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.

misunderstood

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.
Wrong.
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.

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.

Hmmm.

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.

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 the rest of us.

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 breath 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 . . .


Introduction
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.
Interview
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?
f**k
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.

plain speaking

There's a lot of things about getting older maturing that I don't really appreciate but I find I can live with.

Even the mentalpause has been bothering me less since I got back from India. Well either that or I just chilled out so much that my anger issues are being kept at bay.
In which case who knows what will happen when that particular bubble bursts.
But there are ways and means to avoid the other signs of my impending pensioner status. Grey hairs can be dyed ( or waxed - don't ask. You get them everywhere). Diet and exercise can keep aches and pains at bay (or so I'm told) and wrinkles can be filled with botox. Not that I have any. . . yet.
Wrinkles that is, not botox.

And I accept that there may be some things I will be stuck with.
But the one thing I fucking hate is the deterioration of my eyesight. I asked an optician (who was about 25, thin and beautiful - fucking bitch) about having laser treatment and was informed that there was no point since the problem is caused by age. If I had it done I would need glasses again in a couple of years as they will continue to get worse.

Just. Great. Make me feel good about myself why don't you.

I don't actually mind wearing glasses as such.
Men seem to find them sexy for some reason.
I've had sordid fuck fests romances with two men who liked me to keep them on ALL the time. One actually found them more of a turn on then any sleazy get up classy outfit I wore.
What really pisses me off about glasses is having to continually take them on and off. Since I am long sighted I only need them for reading and watching TV so when I'm out and about they are in my bag, and it's a fucking pain getting them out to get a bus ticket or look at prices in the shop, taking them off to walk to the till (if I don't everything looks wonky), then on again to use my card.
In a two hour shopping trip they are on and off more frequently then a strippers pants.

Sometimes I just can't be arsed to get them out of my bag.
Especially as my bag is more like a small suitcase that contains a black hole into which any item I want to retrieve from it will disappear.
Which is why yesterday after Son had text me saying we needed toilet roll I went to the shop and came home with these. . .

It's an easy mistake to make.
They do look similar, especially when you can't see properly.

And I am easily confused.
Sometimes I think the English language is very confusing, I've been helping my friends four year old with her reading and there are some things about it that you just can't explain. How do you make a child whose learning phonetically understand that 'the' is not pronounced te-he-eh ?
Especially when the child asks 'why' about everyfuckingthing.
And why does the announcement on the train as it approaches the stop always have to say "please mind the gap when ALIGHTING from the train".

What's wrong with saying leaving, getting off or even departing ?
I hear that announcement every day and I imagine this,

I'm worried that one day I will spontaneously combust when I step onto the platform.
I have enough trouble getting to work on time.

And here's another thing I don't really get, why do so many restaurants now advertise themselves as having a salad bar. What fucking twat thought up that expression.
There's two words that should not be said in the same sentence, ever. I hear the word bar and I expect to see alcohol not tomatoes, lettuce and cold pasta.

Unless of course they're serving cocktails with fruit in, then it makes sense.

A friend of mine, Tina, is always getting her words confused, but the things she says are hilarious. Her favourite film ever is Blade Runner and one day she was round mine and we saw an advertisment for the directors cut coming on the TV at the weekend. She was annoyed because she had to go out and was going to miss it as her recorder was broken, I told her to remind me and I would record it for her.
Saturday afternoon she rings me,
"please don't forget Road Runner is on tonight"
"meep meep"
"what ?"
"meep meep"

Ridley Scotts finest work.

Another time we were out in Tinas car and another friend of ours had moved house. This other friend now lived just up the road from the local police station and as we drove past it I pointed out her new house,
"I could never live there"
"Why not ? It's a gorgeous house"
"It's far too close to the playstation".

In Tina's case she's just funny, and she laughs at herself when you point out her mistakes.
Kids, on the other hand can be quite embarassing.

When Son was about ten I got myself a Slendertone.
One of those devices with pads that you put on your muscles, the idea being that you can tone yourself up without having to move off the sofa whilst eating chocolate and cake.
Or maybe that's just me. Either way it didn't work.

