chuck gave me herpes

Or the post in which I become a hypocrite.

Because we all know how I feel about blog awards. That is I'll grab them with both hands accept them graciously and put them on my trophy page, but I refuse to comply with any conditions that might be attached because I'm too fucking greedy to share the glory then they spread around like a social disease.

But since I keep staring at my unfinished posts and nothing is happening with them at the moment, and because I can think of a few good blogs that should have more followers to recommend to you all I decided I would rebel against myself ( I may as well, when you get to my age there isn't much else left to rebel for) and do it.
And also because Chuck said he gave it me "just because she'll hate it".

There's a certain irony in getting an award for being CREATIVE that isn't even spelt right. My inner grammar
troll is not amused.

Right then. Bring on the itching. . . .

What is your favourite song?
Dirty Epic - Underworld. But if you've read my "about me" you'll know that. This song just gets to me, no matter how many times I hear it, and whenever I am feeling any kind of bad I just put my headphones on and listen to it LOUD and it always sorts me out.
I actually have the first line tattooed across the back of my neck.

It says "sweet in winter sweet in rain".

If you want to hear the song the video is on my about me.

What is your favorite dessert? 
ALL of the ones with chocolate or lemon in them. I have curves to maintain, you won't catch me eating anything low taste calorie. I am actually going to start a food blog soon - it's all done and ready to go - to share some of the recipes I created. Expect chocolate. Lots of it.

What ticks you off? 
Do I really need to answer this ? I think anyone who reads this blog is well aware of what pisses me off.


When you're upset what do you do? 
Listen to my favourite song. Presuming this means sad upset. For angry upset I tend to blog about it, when it's just generally pissed off angry. When I'm REALLY angry I throw things - or walk away, because I am dangerous when I'm THAT angry. But just because I walked away doesn't mean that person is not on the list.

Which is/was your favourite pet? 
Impossible to answer. I have always had cats and I love them all equally even though they have all had very different characters.

Which do you prefer to wear, black or white?
Purple. But of those two black, apparently it's slimming. And as I can't eat anything without getting half of it all over myself white on me would just be a disaster waiting to happen.

What is your biggest fear? 
Heights. I can't even change a light bulb because my house has high ceilings and it involves climbing a ladder.  My biggest fear whenever Son goes away is that I will end up living in the dark until he comes back. I know I could use candles but with my propensity towards calamity that's not a great idea. Spiders are a close second, but I can deal with them if I have to, I can't cope with heights at all. In fact when I'm stressed I will often dream that I am up high on some kind of narrow structure.

What is your attitude mostly? 
I'm a cunt. And what ????


What is perfection? 
The thing I see in the mirror.
Yeah right.
No one thing really, but my idea of perfect would be to spend every day laying on a sandy beach somewhere very hot.
And Vin Diesel applying the suntan lotion.


What is your guilty pleasure?
Porn.
Wait. . . who typed that ? If you really want to know read THIS.

And now I have to tell you ten random things about me.
1. I own about 60 bras, but I don't have a white one.
2. You know the weird person who starts up a conversation with you somewhere at the bus stop ? That'll be me. I'll talk to anyone.
3. I'm utter crap at managing my money. Always have been.
4. Ever since I could remember I wanted to learn to play the piano.
5. When I was about 13 I got my mum, my sister and me thrown out of a museum because I was bored and there was a really old church organ and I decided to play "what shall we do with the drunken sailor" on it. That was the first (but not the last) time my Mum regretted letting me have the piano lessons.
6. My favourite film is Apocalypse Now. But not the redux, having watched it I can totally see why the deleted scenes were removed.
7. Although I love being in the sea I am rubbish at swimming. I prefer to float around on an airbed. Once in Spain I floated out way too far, I was unaware and half asleep when I heard a mans voice say "are you alright love".. I opened my eyes and there was two fellas on a pedalo. They towed me back to safety, otherwise I might've ended up in Africa.
8. I'm very good at keeping secrets. I love it when people are gossipping about something and wondering what happened and I know the truth.
9. My first proper job after school was in a bank. I got the sack. Apparently you were not allowed to use the money in the till to supplement your wages.
10. I'm going to add these to my about me page. Just as soon as it stops playing up, I've been trying to change something on it for a few days and it won't scroll in the editor.

