Sunday, 29 April 2012


I went on a date last night.
You can probably figure out that it didn't go well because I am writing about it here, and because I was home early enough to spend some time fiddling about with my gadgets.
(No, that is not a euphemism).
Before I get to what happened last night I have a website to share. When I added the last Twitter and Email buttons I had already made the little pics of Doris (yes, my avatar horse has a name, so what) that you can see now, but I didn't use them because they looked rubbish in a black square and you can't make the backgrounds transparent using paint. I decided to have a trawl around and see what I could find.
I got lucky, I found If you like drawing have a look, it's like an improved version of paint with a mini version of photoshop and it's very easy to use.
I've not really played around with it much yet, I just did what I wanted to my gadgets, but from what I can see so far it's pretty damn cool. It even makes animations. night.
Met the guy on a dating site. I've not been spending much time on them, not like I used to, I just reactivated my profiles then forgot about them really. But I checked one a few weeks ago and this fella had left a message saying he liked mine (fuck knows why, it doesn't say much) and asked a couple of questions. Where did I live, what do I do in my spare time (I lied - I blog, eat chocolate and watch porn might've given the wrong impression), have I got any kids etc, usual stuff.
For the last couple of weeks every time I checked (which wasn't that often) he'd left another reply, but the last one said that he could see I wasn't ever really on the site when he was to have a "proper chat" so how about we meet for a drink.

Well ok. His profile said he had been single for a while and although happy that way was hoping to meet someone who might change his mind. He looked alright, I'm not attracted to men that are good looking anyway, what I look for is a "spark". And the-worst-mistake-I-ever-made (one day I will tell that story) was very much "my type", a bit short, stocky, younger then me, liked to party, but ever since him any fella that even remotely looks like him instantly puts me off. This is a problem. "My type" now is definitely not my "type, so I no longer have a "type".
(How many times can a person say the word "type" in one sentence).
So when it comes to who I might fancy I guess you could say I'm trying to think outside the box.

Haven't I kissed enough frogs. Where's my fucking prince.

Which is why I agreed to go for a drink with a man who was tall, a couple of years older then me, and from his profile sounded very straight. Not straight as in not gay, straight as in boring normal.
I actually think that my heart really is no longer into it when it comes to the opposite sex. I blame the mentalpause and crazy hormones, but not so long ago if I had a date I would be very excited because I might get some sex about the possibilities - even though I was always disappointed at the end. I really had to talk myself into going last night, but I gave the guy my number (it's ok, in a week my contract is up and I already have a new phone and number) so I figured I couldn't let him down.

I made no effort with myself. No make-up, hair in a pony tail, combat trousers, vest top, Uggs. And I had big knickers on. That's when you KNOW that you're really not that interested. That even if it goes really well and he's really nice NOTHING is happening, because I never saw the point in wasting time if I was attracted to someone. My hair is the giveaway, I have thick hair that's down to my waist and I know that a lot of men like that, when that's tied up out of the way before I even get there, as opposed to tied up later because it's getting in the way then I know I'm not that bothered.
But I get there, in my casual can't-be-fucking-arsed look and he is wearing a suit.
A fucking suit ! For a drink in a pub. And it was grey, and I'm no expert but I don't think it was an Armani. More like Primark.
So there I am feeling like I'm in the pub with my bank manager.

We get a drink, well I got two. A shot of Tequila and a JD and coke. He had a glass of wine.
And I swear he raised his eyebrows when he asked me what I wanted. Yup, within five minutes of getting there I knew I was going to leave as soon as I could, so NOT my kind of person, but we went and sat down.
"So tell me about you then Cowgirl. . . "
In other words he's got nothing interesting to say so he wants me to do all the talking. Not normally a problem, but we're supposed to be on a date and my non stop chatter has caused issues on dates before.
But anyway.
"What do you want to know?"
"Well what are you looking for?"
Right, I get you now. I KNOW that when men ask this question of women on dating sites it usually means they are looking to get laid, because otherwise you wouldn't ask you would just get to know each other and see what happens. Ok if I liked a person I may well fuck on the first date, and I have tried "adult dating", but this loser made out he was looking for a potential girlfriend and I can't stand dishonesty. Two can play at that game. 
I think I'll stick around a while and have me some entertainment at your expense.

"What am I looking for ? At the moment I'm trying to find some curtains to match my newly wallpapered dining room".
"Hahaha, you're very funny but that's not what I meant".
"No, well I don't really know what you meant by that question. I mean we're all looking for something aren't we ? Life is supposed to be an endless quest isn't it, I guess like most people I'm looking for the path to enlightenment and salvation. . . .
I then rambled on for a good twenty minutes about hippy stuff and buddhist theories, him nodding his head like he knew what I was on about. I don't know how - I was talking utter bollocks, but all the while he kept staring down my top.
. . . so yeah, I guess that just about sums it up, that's what I'm looking for. But that's enough about me how about you ? What are you looking for ?"
"Well, nothing as complicated (LOL!) as that I was just hoping to meet someone and have some fun".
Fun being the dating site code word for no strings sex. And what really pisses me off about guys like that is they are really not concerned with whether they fancy you. As long as you're not too fat and have tits and a vagina you'll do.
"Great, me too. I love doing fun things, what do you want to do, the funfairs probably still open. What's the time ? I could probably get some drugs and we could go clubbing after".
I only wish I had taken my camera and gotten a picture of his face when I said that.