Son got it stuck in his head that it was called a vibrator. At ten I wasn't going to explain to him exactly why that mistake was funny, I think he had probably heard the word somewhere, and since the thing did sort of vibrate it made sense to him. He found it hilarious watching me twitch when I used it too.
And I probably didn't help, because even though I corrected him every time I was always laughing as I did so.
Fine, until you are on the bus and your child says,
"Are you going to use your vibrator when we get home".
Or you are talking to your older posher neighbour over the garden wall and he says,
"Have you used your vibrator today".
Or you hear him saying to his friend,
"You should see my Mum using her vibrator, she goes all twitchy".

Luckily I don't think that child ever went home and said anything to his parents. . .
"and he said I could watch his Mum use her vibrator too"
. . .  because I never got a visit from Child Services.

jibberish

Last night I decided to go through my list of followed blogs and I have come to the conclusion that I am in fact the jinx of new blogs.
Seriously, I found eight that I started to follow when they first began that have not posted since. If it was just one or two then I wouldn't worry, but EIGHT ?
(And this is all within the last few months).

Yup, I think it might be me.

Apparently it's fine if I join an established blog, but you really don't want me to be amongst your first followers, guaranteed to make you lose your mojo faster then you can reply to a comment.

Normally when someone gives me an award I tend to just add it to the trophy cabinet award page, because I do appreciate the thought behind them, but generally I can't be arsed to don't comply with the various conditions that tend to come attached to them.
Rules are made to be broken and all that.
And anyway when they give out the Oscars do they place conditions on them ? Or tell the recipients that they have to pass them on to 45 other people ?

If I get an award I want to wallow in the glory and adulation, I don't want to pass it on and share it.
Call me selfish I don't really care.

Same applies to the tagging posts.
You end up with a feed full of posts from one of the little blog communities all saying the same thing.
But I was recently tagged by Workingdan and found another tag response I started saved in my draft posts, so since I have nothing interesting to write about I'm bored I've decided to reply to them.

Dans first.
I have to answer these questions :

1.  Of all the species in the world, which one is your favourite to eat?
I am so tempted to write one very rude word in response to this. But I won't, I'll stick with the female of the species instead and say chicken. Although I really like fish too.

That explains it then.

Surely if you're craving something you're either hungry or pregnant.

2. What is your favourite recreational substance and why?
I could actually give the same answer as I was going to use for the first question, but I know what he means so MDMA. Although it's been a very long time since I had any.
3. What is your favourite joke to tell?
I have so many - all filthy and all courtesy of my Dad, but I'll stick with this one :
What is the difference between a clitoris and a pub ?
Men can usually find the pub.
4. What do you like most about my blog?
Oh come on ! Could there be a more attention seeking question ?
I think I am supposed to make up four questions of my own and then tag some people.
Fuck that.

This is the other one, it was so long ago I can't even remember who it was that tagged me in it, but I liked the idea. I suppose if any of you are as bored as me you could do it too, being as I haven't got to think up questions to pass it on.
It was called Three. But then it would've made no sense to call it Five.


Three TV programmes that make you cry laughing.
Curb Your Enthusiasm
Pete versus Life
Peep Show


Three songs that made you cry.

Three things (not children) you consider your pride and joy.
My records and technics decks
My cats
My shoes

Three things that constantly annoy you.
Bad spelling and grammar
Rude / stupid people
Train delays

Three things you want to do before you die.
Visit Vietnam
Fly in a military jet (it has to loop the loop too).
Fuck Vin Diesel. Yeah I know, he's gay, but it's my list.

There was another dozen 'three' things, but that's quite enough of that.

I don't know if many of you across the pond will of seen the news a few weeks ago about the cruise ship that sunk in Italy, or be familiar with how inappropriate the UK press can be at times. But this is an actual front page from one of our papers a couple of days after it happened.
Unbelievable and very unfortunate.
And funny.

But then what do you expect from an English paper. . . .

Mind you, I think America has a few problems too.
I have had a feeling all along that Obama might not be quite what he seems. My original thoughts when he was being compared to Martin Luther King were that America was missing something - the man is a black moslem - surely that's more akin to Malcom X ? But apparently I was wrong.

Look at this,

Notice anything odd ?
No ? Well look at this,

That is Doctor Who and his Tardis. Now look again. . . .

Makes me wonder. . . .
We all know that the doctor changes his appearance every time he rejuvenates.
The first black president may in fact be the first black Dr Who.