And finally, I have to infect pass this on to seven other people.
NB. This is the real reason I did this, to encourage you all to go and check them out. So make sure you do, you have been warned about my temper . . . .

1. Janie Junebug. One of my blogging sisters, one day she will come to the UK and then there will be trouble.
2. Working Dan. A blog with a few recurring themes, including his own Game of Thrones. Go and see if you can knock those epic bloggers from ABFTS off that wall. You might even get your very own character drawn. (I'm still waiting for a cowgirl to ride into town).
3. The Ranting Monkey. Frank has pretty much been with me since I started this blog, for the life of me I don't know why he doesn't have more followers. His topics are varied but he is a great writer and when he's being funny he's hilarious.
4. From the Mind of A Madman. I just found this, because Dan started following me. Funny man.
5. Pajama Days in a Klonopin Haze. Another blogging sister, this blog is usually about her very interesting and amusing life but she also has another about her "other" job. Shea is a real life ghost hunter and it's fascinating stuff.
6. The Japing Ape. Written by a gorilla. I kid you not. Always with a rather twisted take on a current news item, I can't explain this - you just need to go and read it.
7. Superlatively Rude.  I just love Laura. I am trying my best to persuade her to marry Son. I need a daughter in law who appreciates my cooking and is happy to talk about vagina while we eat the endless cakes I will make us. And since amongst the many other things she does Laura is writing a book about her vagina she is definitely the one. If you go and visit her be sure to leave a message saying I sent you, it will help with my campaign.

And you should also go and visit Chuck, who gave me the itchy vagina award at Apocalypse Now. He is very funny and he has a blog named after my favourite film.
You lucky seven can accept this or not. And I don't care if you take up the conditions or not.
But if you do. . . Zovirax can stop the itching.

Or so I'm told.

*cough*

My name is Dirtycowgirl and I am an addict.

I am controlled by a demon and it's name is nicotine.
Like every smoker I know all about the risks and what it is doing to my lungs, and I keep saying I'm going to quit, but whilst the brain might think this is a wise idea the willpower says no. I actually gave up for 14 months about 8 years ago, but in a moment of stressed-angry-I-want-to-fucking-kill-someone I reached for my emotional crutch and in the space of two weeks was back to my old lung destroying ways.
I think that being a smoker is a bit like being an alcoholic, you will always be one, but you might get to be a smoker who hasn't had a fag for twenty years. I know people who quit years and years ago who will say that although they will never smoke again there are still times when they find themselves wanting one.

And the truth is that despite all the knowledge of the effects it has on my health I like smoking.
I like to think it makes me look like this :

Even though the reality is more like this :

I started smoking when I was 12. (Yeah, I know). My friend Janet and I decided to smoke because we thought it would make us look grown up, sexy and more attractive to boys. Not that either of us would've known what to do with a boy if the plan had worked at that age. But this was before tobacco advertising was banned and a packet did not come with grotesque pictures and health warnings plastered all over it. It also helped that Janets family owned and lived above a shop, so it was very easy to steal sneak a packet.

The main flaw in the plan to attract the opposite sex was that we were both so scared of getting caught smoking our contraband stash that we used to go and sit under a bridge near her house to do it. It was pretty cosy under there but not exactly a hub of social activity. Although we managed, with the aid of menthol cigarettes, to perfect the art of "taking it down". This enabled us to not cough our guts up with every drag blow the smoke out of our noses (even sexier, or so we thought). Eventually we decided that we needed to take our boy-magnet skills out to the world at large, so we got some money (I don't remember how but I'm pretty sure it involved minor larceny) and got a train to the next town.
So there we are, parading up and down the High Street chain smoking out of our noses and on the look out for unsuspecting males, and not having much luck. But we did bump into two of my Aunties.
Which resulted in a call to my Mum.