I think Jack might just be the only man for me. I know he's my type.

I went to the toilet, when I came back he still looked confused.
Then I just said "well it's been nice meeting you but I have to go now, if I'm not home soon my tag will go off and I don't want to go back to prison".
And left.

So much for outside the box.
Back to blogging, chocolate and porn then.

PS. How cool are my new gadgets ? And I would just like to draw your attention to the "ask me anything" page. . .  go on. Somebody ? Anyone ?

Thursday, 26 April 2012

groundhog afternoon

Regular readers know what I do for a living, but as there are a few new members to the flock (welcome to you all !) I will tell you about my job again.

I am a carer for a man, Paul, who has a brain injury. He is by no means incapacitated physically, if you met him you probably would not realise - at first, but when five minutes later he wants to know who you are again you might get an idea that something was up. He does get tired easily but his biggest issue when it comes to daily life is his lack of memory. Since he can't be left alone, but doesn't really like going out, my role is mostly to be there so his wife and family can go about their busy lives without worrying that he will do some DIY and destroy their house about him and assist him in whatever he wants to do.
Like make sure that when he decides to make a bacon sandwich he remembers that there is bacon cooking under the grill, or hold the cable if he wants to mow the lawn so he doesn't forget it's there and fry himself cut through it.

I've been good friends with Paul and his wife since before he had his injury which was acquired after a heart attack that caused his brain to be starved of oxygen, and surprisingly he does remember me from before. Well if you were to hear my voice ( I am a bit loud) you would know why that isn't really that surprising, but actually what this means for me is that I am lucky to have a job where going to work means sitting around drinking coffee and watching TV spending the day with friends.

Even if it is like my own personal groundhog day.
Paul can have a conversation with me about something he watched on the TV the night before, he is still very intelligent and has always loved history, especially anything to do with wars. But two hours later will completely forget we had that conversation and so we have it again.

There is a photograph in the lounge of a couple on their wedding day, the picture is one of his daughters best friends who was actually his carer for a couple of years when he first became ill. At least once a week he will say "who are those people and why have we got a picture of them ?"
I find it amusing, even he laughs when he asks me and I tell him that I've already told him twice this week. My nickname for him is "Memory Man".

His sense of humour was not damaged, in fact we often have a laugh and it will be at either his - or my - expense.

But today took the biscuit.

I was sat in the kitchen sorting some stuff out. Pauls daughter came back from the shop with a newspaper and sat with me while she read it. She held it up to show me a picture taken in China of some dogs that were kept in cages waiting to be eaten.
It was pretty horrific, but I said that if it was chickens we probably would not be so shocked. In China dogs are traditionally food in the same way that chickens are here, so perhaps the Western world needs to stop judging the Eastern world by its standards. After all, even though we are all aware of how bad the conditions are for battery hens a lot of people will still buy poultry products that are not free range as they are cheaper.

[I should add that I ONLY buy free range products, and I'm not comfortable with the idea of people eating dogs - but that's because I can afford to pay the extra for free range and I am from a culture that does not eat canines. If I were on a tight budget, or Chinese, I'm sure I'd feel different.]

The next item in the paper brought to my attention (she read it to me) was about a soldier who was being prosecuted for punching an Afghan prisoner who was trying to escape - at the cost of two hundred thousand pounds of taxpayers money.
My thoughts on this - if he had shot him in battle he wouldn't be being charged, but even in wartime there has to be standards, and you can't just go around punching people. There are rules about how prisoners of war should be treated after all, and while I don't agree with ANY war I can see how there might be justification for reprimanding that soldier.
What I really took issue with was the cost, especially when soldiers are dying for the lack of proper equipment due to cuts in the defense budget.

Anyway, she finished with the paper and went out leaving it on the side.

Twenty minutes later Pauls brother in law turned up, came and sat in the kitchen and picked up the paper.
"Oh my God Cowgirl look at this picture. . ."
Yup. The dogs.
Same conversation. I guess he didn't care for my (voiced again) opinion so went back to reading.
"Good grief, listen to this . . . "
Yup. The soldier.
Same conversation. That went down like the proverbial lead balloon, and he went off to find Paul who was watching the TV.

Half an hour later Paul came out to the kitchen for a coffee. We chatted for a bit then he picked up the paper.
"Blimey, look at this. . . "
You guessed it. The dogs.
At least he saw the point I was making with my opinion on the subject. Then carried on reading.
"How fucking ridiculous..."
Yep. The soldiers.
And again. At least Paul and I can have an intelligent conversation even if we disagree.

And even if by now I'm starting to feel like the afternoon is stuck on a loop.

A couple of hours later Pauls wife came home, and sat in the kitchen, and picked up the paper and said
"........ "
You know how it goes by now I'm sure.

Then this evening I'm on the train home and I hear one of the people sat in the seat behind me say to the person next to him . . .
"Look at this picture of these poor dogs in China".

I moved seats, I really did not want to hear another version of the same conversation I'd been having all fucking afternoon.


Update - just read a post on JWMoxies blog that has got me fuming. If you care about anti-discrimination the rights of LGB people then please go and read it, and sign the petition.
Click Here.

And while you're over there have a read of the rest of her blog.