But don't worry, if he does turn out to be a bad guy Batbear can save you.

As if being a bear isn't scary enough.
I wonder if he lives in a bat cave or a bear cave.

Yeah I'm rambling now.
I will leave you with this, and actual sign on the door of a chemist near where I work.

No, I don't work anywhere near a safari park.

♥♥♥ be my valentine ♥♥♥

I'm reposting this for a few reasons.
a) It's relevance to this time of year means that it's currently getting a lot of hits.
b) LAWAFM was a month old when I wrote it, so a lot of current readers won't of seen it anyway.
c) My opinion of the subject matter hasn't changed.
d) I'm too fucking lazy to write a new Valentine post.


Yes folks once again it’s nearly Valentines day, that special day when you and your loved one can give each other gifts and cards as a token of your affection for each other.

Or feel suicidal and socially inept because you’re single.
Well having seen some of the recent facebook status updates from single people I get the impression that’s what’s happening with them. And the coupled up ones seem to be dropping large hints.
Actually I thought that the purpose of a valentine card was to send it anonymously to someone you secretly admire ? 
Which presumably should mean that if you’re single and not entirely happy about that then you would look forward to the day when you wake up to 628 cards from would-be lovers ? For fuck sake at least postpone the hairdryer in the bath until after the postman’s been.

I still remember the first time I was given a valentine card - from a boy in school when I was about 13 - this card was HUGE and presented to me in front of all my friends. 
The people who feel suicidal because they have no-one to send them a card should try feeling how I felt when that happened, embarrassed just doesn’t even come close. 
Shamed perhaps. 
And that was nothing to how the boy that gave it to me must of felt at my initially horrified reaction, which then turned to laughter as a means of saving myself from the endless piss taking that would’ve followed from my friends if I’d even appeared to like it - I didn’t anyway. I sorta feel a bit bad about that now, I mean HOW much courage did that take ? Now I’m wondering if he ever gave anyone another card - who knows maybe he was so traumatised by the taunting that followed that he gave up on love and joined a monastery.
Kids can be vile and we were.

However as an adult I don’t subscribe to the whole valentines debacle, even when I’ve had a partner.
I think it’s just another commercial exercise for card companies and the like to make money, much the same as mothers day and fathers day really.
Except that as mothers day approaches you don’t suddenly see people writing “oh my gosh I must have a baby otherwise all my friends will be getting cards and I’m just going to be sat at home alone with nobody to breast feed and a stretch mark free body”. And if anyone did they’d be told they were fucking sad and stupid, but valentines ? Seems you can feel as sorry for yourself as you like and all your friends will commiserate.
Wankers.

I’d like to think if someone loved me they didn’t need to have a date in the calendar as a reason to show me that they did. You can bring me chocolates and gifts anytime you like, and it’s much more likely to be appreciated if it’s done just because someone saw something and thought I’d like it, then because they felt like they have to as it’s the 14th feb and the fucking great huge display in the shop reminded them.

Truth is I don’t think I have a romantic bone in my body, and all that forced lovey doveyness just makes me want to puke.

Feel free to print this off and give to your loved ones.

(Great idea Jamie)

I don’t really like cut flowers either - essentially if you give someone flowers you’re giving them something that’s dying a slow death, so anyone who dares to bring me flowers is getting treated a bit scornfully. 

I’d once had this massive argument with a boyfriend two days before valentines - not that I was even aware of the date, like I say it’s never bothered me and it never will - its all the facebook comments that prompted me to write this. 

But, we’d had this row that I started because really I wanted to finish with him, but the fucker had walked out in the middle of it and not been seen since. Presumably thinking I’d forget about it (no fucking chance, I’m like an elephant, and that is not a reference to my huge arse). So anyway there’s a knock on my door and there he is - holding this large bunch of flowers.

Four things there I got an issue with :

1. Him.
2. The CUT flowers.
3. The that fact he walked out on the row.
4. I think he got the flowers as he thinks they’re gonna make me forget about issues 1-3.

Lets just say he moved off my doorstep pretty quick….swiftly followed by the flowers. My friend (his housemate) rang me a while after telling me what a bitch I was because he got them for valentines and not to make up for the row.
Silly cunt shoulda got me chocolates…at least I might’ve been nice to him while I ate them.