I only became a regular smoker and therefore addicted when I started working at 15. As that was in the days before there was so much employment law (am I making myself sound old here), even though it was supposed to be an after school/Saturday job my boss told me that if was bunking having a day off I could go in to work. Given the choice between school and earning money I was at work more then I was in the classroom and consequently had enough money to develop as many bad habits as I wanted.

Until the day I was sat on my checkout and my Maths teacher was in the queue.
Which also resulted in a call to my Mum.

I've never been what you might call a heavy smoker, a packet of twenty will last me 2 or 3 days, but I did eventually progress to the joys of smoking weed.

I was then a regular weed smoker for a very long time, but that stopped when I quit cigarettes and when I began smoking them again I tended to go through phases with weed. I could go for a very long time without it, but if I was at a friends and smoked a joint I'd invariably end up buying some myself. Then for a while I'd get back into it, until I realised that the lethargy that eventually comes with it was taking hold and I'd stop.
The last time I had a "stoner phase" was about two years ago. I wasn't working at the time so the effects of it didn't matter, but I stopped when I decided it was time to get back on the reality train and find a job. I'm not saying that I'll never be a regular weed smoker ever again, but I don't intend to.

I have always felt that had I not been a cigarette smoker I might never have tried weed, because the first time someone offered me a joint I would've said "no thanks I don't smoke". (And if I'd not been into weed then I might've said no to the other things that were offered to me - but that's another story).
But I guess if I ever do succeed in giving up the fags that'll be the end of all of it.

Nowadays the help-you-stop-smoking products are advertised everywhere, but I don't think any of them really work unless you want to stop (when I quit I did it cold turkey) - willpower is the key, not gum, patches or inhalers. They might help with the craving but they do nothing to break the habit, that's all down to you. I know someone who was insisting that her doctor give her Champix because "they worked for me before". Really ? If they worked that well why are you needing them to quit again ?
Nah, like I say, unless you REALLY want to stop nothing will help, and if you REALLY want to stop that much then that should be all you need to do it.

I am halfheartedly cutting down, if I have none in the morning I will sometimes wait until the evening to go to the shop, or if I know I only have a couple left when I leave work I don't buy any on the way home. Son smokes roll-ups so I might get him to make me one of them (to this day I can roll all kinds of fancy joints and I don't need a mat but I can't make a rolly fag to save my fucking life), but I don't really like them so I'll maybe just have one to kill the craving, whereas I'd smoke 4 or 5 cigarettes. Every little helps.
And, as I said, it's been two years since I smoked a joint.

Last night I only had one cigarette left when I got in so I saved that for after my dinner, and Son had gone out so I knew I wasn't going to smoke anymore for the rest of the night.
That's fine. By 10.30 when I decided to go to bed I was craving badly but doing my best to ignore the nagging voice in my head saying "smoke. . nicotine . . smoke. . need to smoke". I went to get myself a drink and saw an ash tray on the kitchen side with an unsmoked roll-up in it.
Fucking result !
(Son tends to make a few up at a time, so it's not unusual to find one about the house).
So I smoked it.
And about six puffs in when I started to feel a bit odd realised that it wasn't a cigarette at all.

Oops.

By the time Son got in I was a giggling mess and when I told him what I'd done he said "well it's lucky I've got this...." and produced a bar of chocolate from his bag.
Fucking double result !