Saturday, 21 April 2012

not a post

No, really it's not.
I actually have three posts that I'm working on at the moment, but I've realised a few things over the last couple of weeks.

At the moment many of you are far too busy with that fucking stupid challenge to read everything that gets posted, and the rest of you are as fed up with missing posts as I am.

Week-end posts never get read as much as week day ones, even in normal circumstances.

When I write something and post it straight away I always have that fuck-I-should've-said-that-too moment if I read it back later. Like I should've added some witty retort to my last post about the Chinese bloggers : what if they had an equivalent to the A-Z, there's fucking hundreds of letters in their alphabet. Yeah, too late now.

I often have ideas for pieces of utter brilliance posts that never get written because I forget. I get home and I KNOW I had a great post planned, just can't remember about what.

So, the result of this great epiphany is that I am going to start making notes whenever I get an idea.
That'll be interesting in the shop/at the doctors.
"...and I have this rash on my. . . . hang on I just need to write something down"
I don't have a lot of time in the week, which often means I just write at the weekend. But when I think the great masterpieces  posts are finished I am going to wait a few days before publishing, just to be sure that I don't miss a chance to be rude and sarcastic entertaining.

But for now, instead of a post, I have wrote you all a letter.

Dear Flock,

You remember a while ago I managed to completely mess up my template so that none of the links worked, half of you couldn't post comments and if you were stupid enough to still be using Internet Explorer the page would not scroll ?

You would think I would've learnt my lesson.
I didn't.
Knowing a little HTML does not make me a programmer. But I like to fuck it up then have to revert back to the beginning every once in a while think so.

Actually what I like to do is get other gadgets from different sites and play around with them. It's how I learn - by doing - I could read books about it all the time, but I would never learn anything. I prefer to get stuck in. I'm the same with any technology, try and figure it out for myself and only consult the instruction manual when I have broke it I really need to.
Which might be why I still can't fast forward and rewind on the DVD player I've had for two years.
And I'm getting a new mobile this week.
Good job it'll be insured.

But anyway, I digress. As you can see I have added a new Twitter follow button and a button (which I really did make myself ) to enable anyone to send me abuse and naked pictures fan mail.
I have tried them and they seem to work, but of course I have access to the associated accounts, so I am hoping that a couple of you will try them out for me please ? You don't have to tweet or mail me, although you would if you loved me can if you like, just check the links.

Also, what's my page loading like ? Again it's fine for me, but I have superfast all-singing-all-dancing broadband and a sony vaio. I have uploaded the pictures for the gadgets to blogger so hopefully it's not too slow, but the new comment section uses externally hosted pics.
I've tested it on pingdom and it seems ok, but again that's using my computer so I would appreciate the feedback.

Thanks very much.

PS. Be nice to see a few more of you on G+ too.

Update : No need for the buttons to be tested anymore, big thanks to all of you who did so for me. It seems I finally managed to get something to work without breaking something else.
Of course you can still use them to come on over and join me !

Monday, 16 April 2012


Number one on the list of things I fucking hate at the moment :
The fucking A-Z blogging challenge.
I have enough trouble keeping up with my followed blogs, although the advantage of that is that when I do spend some time reading there is usually a few posts on each so I get to enjoy them more. But thanks to that fucking stupid challenge everyone has been posting just about every fucking day and I don't see how I am ever going to catch up unless I take a week off work.

Next time I'm going to do the bloody thing myself and write about 3000 words for each letter.
That'll teach you.

A is for arseholes, B is for buggery, C is for. . . . .

When I first started this blog I used to find myself thinking whenever anything caught my interest, annoyed me, made me laugh or just made me think that I would bore you lot with it write about here. Now, especially since the post holiday lull in my sensibilites (which still continues three months later) I find myself looking for things to get to me in some way just so I have something different to write about. It's sometimes a comment that I leave on another blog that seems to provide me with inspiration, especially when the author has written about a topic that brings up a memory or says something that I agree with and want to add to.
Although if I don't have the time to read any that's not going to happen either.
I reckon it must be easier to find writing material if you have a themed blog because it's focus is going to be something that you are interested in and passionate about, and therefore have a lot to say about too. That would never really work for me - whilst there's a lot of things I think about doing then decide I can't be arsed do there is nothing I do often or for long enough to really call it a hobby.

Unless you consider smoking, sleeping, eating chocolate, drinking coffee and farting to be hobbies.

I've always been the same.
When I was younger I would take up an interest in something - usually creative - get whatever equipment I needed, then get bored with it. In my bedroom in the house I grew up in was a huge floor to ceiling cupboard that by the time I left home and my Mum cleared it out was full of half finished projects. Rug making kits, half done paintings, tapestries, sketch books, knitting, half made clothes, and endless junk that I had collected because I "could make something out of that".
I did - a mess.
The end result is that I became a bit of a Jack of All Trades when it comes to craft type things. I like to think I'm a bit artisitic, if I see someone else attempting something I'll stick my nose in and tell them where they are going wrong want to join in and help, and sometimes that inspires me to go and get the stuff I need to start my own.
Which eventually ends up in the big cupboard I now have in my house.

It's the same with DIY projects, those that really need doing because something is broken get done there and then but anything else can wait. Why do now what you can put off for six months. I have a lot of bits of wood that "one day" are going to be made into something fantastic. If I only knew what or had the time. . .
Most likely a bonfire.

