidental load of laundry I did two days ago was still in the washing machine, calling for an immediate rewash leaving the kid to wear yesterday’s pyjamas after today’s bath.

At least he’s not wearing these.

Problem is that my work is not done. I may have written 50,000 words (well 55k actually, but who’s counting at this point), but my novel ain’t finished and I still have this crazy notion to finish it before the month is out. And then comes the editing, rewriting, hell, let’s just say that it’s going to be a completely different novel by the time I’m done slicing and dicing. I also have a 28 page magazine to produce within the next three weeks and I’m trying to maintain a healthy blog post average. Life is tough when you’re trying to achieve stuff. It’s so much easier being lazy and watching TV all day. Why don’t I just do that instead? My brain thanks me. I think. Sometimes it lets me down so badly, that I wonder.

Out of my mind – back in 5 minutes.

My point, and I promise I have one, is that I’ve come to the conclusion that I need an assistant. Hiring an assistant will allow me to finish my novel, do the blasted charity magazine, my other writing jobs and most importantly read, comment on and reply to blog posts. In short, I will never have to leave the comfort of the internet-verse ever again.

Oh who cares? You’re hired.

The crazy lucky applicant will have the following duties:

  1. Read shitty books like 50 Shades of Grey so that I can partake, and win, in Alice’s Pop Quiz contest. Okay, I’m winning now … but next time.
  2. Check my WordPress stats every five minutes.
  3. Come up with ideas for my blog posts and let me take all the credit. I’ll change any names, so it won’t be stealing, right?
  4. Fill out the seventeen gillion forms I get for my son. They don’t let you have a disabled kid without selling your writing hand to the paper devil.
  5. Keep my appointments diary and if they could keep my dates with Sparkly Wand instead of me, that would be awesome. That’s right, I’m pimping out Sparkly Wand.
  6. Argue with bank tellers and automaton Call Centre robots.
  7. Light household chores, including killing spiders.
  8. Prop me up in public places to avoid any humiliating faceplant incidents and make sure I NEVER leave the house with a hint of granny pants showing.
  9. Listen to my husband talk about his workday and nod sympathetically.
  10. Wear a mask with my picture on it and read to Offspring the First at bedtime.

The Applicant will also be subject to the following rules:

  1. Never, ever, ever use the words, oh my, crap, double crap, triple crap. In fact, all multiples of crap are strictly prohibited. Whilst words like ass, shit, fuck, poop and buttplug will not be a required daily usage, the applicant may not be squeamish about them.
  2. They must speak, you know, like, good English.
  3. Appreciate the value of a nap … for me.
  4. When it comes to the computer, I am like Christian Grey. It is mine. Do not touch. In fact, I may or may not have peed on the keyboard. Touch it at your peril.

It’s better than my head, where my imaginary friends live

Payment Terms:

There will be no fiscal remuneration. Working for a creative genius like me is reward enough.

Christmas Bonus

If you think you’re crazy enough, submit your applications in the comments section below. Good luck!

 

Introducing Sparkly Wand

You guys are gonna love this. I laughed and laughed and then I cried and cried and then my head exploded.

Firstly, I think it’s about time I introduced you to Sparkly Wand. After all you know me almost as intimately as Sparkly Wand does, so I think you guys need to meet.

Just say hi.  I wouldn’t recommend shaking hands. I know where he’s been.

Sparkly Wand is very pleased to meet you, but not as glad as he is when he meets me, a fact for which I am sure you are all very grateful.

So yesterday Sparkly Wand and I had another date. I wore my best underwear and he was, as always, very chivalrous, making sure he was clean, lubricated and not too cold. I’ve been seeing so much of him lately and he was just not giving me what I needed, I thought maybe he was getting bored of me. And then yesterday he surprised me. He gave me a beautiful gift; five follicles. Five, mature, healthy follicles.

It must be love!!

Oh it was so beautiful and romantic. I cried a little and almost hugged him. I didn’t, coz I thought he should have a shower first.

And then his parents walked in on us. That killed the mood alright.

As soon as the sonographer told me that the Doctor wants to talk to me, I thought “uh oh, trouble.” Usually I get seen by the nurses who advise, prescribe, inject and send me on my way. Seeing a doctor at what ought to be a same old, same old appointment is never a good sign.

Sparkly Wand’s Mommy sent Sparkly Wand away with a clip in his ear, sat me down and warned me that Sparkly Wand’s gift, whilst well intentioned was no good for me. Apparently since all five of my follicles are mature there is a risk of multiple pregnancies. I’m okay with two, but five? FIVE???? That’s a whole hand. I’d have to take both gloves off to count my kids.

Now that’s what I call a handful!

What was Mommy’s advice? Practice safe sex. Use condoms or abstain. I laughed and laughed so hard. I’m trying to get pregnant. Abstinence ain’t gonna do it. But it’s my choice, do I want to take the risk. Really? Do I?? What to do? Well, first I cried and cried.

I feel like I’m hanging upside down on top of a beer keg with a giant straw in my mouth with everyone around me chanting “do it, do it, do it,” except for one voice of reason who is whispering in my ear, “don’t do it, it’s too risky.” But, I really want to be one of the cool kids, not some loser who can’t handle their alcohol or their eggs.