However today I've not been feeling exactly bright.
And no. I'm not tempted to buy a bag of weed.
And Son has been told not to leave anything other then tobacco where I'm likely to find it.

trouble

I've had a few people say they are having problems with my blog.
So am I, some of the links - previous post and the comment form etc seem to be broken. However I think the comment form will work as long as you using the URL for the post and not the home page. As far as I can tell it is something to do with Blogger changing the URLs of blogs so they are geographically correct, I hope so. 
Because the other possibility is that I have finally managed to change my template so much that I have royally fucked it up. Anyway I'm going to wait a few days to see if it rights itself and if not then I guess I'll have to start again with the design.
Meanwhile if you do experience problems would you please let me know, either here or via Twitter or G+, there are links to my profiles on both in the sidebar.

In other more important news major panic descended on my house this morning.
On Thursday I posted an application form to be a host family for foreign language students, I have a spare room sat there sad and empty that could be occupied by a sexy young man earning me few quid, and a friend who already does this suggested the idea.
At the moment I'm in the middle of a few DIY projects, and that includes a few little jobs in said spare room.
Not least of all removing all the useful items crap I've stored in there.
But, I figured it'll take a while to get a student and I have a day off next Friday as I have to go somewhere in the morning, so I thought I could do it then as that's effectively a three day week-end. I also need a few things for the room - you have to provide bedding etc, but I'm watching some on ebay.

This morning I get an email "Hi Cowgirl, thanks very much for your application. At the moment we have students waiting for accommodation, so can we come and see the room Monday evening as we can provide you with a tenant straight away".

Fuck.
So much for the relaxing week-end I had planned.
I've spent the day doing that thing where you try and do ten jobs at once and just end up confused and knackered.
And tomorrow instead of sleeping until 3 a little lie in I have to go shopping for bedding, towels and a lamp. And I fucking hate shopping. They better send me a buff young man after all that.
And breathe.

Son has been getting in the way helping, well taking orders. But in the course of sorting the room out I was putting rubbish in a carrier bag, and we then decided to go downstairs for a coffee and fag break. When I went back up to the room I found this . . .

That is not what I call helping.

The students also have to have an evening meal provided.

Well you can just rent the room, but you don't get as much money, and I figured we have dinner every night anyway so I may as well. However the reality of this is just beginning to dawn on me.

I do like cooking, I love having people round for dinner and when I'm in the mood there are certain things I can manage to not incinerate do quite well.

When I first thought about doing this I suppose I imagined it would be like having a friend for dinner every night. Yeah. Right. The reality of that is I'd soon get fed up.

And while I say I can cook, I have six recipe books.

Five of which are about cooking with chocolate.

I hope the student likes pudding and cake.

And isn't on a diet.

Speaking of which I am very happy to report that I have now managed to lose 10lb.

And that is without going on a proper diet, I have just been walking to work from the train station a few times a week and not stuffing my face with chips and six chocolate bars every night trying to eat healthier. I don't plan to be turning this into a weight loss blog. Boring. But if I get to where I plan to, that is a couple of stone less, I might post a before and after picture. Just as an incentive for myself to stay that way, and maybe then I can post a non-photoshopped below the neck realistic picture on the dating site too.

I will leave you with a couple of pictures that were sent to me.

A friend of mine took the first one, she actually saw this in Tesco.

No amount of clubcard points could make me want to buy that.

And I really cannot believe that whoever wrote this outside a pub did not realise exactly how it could be interpreted.

I'm off, I have two tons of crap to put out with the rubbish before the cat gets his paws on them.

This really wasn't a post was it ? I just wanted to let you all know about the blog problems really, but I can never just get to the point.

But in case you came here hoping to read something interesting or funny I'm gonna do you a favour and suggest you go and read this. Funniest post I've seen in ages.

I hope your week end is more fun then mine is turning out to be.

ps Any HTML experts out there fancy designing me an all-singing all-dancing shiny new template ?