Does anybody need any shelves made ?

And although you would probably never guess from the crap I post here I also have two books that I started ages ago. Both consist of one chapter - and both were began over a year ago. I got bored. Not that I really expected them to go anywhere, although I'm a total literary genius far from illiterate I really don't think I have the skills needed to put together a novel. And one of the things I have realised from blogging is that there are plenty of aspiring authors out there who are far more talented and interesting then me.
I think I'll just stick to reading books.
Or maybe just finish the four that I have by the side of my bed that haven't been looked at in so long I will actually need to start them from the beginning again.
You see the pattern here ?
Attention deficit anyone ?

Although I can be the exact opposite and get quite obsessive about things. It might take me ages to get around to doing something, but once I start something that I've put off for months I'm really into I have to get it finished and will get really irritated if anything distracts me. Which is why as well as those four books that have been there for ages there are times when I have read a 400 page book in a day.
And why it bothers me that thanks to that fucking challenge I am never going to catch up on blog reading because reading followed blogs is one of the things I am currently obsessive over.

At the moment I'm mostly feeling inspired to sew. Apart from mending trousers that Son ripped skating, replacing zips or cushion covers and curtains for my house I haven't really made anything for years, but it is the one craft that I have always done - ever since I was a child. My Mum was a seamstress so I learnt from her and began by making clothes for my dolls.
The new phase began when I recovered a chair for Lily, my friends granddaughter to have in her new bedroom, but it has progressed.
UK readers might of watched "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" on the TV, but for those that haven't gypsy girls usually have the most over the top, huge, spangly decorated wedding dresses. Think Disney Princess and then some and you get the idea. Lily, who is five, loves dressing up and loves the programme so we got a second hand prom dress off ebay and spent last week turning it into a gypsy wedding dress for her. I have loved every minute, I've done the sewing and my friend has spent hours sticking sequins and rhinestones to it.

When it's finished I'll post a picture, we are kind of thinking that it might just be a way to make some money too. Given the popularity of the programme and the fact that all little girls love dressing up it could catch on.
Although if that happens by the time I've made three I'll probably be bored with that too.

I only hope I don't get bored with blogging, although that's not really likely as all my friends in the real world are fed up with me complaining too busy to listen to me anymore, and I need an outlet.
Just in case something winds me up.

Saturday, 14 April 2012


When I was about ten I had a crush on a boy called Robert who lived on my street.
I knew it was a crush because every time he so much as looked in my direction I would blush. Furiously. Bright fucking red.

I don't think he even noticed me until the day I, and several other kids, were watching him and another boy play marbles and he hit his then couldn't see where it went. It ended up near my foot. Thinking it would make him want to marry like me I picked it up and handed it to him.
Where it had landed meant that he would've won - if someone hadn't moved it. Instead of being grateful he shouted at me that I had made him lose, but at least he hated me knew who I was after that.
And then he ran home to his Mummy.

My Mum was a bit of a snob at heart. Our street consisted of three kinds of houses, most - like ours, were pretty typical terraced houses, and all were lived in by people who owned them. At one end of the street there were some local council owned homes, and at the other a disused building had been pulled down and some very new, very modern and very expensive three story town houses had been built a few years after we moved there.
The boy lived in one of the new houses.
My Mum and Dad had saved for a long time to buy their house, but prior to moving there when I was about four we had lived in a rented council house. Mum considered this to mean she had "bettered" herself by buying. Her snobbery over this meant that she regarded the "council house kids" who lived at the "bottom" of the road as not good enough to be my friends, which actually just made them all the more desirable to me, but she actively went out of her way to talk to the "posh" people who lived in the town houses.

That included Roberts mother.
Mum said that she always saw her in the mornings as they both left their houses for work at the same time and walked in the same direction for a bit. I suspect that the snob in my Mum deliberately left the house at the right time for this to happen. Nowadays I think you'd call that stalking.
Eventually they got to the point where my Mum would go and have coffee with her, although even when this was happening she still called her Mrs Castle and only spoke to her in her best posh telephone voice. Of course I saw this as a golden opportunity and would go with my Mum whenever she let me in the hope that I would get to drool over see Robert.

Robert, who was a year or so older then me would occasionally come into the kitchen when I was there and grunt at me and I would blush and mutter something smile alluringly back. One day his Mum suggested that he and I go and play together in their garden, and by virtue of pretending to like worms, faking interest in football and being in his company for long enough that my face reverted back to a normal colour he finally realised that for a girl I was ok, and we became friends.

I think he kind of started to have a bit of a crush on me a bit too. Mostly because he liked to punch me in the arm. Hard.

Until the day Mrs Castle invited me to have tea with them.
Them being Mrs Castle, Mr Castle (who was about seven foot tall and a policeman and a bit scary to lil me), Robert, and his two older brothers. Tea in their house was quite a posh affair, we all sat around a coffee table in the living room and ate little sandwiches and my drink was in a cup and saucer. Yeah snobby Mum would've approved alright.
After the sandwiches were cleared away another tray was brought out, this one contained cakes and a few other things. I took a cake then Mrs Castle picked up a sundae dish full of red stuff and offered it to me saying "would you like some Jelly ?"