Baby’s (or babies’) first T shirt

So I did what every mature adult does. Ignore Mommy and go to Daddy. My consultant (who was not available yesterday) advised that since we’ve been trying for so long it’s highly unlikely that all five will take so we should ignore Mommy and “do it.” Oh yes, I get to play with the cool kids again.

The doctor obviously doesn’t know me very well, because with my luck, not only will all five little eggs fight their way towards super sperms, but one will split and I’ll be a human gumball machine. Or Pringles. Once you pop…

Just a small deposit…

I’m hoping that even though my dearly beloved husband has quit smoking (well, mostly), that some of his super sperms are still coughing and wheezing in the smoking section and will be too breathless to reach the finish line.

I thank you for your sacrifice.

Five follicles, yay, turned into a nay and now into a may. I’m so confused, like Ana Steele in a revolving door.

What, no restraints?

But at least if it all goes wrong, Sparkly Wand and I can tell Mommy, “but Daddy said we should.”

Oooh Look Shiny

Finally, some recognition … I got nominated for the Liebster Award … by my sister of lovelifelaundry (you should totally go check out her blog because it’s awesome … and not just because she blingified my blog). I know, I know, getting nominated by your sister is a bit like going to your prom with your cousin, but I’ll take it, because aside from my numerous mentions of my intimate adventures with a sparkly wand, my blog is looking seriously lacklustre.

Oh look, they like me. They really do.

So what is the Liebster Award? Liebster is a German word meaning dearest, and the award is given to up-and-coming bloggers with fewer than 200 followers who deserves some recognition and support to keep on blogging.

And apparently there are rules to accepting this award. Oh no, I can’t just be given an award with a round of applause and a pat on the back. I have to squint to read the T&C’s and prepare an acceptance speech. But if those are the hoops I need to jump through to be eligible for this award, I’m saying, bring on the hoops, circle them with fire if you must, but I’m jumping through ‘em.

I thought there were only Ten Commandments. How come I get eleven?

The Rules: Written on Stone Tablets.

  1. List 11 facts about yourself
  2. Answer your nominator’s 11 questions
  3. Choose up to 11 bloggers with fewer than 200 followers and ask them your own questions
  4. Inform your nominees of their award nominations

Okay, so facts about me

  1. I am a girl (last time I checked).
  2. Garlic is the devil’s food.
  3. Spiders scare the bejeezus out of me.
  4. There’s nothing that a piece of cream cake can’t cure.
  5. I do not snore.
  6. I have a Master’s Degree in English Language and Literature.
  7. I have a thing about Union Jack memorabilia.
  8. I have siblings. Some I like more than others.
  9. My faith keeps me sane.
  10. My husband is my best friend.
  11. My son is my entire universe.

Answer Nominator’s Questions:

What is your greatest strength?
I can’t be all introspective on a Monday morning. Not eating that chocolate last night required iron will.

When was your proudest moment?
I know I should say giving birth and it was an incredible moment. But, pride wasn’t the emotion I felt at the time. It was elation, gratitude and pure unadulterated joy. But pride in my achievement was when I got my degree.

How long do you wait for a bus before giving up and going home?
Approximately 3 minutes before it arrives.

E-books or real books?
I love my Kindle. It goes with me everywhere and I can read vomit inducing books like 50 Shades without the public humiliation. But I do sometimes miss the feel and smell of paper books. Plus not being able to read in the bath is a bit of a bummer.

How far would you go to get what you want?
I am very lazy, so not very. Then again, I keep on having dates with sparkly wands, so I guess my answer is somewhere in between leaving butt imprint on couch and to the moon.

Whom would you invite round for dinner?
Anyone as long as they offered to clean up afterwards.

What is your biggest fear?
Spiders.

What makes you laugh out loud?
Dirty jokes. Love ‘em. I have a filthy mind.

Your greatest weakness?
Repetitive Strain Injury, makes my hand go really weak. Seriously though, my abject fear of failure. I am a failure at failing.

If I had one wish I would wish for…
That’s easy. Now let’s all say together “Babiezzz.”

If you had to come back in a different era, which one would it be?
200 years from now. It would be nice to see how it all turns out. Then again, oooh scary, do I really wanna know?

The people have spoken.

And the nominees are: Dum dum dum ….  open gold envelope … in  no particular order…

Firstly, I was going to nominate Alice, but my sis has taken that away from me and I can’t imagine Mad Hatter wanting to answer 11 more inane questions. But, Alice, I  know how you love bling, so help yourself, take it twice, thrice even.

I’m going to nominate my favourite bloggers and I don’t care if they have 2 followers, 200 followers or 2 million. Fuck the rules. Yeah, I’m a rebel … a rebel in high heeled shoes.

Jen of Sips of Jen and Tonic, Sara of Laments and Lullabies, Becca of 25toFly, Isawbobdylaninaspeedo, Miss Four Eyes & Madame Weebles (for the DeanWinchester imagery). You should definitely go check out their blogs. They will make you laugh, cry and everything in between.