Update : Fed up with people saying they can't comment. I LOVE the comments so changed back to the old template and the links appear to work for me. I guess it was me caused the problem.
Who woulda thought ??
Note to self : Knowing how to read some code does not make you a programmer.  
Could a few of you please test them for me ? 

intimacy

The very lovely Janie Junebug is running a weekly series of guest posts on her blog on the subject of intimacy. She wants to know what that means to different people, and the posts so far have all been very interesting and diverse.

And now thanks to me the tone has been lowered to gutter level.

Unfortunately due to the nefarious Dr X and his concubines reading her blog she was forced to make it private a while ago, so as some of you will be unable to read it I am posting it here today as well. If you want to know more about Dr X, contribute to the series, or just read Janie - and this lady can write, then go to her profile and send her an email.
Everyone is welcome. . . . apart from he who shall not be named !

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssss

When Janie first asked me if I wanted to write a contribution to this topic it left me rather stumped.

Because she said it should be "a post about intimacy, not sex, real intimacy", and in my world you can't have one without the other.
The way my emotions are wired sex, love and intimacy are all sides of the same coin.

Well that's not entirely correct.
I can have sex without intimacy, have done, more times then I care to remember a few times.
But just not the other way round.

The saying goes the way to a mans heart is through his stomach, it's the same for me, except you need to reach my stomach via a different route.
I've had some great sex with men I wasn't in love with, but I've never fallen in love with anyone who wasn't giving me mind blowing, swinging from the chandeliers, how the fuck do I manage to get my legs in that position sex.

Don't misunderstand me, I know that when you find intimacy it becomes about more then sex. But I just can't get there without it, and I have experienced that feeling of being so in tune with someone that it's almost like you can read each others minds.
But for it to last that needs to translate itself to a man who can read my mind so I don't have to tell him when to speed it up or slow it down or flip me over.
That's how I REALLY know that somebody gets me.

Sometimes I wonder if I was really ever love, because as soon as the sex diminished I went off the man pretty damn quick.

The way it works for me is I like someone, so the sex gets a bit better, so I like them more, the more I like them the more I want sex, the more sex we have the better it gets, until it gets to the point where I think I love them (and the very best sex is always with someone you love - for me THAT'S where the intimacy comes into it). And then I want it ALL the time.
Morning.
When you get in from work.
At night.
If you have an extra half hour for lunch.
And don't be making plans that involve getting dressed at the week-end. Although I have a selection of outfits that might fit the occasion.

It's also at this point that I like to get a bit kinky.

And it's at this point that pretty much every man I ever got involved with started saying things like, and I quote. . .
"I can't do that with you, I love you and I respect you too much" (No, I'm not telling you what 'that' was, but he was on the way out the minute those words were out of his mouth).
"You just want me for sex" (Well no, but without it you're not getting anything else).
"If I had an accident and my cock got cut off you'd dump me" (Honestly ? Yeah, he was probably right).
"I'm not a human vibrator" (Clearly he wasn't, once his battery died there was no replacing it).
"All we ever do is fuck, can't we just cuddle" (FYI in my world cuddling is foreplay).
"Do NOT be waking me up with a blow job tonight, I need to sleep" ( I decided this one was gay).
"Why do you have to act like a slut all the time" (Because he told me he liked women who dress up, so I used to turn up at his house wearing. . . )
"Why can't you let me make the first move instead of jumping on me as soon as I get here" ( This one wanted me to make him dinner while he moaned about work...nah, help me work up an appetite first and then I'll let you order a pizza. His job was digging holes in the road. REALLY wanted to talk about that. Not.)
And once I heard those statements I knew the end was nigh.
Boring.

Seriously, I thought men wanted a woman who is always up for it. And when I'm really into someone I am, truth is I think they found my libido intimidating.
But as soon as I start to feel anything approaching frustration any emotions I feel seem to die off.

Maybe that's why I'm single.
Some of the relationships I've had have left me rather cynical, but at the same time I think that I just haven't met anyone truly compatable, or maybe never found true love, and I'd like to think I can put a YET on the end of that.
My last boyfriend fucked with my head in ways that have nothing to do with this post, and I am only just now beginning to think that it might be time to put the hunting gear on again.