In my house jelly looked like this :

And this was jam :

I did think it was a bit odd that there was only one dish of it, but then I thought maybe nobody else likes jelly or perhaps posh people just offer it to their guests. According my Mother they were entirely different to the rest of us mere mortals so what did I know.
So because I wanted to be polite, I took the spoon, filled it up and put it in my mouth. And then, even though it tasted like no jelly I had ever had before - far too sweet and actually not that nice - I ate another spoonful. Then, as I was about to put the third spoonful in my mouth, I realised that both Mr & Mrs Castle were giving me some very strange looks and Roberts two older brothers were starting to laugh. Robert had turned a similar colour to the jelly but also looked like he was going to laugh.

And then I realised my mistake.
And ran home to my Mummy.

After that Robert no longer wanted to be my friend, but I didn't mind. I was over my crush and onto blushing with embarrassment about the jelly fiasco every time I saw him and far too busy hoping he never told anyone. Even at that age Calamity followed me around.
And it seemed that for all her posh pretentions even my Mum did not know that posh people called jam jelly.

I believe Americans also refer to jam as jelly, I am often amused by the differences in the use of language between our countries. I once told an American that I was dying for a fag, which didn't exactly go well, although he laughed once he had figured out that I meant a cigarette. And the first time I realised that a fanny is an arse across the pond was because I heard an American saying that a girl had a nice one. That did not go especially well either but I laughed when I figured out that he was not referring to her ladybits.
Sometimes I can tell from reading a blog that the author is English, there's often a subtle difference in grammar. Anyone from the UK who used an older version of word will remember the endless green squiggly lines that would appear from using a programme designed for use in America.

Nowadays the thing that annoys me more then anything when it comes to language is the use of text speak. Literacy is a problem with our children far more then it ever was, and I don't think it helps that when communicating with each other they are not using proper words.

And there really is no need. It began when text messages were limited in the number of characters, so there was a point to it, but that's no longer the case. Even Facebook extended the length of status updates and yet I still see people using ridiculous abbreviations on it all the time. Some expressions have even found their way into the spoken word. I have started to hear people say "O.M.G", why ?
Laziness I reckon, a lot of the time anyway. At one time I thought it was actually quite a good equaliser in that it's harder to spot a dyslexic or someone who just can't spell when everyone is spelling incorrectly, but I've changed my opinion. Now I just think it makes everyone look stupid.
Even when they're not.

Once when I working in the children's homes a colleague and I were talking about text abbreviations, and she said lol meant lots of love. I told her no its laugh out loud, usually to mean that that's what you're doing, but also sometimes as an indicator of sarcasm, but she was insisting that I was wrong and she was right.
(When is the rest of the world gonna wake up to the fact that I'm always right ?)
Anyway this conversation went on a while and eventually I called the teenagers who lived in the home into the dining room where she and I were sat.
"Tell Kate what lol stands for".
"It's laugh out loud".
"Really ? I thought it was lots of love".
"No it isn't, Cowgirls right" ...exit two laughing teenagers.
I look at Kate who looks rather uncomfortable, and ask her whats up.
Apparently a couple of weeks earlier she had heard that one of her friends fathers had died and sent a text that said :
"Sorry to hear about your Dad LOL"

Poor Kate had been wondering why she hadn't heard back from her friend, after that she decided to pop round and see her to explain the mistake.

Most of it doesn't even make sense. I particularly hate the way people now write "dis" instead of "this", especially when they are middle class white boys. Listening to Hip-Hop and poor literacy does not make you black or a gangster. Or should that be gangsta.
And as for lmao, did anyone actually say they were laughing their arse off before that particular acronym made it's way into text language ? And anyway I'm always laughing, it's what gets me through life. And yet my arse is the size of a small country.
Despite my constant cackling at anything and everything it refuses to be laughed off.

I don't know, maybe I'm just getting too old to understand all these new fangled modern things.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

i'll buy that

Sometimes the adverts are the best things on the TV, clever advertising is definitely a skill and one that can make huge money for the mind that creates the concepts as well as the thing it's trying to sell.

But I am getting increasingly fed up with the charity adverts that try to play with the emotions of the viewer. If you've seen any then you know the ones I'm talking about, I especially hate the way the commenter always stresses the use of the word 'you', as if it is my personal responsibility to save every single rescued donkey and starving child in Africa. I actually think the western world has become rather hardened to the images of malnourished children with flies around them, and as terrible as it might be the footage of dying kids no longer has the ability to shock people into action the way it once did.
I'm not saying that it's wrong to ask for donations - just lose the emotional blackmail/ shock tactics.

This is way more effective. Make people think.

I think all that happens when people turn on the TV and see these images now is rather then being spurred into action to give to charity they either turn off of turn over. Yeah you might want "just" two pounds per month of my hard earned, but so does the donkey sanctuary, the local hospice and all the deaf children just waiting for me to put my hand in my pocket to help them get a hearing aid.
And showing the advert every break over two hours in the afternoon does not help. When I'm watching the pond life unfortunates on Jeremy Kyle (don't judge, it makes me feel good about myself), I do NOT need to be made to feel like it's my fault there's no water in the Sudan.

Perhaps I should get a water butt to catch the endless fucking rain we keep having and send it out there.