So nominees, I don’t want you to shoot me for nominating you and making you answer stupid questions, so I will try to make them easy for you.

Question: Who invented the light bulb?
Answer: Some bright spark

  1. What is the square root of 473?
  2. Do you make sure that you wear correct day of the week underwear?
  3. If today will be tomorrow’s yesterday and today’s tomorrow, when’s tomorrow?
  4. What’s in your fridge right now?
  5. Shirts – hang up or fold?
  6. Does it piss you off when people spell your name wrong?
  7. What music are you listening to right now? I’m asking this because I’m fed up of the tunes on my ipod. Need some good recommendations.
  8. Pet names – love ‘em or hate ‘em? (I mean baby, sweetie, honey not Buster, Rover, Fluffles).
  9. Blogging in bed. Do you?
  10. Planes, trains or automobiles?
  11. How much do you hate me right now?

I think I’ve definitely earned my award. Woohoo! I have bling! I’m cheap and easy, a little award and I’m yours for life. Not that I’m begging … I would never do that … I still have my dignity …wait a second, no I don’t. Gimme, gimme, gimme!

This is me: low maintenance, cheap and easy to run. All I want is a bit of a shine every once in a while.

Internet GPS: You Have Reached Your Destination

You lot made Google explode.

The good people at WordPress have, in their incredible wisdom, provided us with so many reasons to keep checking our Stats page: number of site visits per day/week/month/year, how many bloggers, tweeters and other social media-ites share the love, and which country thinks you are awesomest. At this point I’m seriously considering making my Stats page my home page.

But it’s the weird and wacky search engine terms that people have used that have led them to my blog that’s the most fun. I’m equally intrigued, disturbed and downright petrified.

Here’s a sampling of the weirdness that is internet users.

Storkhunting

I can only hope that the myriad searchers using this term are not going all Dick Cheney on my winged baby transporters.

Avian flew. Not avian flu. Please don’t kill my baby carriers

My husband’s hunting is hurtful

Kick him out, get a divorce. Or send him hunting with Cheney.

Porn Stork Pool

Is that the same as a party at Hef’s house only with birds instead of bunnies?

Having sex with someone suffering from stork leg

Okay, I had to Google this one. Turns out it’s an actual condition where sufferers may have loss of sensation in their lower extremities. So why would you want to have sex with someone who can’t feel anything, you sick fuck.

How to make an entrance attractive upstairs

Shave. Or go the full Brazilian.

If I have lunch at 1am and work nights and we have to set our clocks back what time would I have lunch?

And if tea is at 6 and dinner is at 9 how old am I?

Teethers look like pussy

Ana Steele searching for a teether for her baby daughter?

I saved this image as “pussy teether.” I feel bad about that.

Christian Grey cured of kinkiness

Yep, with a pussy shaped teether.

Which book was popsicle a safe word in Fifty Shades?

Sweet sentimental memories of summer. Gone. Just like that. Please tell me, dear Google/Bing or whatever user that you wanted to know this because you felt compelled to shred the book into smithereens. I’m holding on to that thought. It’ll help me sleep at night.

Whiny cold posts on facebook

My dearly beloved will be so happy that his man cold is being equated with Facebook trolls. I know it’s made my day.

Hunting facial hair

A proud moment for Bloggers for Movember.

What is count of fucking storks during sex

Maybe they got bored of counting sheep.

One … two… oh my god…. snore

Stork sex tube

Bird porn? Porn for birds? Stork penises? I don’t even know. I tried finding myself with this and the results made me blush. And I thought nothing could shock me anymore.

Muscle man dolls sex

GI Joe not working for you?

Dear son fucking me

This one killed me. Incest!! That’s exactly the type of people I want reading an emotional heartfelt letter to my son. Just perfect.

Kinky fuckery meaning

It’s in the pervert dictionary between “buttplugs” and “oh my god I’m going to die.”

Ooh ooh baby fuck me stork

So that’s what I need to do to get pregnant!

Wha?? I didn’t know there was a choice!

Not one search term involving “pee” and only two with “vagina.” Gotta admit I was a little disappointed.

But should I really be surprised that I am a magnet for a veritable conglomeration of sickos, perverts and people too filthy to ever be allowed to mingle amongst real people?

Let’s look at the evidence. 4 months and 43 blog posts (not including this one) have produced the following words.

Vagina:                                                 33 times
Pee:                                                         19 times
Fuck or variation thereof:     14 times
Buttplug:                                            Just once (should be more – I really must amend that)
Shit:                                                       4 times
Ass/arse:                                             6 times
Sex/sexy:                                            26 times
Period:                                                 12 times

I am clearly contributing to the society’s depravity.

But, your honour, it’s not my fault. I am only pandering to my readers whims. How, you ask? Well, on the day I posted my Vagina post, I got the most hits, the most likes and the most followers. And every writer worth their salt knows that they need to know their audience. I’m only giving my delightfully obscene minded, fucking loyal readers exactly what they want.

So as long as you fuckers keep reading, my deliriously happy filthy mind will stay firmly in the gutter to keep you knee-deep in vaginas, buttplugs and the ubiquitous pee.

That’s going straight on my wish list.