And there’s another pressure there really - if you are part of a couple on valentines day what exactly should you get for a present ?
I’ve noticed a few people who seem to be having problems with this. How much of a gesture is too much, or not enough ? Given that if you do it’s supposed to be an expression of love what if your relationship is still quite new and the L word hasn’t even entered into it yet ?
I knew someone whose boyfriend had said he was getting her something very special and the silly mare got herself all excited and was convinced that he was going to propose. So much so that before the big day had even arrived she was talking bridesmaids and bought one of those wedding magazines….turned out the present was a collectors item teddy bear.
For ages afterwards if I saw her I always said the same thing “lets see your ring then Julie…oh no, sorry, I meant your teddy “.

I think I’m better off remaining cynical about the whole thing
Even if being single means I have no choice.

Anyways I’ve rambled on enough about this, plus I have to go and sweep the path ready for the postman - you never know..........

Update : after posting this a friend made a valuable suggestion regarding the issue of what to buy a loved one for valentines day, "you can never go wrong with lube. It's never out of fashion and comes in a variety of colours and flavors. Lube, the gift that shows you care". 

Thanks Jamie.



found it

Ever get the feeling you are being watched ?

As I'm sure I've said before, although I kind of have what some people might regard as spiritual beliefs I have never believed in God. The idea of some white haired kindly old fella sat on a cloud watching over us is just the stuff of fairy tales and myth to me. And if there was some all knowing omnipresence directing us from on high then considering the fucked up shit that happens in this world he (or she for that matter) can hardly be what you'd call benevolent.

But I have just looked at my feedjit and seen this :

Fucking hell. Someone from 'God' has looked at this blog.
I checked the stats and they came here direct too, no typing of "man fucks steak", "I need kinky sex in Goa" or "anal gadget" brought them here.
And yes, those are actual keywords from the last week.
Is there a name for people who have sex with food ? I don't want to know.
Maybe 'God' was checking up on the perverts of the world and figured LAWAFM was a good place to start. And if he or she looked at the search keywords I can understand why that mistake was made, but I am a little bit worried in case I am now going to hell.

Yeah, as if I wasn't headed there long before I even had the internet never mind a blog.
Ah well, in for a penny in for a pound. One of the things I brought back from India was some Viagra to sell, you can buy it for next to nothing over there but the tablets go for a fiver each in the UK. I'm not one to pass up the chance to make some easy money, and it's not actually illegal unlike the bag of weed I brought back from Jamaica so why the hell not.

A couple of years ago I belonged to an 'adult' dating site. That is, a dating site where people are actually upfront that they just want a shag, as opposed to 'proper' dating sites where they pretend they are single/fifteen years younger/looking for a long term relationship.
(One day I will write about the disasters experiences I had there).
There are a couple of guys I met there who I knew would buy some Viagra. I rejoined the site, found their profiles and left a message. You can't leave an email or phone number - the site filters them out, so I've been checking back every couple of days for their reply.
One of the guys got back to me in the week and said he would be online Friday night, in the 'live' chat you can give an email if you're creative..."sexy and. Horny. (all one word) Find me at the live one in UK"... so I log in to talk to him.
Which means I'm showing as online for ages, so I keep getting other fellas trying to chat.

Of course I'm gonna take a look at their profiles aren't I ?

And then I got a 'wink' from this. . . .

warning : do not scroll down if you are eating or of a weak disposition




*big enough gap to read the disclaimer before you see it*




ready ??

YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT ?
Bear in mind this is essentially a "find a fuck buddy" site, you would think a person would want to show themselves in the best physical way possible.
Maybe he thinks as we both obviously consider our tits to be our best feature we'll have something in common ? Nice tan you got around the neck there mate too, and no you aint gonna see mine.

Apparently his wife knows he's on the site as her "illness" means they can no longer have sex. More like she's sick of him trying to climb on top of her and his waistline is the real reason. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that it was her idea he join the fucking thing in the first place.
There was a message attached to the 'wink' that asked if I fancied a chat, I ignored it but then he messaged me again saying "I take it you don't want to chat".
Red.Rag.Bull.
"No, sorry, but I have a rule. Never talk to men with tits bigger then mine."

I might start visiting that site more often. I have a feeling there will be some glorious blog posts from it.

Or I could arrange to meet people and take one of these along with me on the dates.