The other adverts that annoy me are the ones for sanitary towels that seem to think making their product more "beautiful" with the addition of a fancy coloured stripe will make me buy it.
Do women care about how they look ? I don't think so, we're more concerned with it NOT being visible.
It's not like we go around showing our friends as if it's a new hairdo or outfit.
". . does my minge look big in this . .? "

I bet the advertisers wish they'd though of this . . . 

What we want to know about is leakage and absorption functionality, we don't care what it looks like. Used sanitary towels are a bit like penis's - with a few rare exceptions if you've seen one you've pretty much seen them all. Except I've seen a few knobs that made me laugh, whereas I can't recall ever laughing at . . .well. . .you get the idea. Although once or twice I've cried when it looked like the impending monthly visitor wasn't going to put in an appearance.
My blogger friend Lily has written a very funny post about a SIMILAR SUBJECT- go and have a read, I can wait.

. . . or this ?

Great idea ! But you best hope you're not involved in an accident.
(Pic stolen borrowed from Dr Heckle).

A couple of years ago I bought a new sofa, and I spent ages looking online trying to find the right one. I got very fed up with the way every single picture seemed to show either a happy smoochy couple snuggled up or a smiling family with a couple of cute kids. The reality of kids + sofa is sticky patches and nasty stains and lego stuffed down the side.
Not once did I see a picture of a lone ageing woman with a fag in her hand and a laptop.
Welcome to my world.

Of course you can have well intentioned advertising that falls foul of fate.
No doubt the company that sponsored this competition paid a lot of money for their front page under headline banner ad, and well in advance of the day on which it was published so no way of knowing what the front page story was likely to be on that day. They were probably hoping for a doom and gloom story about the economy and the state of the country - the kind of thing that makes people want to get away.
What happened was this :

Yeah, let's enter and hope it's a cruise.

Or how about this :

I'm sure there's a pun in this that relates to Sanitary towels, 
but I'm not gonna let my brain run with it.

It always amuses me when things go wrong like this, it makes me feel better about the calamities that follow me around. I heard a guy singing along to his music player on the train yesterday, it wasn't his voice that amused me, it wasn't actually too bad, but he was singing a song that Son listens to a lot and so I knew he kept getting the words wrong.
Other peoples mistakes are way more entertaining then my own.
Luckily due to his headphones he couldn't hear me laughing. Whenever anyone does that it always reminds me of a friend from years ago who used to sing along to Bob Marleys Exodus. . . "whose that bunch of people".

But what if you got the words right, just the wrong interpretation. . . 

It's easily done, the English language can be very confusing at times. For all I know the same applies to other languages too, it's not like I can speak any. Other then jibberish and total bollocks after one too many. Actually I don't even need a drink to do it, I quite often intend to say one thing and something totally different comes out of my mouth. It's as if my brain and my mouth have had an argument and refuse to work together. The other day I caught a bus to a friends, where she lives is on the outskirts of the town so the bus will stop wherever you ask. I got up and meant to say to the driver "anywhere up here is fine. What I actually said was "anyup's fine", I'm not sure whether he understood me or just wanted to get the obviously mental tired women off the bus but he stopped anyway.
I do it when I'm typing too, I often look at the screen and what I see is not what I intended to write. I guess my fingers are also not in my brains good books, although a friend once told me that can be a sign of a stroke. 
Good job I don't work in advertising.

That explains it then, because I am constantly getting bothered by a cat that wants 
stroking when I am trying to type.

Friday, 6 April 2012

easter bunny

Normal service appears to have returned to England.

Our garages have fuel, the long queues are gone and in keeping with a typical British bank holiday weekend the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Parts of the country that were baking in sunshine last week are now covered in snow, thankfully I live in the South and we never get the worst weather but I am back to wearing Uggs on my feet that have tan lines from last week.
Very bizarre.
Global warming ? Global freezing more like.
Easter weekend is always a wash out though, it's as traditional as the delays that will no doubt plague all our airports, and the hoards of screaming brats happy smiling children that suddenly appear everywhere.
Not that it bothers me, as I have four days off work I plan to sleep. A lot. And hang wallpaper. And catch up on reading some blogs, I have not done that for ages so apologies if you are missing my inane drivel pearls of wisdom left in your comments.
And hopefully someone will buy me a HUGE chocolate egg.
Son has a new job, so hopefully if I post this picture on his facebook he might just take the hint.

I love Green & Blacks. . . does anybody want to send me some ? Please.

I might not be into Christianity but I am more then happy to indulge in any eating associated with it's various festivals. I'll even accept Christmas pudding if anyone's got any leftovers lying around in their cupboards ? That is probably the only thing I missed by spending last years Xmas laying on a beach, I did buy one that I planned to eat when I got back but the greedy wombfruit had scoffed the lot.

I was thinking about the Easter story today, as my friends kid was talking about stuff he had done at school, and there's a fair bit about it that really doesn't make sense to me. I suppose I am what some people might call spiritual, I believe in an afterlife (I've had my share of spooky encounters), reincarnation, karma and destiny, but I don't believe in God. I think that Jesus was an actual man who walked on Earth, but the stories about his life that are in the bible sound to me like he was some kind of Shaman or spiritual healer. And just like any story that gets written on a blog passed down through the generations it's been exaggerated and embellished.
I don't think he was the son of "God".
I think that all came about because people always want a rational explanation for anything they don't understand.

According to the story God sent his only son to earth in order to sacrifice him.
I'm a parent and if anyone tried to harm my son I would tear their fucking head off. And I'm just an ordinary (well ok maybe I'm a bit strange) woman, but if I was some amazing all-seeing omnipotent mistress of the universe and someone tried to hurt him ?
Yeah I think there'd be thunderbolts and lightening alright.
But no, apparently he allowed his only child to be sacrificed. Did they not have Social Services in those days ? If you said you were going to sacrifice your kid today they'd be taken into care.
Hardly the actions of a kindly benevolent normal parent.

Religious men advocating child abuse ?
I thought he was supposed to be Jewish not Catholic.

But anyway, apparently after this happened the crucified Jesus was put in a cave and a few days later he rose from the dead.
Since Christians aren't supposed to believe in reincarnation that can only mean one thing.
Jesus was a Zombie.

And it seems that I am not the only one to think so. This thought occurred to me earlier and when I googled "zombie Jesus" looking for pictures (try it, you'll see) for this post there is just loads of stuff about it on the net. And if it's on the Internet that must mean loads of people are brainwashed idiots believe it and if loads of people believe something then it must be true.
Isn't that how religions are started.
And political parties.

Dave's at it again too. His latest idea is all about allowing - well I'm not entirely sure who, but the police for one I guess - powers to read everyone's Internet communications. This is supposed to be about our national security and catching paedophiles, but then in today's world climate terrorism and child molesters are two issues that are guaranteed to get everyone riled up. So tell the public that's why you're doing it and they'll all agree it's a good idea.
Yeah, I'm not buying it.
Big Brother is watching you.
And Dave just wants to be able to hack into my msn and look at the pictures, and he's probably wondering if Obama and his new mate Sarkozy are talking behind his back.

Personally I think that the Internet has meant that a lot more perverts are caught then ever were before, they have always been there, but before the web and the way that enabled them to communicate and share filth it was all far harder to detect. In my opinion technology has made them easier to catch, find one with a computer and you find all his contacts too. How many times now do we hear of people being convicted based upon evidence that was found on their computers. And I'm damn sure MI5 have the same powers when it comes to finding terrorists.

So whatever Dave might say this new idea is really not going to make much difference there.

Is he planning to spend his days reading everyones emails now ?
Maybe he's going to be inspecting blogs as well. Good. He might finally find the letters I wrote to him and see sense.

Mind you, I will probably be far too busy and exhausted to help him run the country once my latest ebay find arrives. . . 

Nobody told me you could get Diesel powered injectors for your Vag.

Bit concerned about the shape of the thing but gotta be worth a try, even if the compatibility information isn't available. I'll let you know.
Rabbit ? This is my Easter Bunny.

I'm off to the garage, I need to stock up on Diesel just in case there's another shortage.

Happy Easter !
Watch out for the Zombies.

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

blind date

Last night was the first episode of what is probably going to be my new favourite TV programme.
It is called "The Undateables" and follows people with disabilities who are using a dating agency to look for love.
Very entertaining, and also quite thought provoking.
I was a bit uncomfortable with the title of the show, by itself it does rather suggest that if you have some kind of impairment then nobody will want to date you, but that much redeems itself as the opening credits show a sign with the word undateable but the "un" falls off.

So I'm prepared to overlook that.

Of course viewers will tune in for the same reasons they watch anything about those with physical imperfections, and those are not always good.
Voyeurism, amusement, mocking the subjects. . .
But at the same time if it raises any kind of awareness that makes people realise that having something different about you does not mean you don't want or deserve the same things as the rest of us, then that can only be a good thing.
In last nights show there were three adults featured, a young woman who had a genetic condition that causes brittle bones, uses a wheelchair to get about and is only 3 feet tall, and two men, one of whom has Aspergers and the other has Tourettes.
I don't really think the dating agency did well with the first two, because both were paired up with people who were also disabled. The girl was sent on a date with a man who also used a wheelchair, although we saw his pictures on the agency, none showed him in the chair. The man with Aspergers was sent on two dates, the first with a woman who also had learning difficulties and the second with a French woman whose accent was so thick that when he asked her what her hobby was and she said rowing it sounded like hoeing. Ooops.
Why assume that a person with a disability wants to date another ?
I find that slightly patronising.

(If you want to see the programme you can watch it on Channel4 OD)

I suppose there are a lot of people who would not even bother to look at a persons profile if there was something physically wrong with them, and that's the bit that really got me thinking.
Would I date someone in a wheelchair ?
Or deaf ?
Or an amputee ?
Would you ? I'm not talking about a situation where perhaps someone you are already involved with becomes disabled, or even where you get to know a person before dating enters the picture. But how would you react if you were maybe out in the pub with some friends and a person in a wheelchair approaches you and starts to chat ?
How about a dating site, would you even bother to read about the person if the picture showed them in a wheelchair ?

I have to be honest and say that I don't think I would.
I could justify that, I can say that there are things that I want to be able to do with a potential partner that a person who couldn't walk would not be able to do.
But really that's just an excuse, and one that I know might not even be true. I have a friend who uses a wheelchair and she has a far more active busy life then I do, the woman is amazing and she has never let her disability stop her from doing anything - other then walk.
But that also got me wondering if the same applies to disabled people ? Would they do the same, the girl in the show said that she found tall men attractive and it would be nice to date someone who wasn't also impaired. There are many more things you can have in common with someone then getting around on wheels, and if you both had mobility issues you might well find things more problematic then if it's just one of you.