That, my friends, is an ANTI-RAPE CONDOM.
I kid you not.
It is 'worn' in a vagina, and once penetrated can only be surgically removed, otherwise the spines inside it will rip the outside of your penis to shreds.
Someone sent me this picture, and I have to say it's quite possibly one of the most thought provoking things I've seen in a long time.
For a start, can you imagine living somewhere where the chances of getting raped are so high that you even need to consider wearing one ? Just doesn't bear thinking about does it. Such places do exist of course (it's things like this that only confirm my ideas about god) and apparently it was developed for use in Africa. I watched a documentary a while ago about Rwanda and what happened out there, but I'm sure in other parts of the world those things occur too.

But of course then my brain went off on it's own warped little tangent.
Going out ?
Keys. Check.
Purse. Check.
Mobile. Check.
Anti-rape condom. Check.

I know what I was like when I first got my can of Mace - (It's illegal in the UK, get caught with it and you will be charged with carrying an offensive weapon, so a mate brought it back from France) - I was walking down the road at night positively HOPING that someone would try and start trouble with me 'cos I was just dying to spray some fucker with it.
Keys. Check.
Anti-rape condom.Check.
VERY Short skirt. Check.
High heels. Check.
Slutty make-up.Check.
Enough vodka to make me look like an easy target. Check.
Yeah come on ! Rape me and see what you get you motherfucker !

And then there's that whole thing about a woman scorned. . . .
Found out your fellas been cheating ? Here's a way to make damn sure he never does it again. I know a thing or two about revenge and the lengths some women will go to. We've all got a bit of an inner psycho floating around inside us somewhere, now you can fully express that by letting it loose (no pun intended) in your vagina.

As my best mate is very fond of saying NEVER underestimate the power of the pussy.

And talking of animals I went to the shop with my friends six year old son yesterday ( I have been helping her sort out her house, as they are going away for a six month break to visit family abroad ) and there was a very friendly large dog tied up outside. He stopped to pet the dog for a bit.
So we are in the long slow moving queue in the shop and he says.
"I like that dog Cowgirl, I'd like to take it home with me"
"Well you can't, it belongs to someone, and anyway you're going away for a long time"
"I'll take it with me"
"How are you going to do that"
"I can pack it in my case"
"But it will bark"
"I'll do something to it to make it keep quiet...."
"But it will still wriggle"
"Then I'll tie it up so it can't move"
"Ok, so you're going to tie it up and gag it, stuff it in a suitcase and smuggle it. I think you will get caught and be in a lot of trouble with the police and the RSPCA".
He then got distracted by a display of chocolate for a bit, and was chatting to another little lad in the queue, which was still moving very slowly. Why do shops only have one cashier at the busiest times ? After a while he says,
"When we leave I'm gonna see that dog again and take it."
"I doubt it will still be there, we've been in here a very long time"
"I bet it is, in fact (he nods towards the man behind us in the queue) I bet it's that man's dog"
"Ask him"
"Excuse me, is that big black and white dog outside yours"
"Yeah (laughing) as a matter of fact it is"
At this he turns to me with a very self satisfied look that says I was right and you were wrong. But I had the last laugh because I explained to him that as the dog did indeed belong to the man behind us, that meant that he had heard all about the plan to steal his dog and stuff it in a suitcase.
Luckily the fella thought this was as hilarious as I did.

I think I might be back.

There were other reasons apart from the post holiday chill that occupied my thoughts.
Last Saturday we lost one of our much loved cats, and this week I have been composing possibly the most difficult post I have ever had to write.
It wasn't for this blog, but I think that I needed to get that done before I could return to normal service over here. You might remember the post I wrote ages ago about a blogger friend who was having a tough time, what I didn't say in that post was that she had a brain tumour.
I returned from India to the news that she had died, and the post I have been working on is the final one for her blog, as her sister very kindly asked me to write it, it's done now and I am very happy with the way it's turned out.
I feel like I needed to do that for her.
This blogging world we inhabit is like a separate little universe (although apparently 'god' still watches it), we form our own little communities around groups of blogs and forums, and one of mine was in mourning and tasked me with laying a blog to rest.
And as with those we lose in real life I guess you can't begin to move on until you've done that.

But yeah. . . .bring it on !!!

And now I have about a thousand blogs posts to catch up on reading.