I have nothing but admiration for the people in that programme, dating is enough of a minefield for those of us who have nothing more to worry about then our height, weight or age, and some of us might just maybe tell a little white lie about that.
I suppose if you have an obvious problem it will at least weed out the potential dates who are instantly turned off by it straight away. Maybe in that regard those people actually have an advantage over the rest of us because only those genuinely interested in getting to know them will apply. But if that was me I would not want to be dating only other disabled people. I'd be worried that they were just dating me as they thought we had to settle for each other, and I'd also want to make it very clear that I was looking for a lover not a carer because that might well be what some able bodied people would think.

Just because you're impaired in one way doesn't make you exempt from the laws of attraction, just like everyone else you need to fancy the person you're dating.

And if your problem is related to your thinking, as it is with Aspergers, then good luck trying to understand the opposite sex.
It's hard enough for those of us born without mental health problems.

But while I can totally understand how difficult it is for disabled people to get out and meet potential partners in the world at large, I don't necessarily think they are going to fare any better using dating sites.
Based upon my experience of them I always wondered about all their claims of high success rates. Whether some of the people who use them have actually reached a point in life where they are willing to make a lot of compromises about who they choose as a partner, or maybe I'm just way to fussy.

Are there actually a lot of far more desperate people out there then anyone realises ?
I'd like to find someone, but I'm not holding my breadth and I'm not desperate. Yet. Maybe it's about how happy you are in life in general, and how much of that happiness depends on having a partner, and I think that's a very individual thing. But I guess if you want it that much then you might just be prepared to settle for Mr or Mrs Almost Right.
I'm still holding out for Mr Perfect.

And if you want to see proof of how desperate some people can get. . .
Ages ago, one night when bored, I made a ridiculous fake profile on a dating site. It gave you the option of completing an "interview" rather then writing the entire thing so that's what I did.
This a copy/paste of it . . .

I think my profile and interview just about says it all really, honestly can't understand why I'm still single - beats me. And how am I supposed to know what I'm looking for ? Half the time I don't remember who I am, never mind whatever it is I'm supposed to have lost ?? I'm getting confused now so I'll just answer the questions.
What do you like most about where you currently live?
There aren't any bars on the windows.
What do you enjoy most about your current job?
What job ? I'm quite happy on the social and the odd five finger discount when times are hard, ain't got a problem if you have one tho...(as long as you're not a policeman a store detective or a social worker).
What are your favourite leisure activities?
Digging huge holes in my garden so the neighbours can complain. Crack - don't mind the odd bit of brown either.
Where in the world are your favourite places?
Bed, pub, Holloway prison wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be.
Where in the world would you love to visit?
Iraq, I hear its very hot and I can't wait to go topless sunbathing now I've had the implants. I'm hoping to get up to Broadmoor too, as I haven't seen my dad for years, hopefully he'll be allowed visitors soon.
What would you do on an ideal date?
But only if I'm having a very bad day, it helps with the anger issues.
What are you looking for in a partner?
Money & girth, ideally also a fireman under 25, but would settle for 26/27.
What makes a good relationship?
A quiet, horny, rich, hunky, obedient man.
What makes you laugh?
Me, mostly and when people win a penny on deal or no deal - highlight of my week.
What music do you like?
Trash metal, happy hardcore & Doris Day.
What has been the highlight of your life so far?
Getting out of prison after so long.
What are you looking forward to in the future?
Getting my boiler fixed, I haven't showered for two weeks. Are there any single plumbers on here ?
Personal Details
I am looking for friendship.
My eye colour wasn't listed as an option.
My hair wasn't listed as an option.
My body type wasn't listed as an option.
My height is greater than 7' 00" / 213cm.
My ethnic origin is Chinese.
My particular politics were not listed as an option.
My current employment situation wasn't listed as an option.
My income is confidential.
I'm a heavy drinker.
I'm a heavy smoker..
I follow a special diet which wasn't listed as an option.
I am disabled
I am Jewish.
I sometimes practise my religion.
I have children (living at home).
I don't want to have more children.
I neither own nor rent my home.
I live with parents.

I forgot about it for ages, but then a month or so later I remembered and went to check.
I'd received 62 responses.
A few were laughing, but most wanted to know more about me.
One guy had sent a message asking if I needed a plumber as he lived nearby.
And another had said,
"Well I think I've finally found someone as crazy and unhinged as myself. Isn't it great being different".
I replied,
"What are you saying ? I'm not crazy, I have copies of assessments to prove that. I don't want to be seen as different anymore, I've lived my whole life with people pointing the finger, now I just want to blend in and be seen as normal, that's one of the reasons why I'd like to find a boyfriend".
He never did get back to me.

Every once in a while I go back and check and there is always a message or a "wink" waiting.

So yeah, I wish those people luck. I think they're going to need it, and not because of their problems.
And I can't wait for next weeks episode.

And to any of my real life friends who read this, if you see me hanging about outside a synagogue wearing 8inch heels, dark glasses and carrying a rolled up newspaper just walk on by and pretend you don't know me.