Because there are really only two things I miss about being with someone.
The first one, obviously, is sex.
I'm spending a fucking fortune on batteries.
But the other thing is intimacy, and by that I mean the closeness I only seem to be able to feel when I am physically close to someone.
Which means I'll be expecting a lot of sex.

And having just read this back I realise that while Janie wanted a post about intimacy I have in fact just written a post about sex.

I think that proves my point.



Here's the link for Janies profile. Or as I moderate my comments leave me your email (it won't be published) and I will pass on to her.
I love her - and you will too !

driving me crazy

After I wrote about the effects of ageing on my eyesight I read a similar themed post over on my blogger friend Tony Van Helsings site.
It got me thinking.
There are some things that you really do need to consider giving up as you get older.

And I'm not just talking about the fact that I might look a little bit silly at a rave in my glow-in-the-dark clothing, not that any of it fits me anymore. Besides all that bouncing around just makes my feet ache, and I need a week to recover even though I'm home and in bed with a cocoa by midnight.

My Dad is in his eighties.
Ill health has begun to affect his mobility in the last few years, but I obviously get my inability to get my brain to understand that I am no longer 25 from him.
Because up until a couple of years ago if you put this man in charge of anything with an engine he thought he was either a formula one driver or captain of the boat that holds the sea-speed record.

He was never concerned with the fact that his car is very old or that his boat is very small.
Size matters not, and it's "all the other silly bastards" who are at fault, never him.

Nowadays his car is so knackered I doubt it can go faster then the average milk cart, and most of the time he keeps his boat moored at it's week-end location and catches the ferry over to it.
But this was not always the case.
Dads boat looks very similar to this . . .

Except it's not as sea worthy.
Probably due to years of being "worked on" by Dad, the same man who once spent an entire week-end putting up shelves that fell down within half an hour of putting stuff on them. Actually most of my power tools were bought for me by Dad, because he knows if he wants something done I will make a better job of it than he can.
Apart from the boat, that is entirely his domain.

We live in a city that has a large Naval base, a continental ferry port which also deals with container ships, a smaller ferry terminal from which catamarans and smaller boats run, and a Hovercraft terminal right on the beach. Spend an afternoon sat on our seafront and you will see endless boats and other sea vehicles of all shapes and sizes pass by.

And occasionally a crazy old man dodging between them.

Not to scale. Shipping channel is six miles wide, 

if it looks crowded here than the reality is worse.

Dad told me "those ferries are fucking dangerous, a few times they've nearly hit me and they all seem to think that because they're so big they have the right of way".
That's because they do.
Dad was in the navy when he was a young man, so naturally he knows what he's doing and it's the captains of the various ferries, container ships, frigates, aircraft carriers and destroyers who have no idea how to manage their vessels.
And the Harbour Master needs firing. . . according to Dad. Because he has no idea how careless those big ships are and how dangerously their captains drive them.
Do you drive a boat ? Steer perhaps.

One day I was round my sisters and the TV was on although we were talking and not paying any attention to it. The local news came on and there was a story about someone being charged with causing a nuisance to shipping in a small private boat - we both stopped talking and sat there waiting to hear the newscaster say our Dads name.
Because we just KNEW it was going to be him.
It wasn't, thankfully. But it SO should of been.

My sisters mother-in-law lives where the smaller ferries are heading to, and she had the hardest time trying to find a polite way to say to Dad that there was no fucking way she was going to do what he suggested.
Let him take her and her kids over rather than "wasting" all that money on the ferry.

According to Dad the reason he now keeps his boat permanently at the week-end location is because it was getting too dangerous to cross - nothing to do with him, just they are "letting too many other boats use the water" and he was worried for his safety.
Now he knows how his daughters have been feeling for twenty fucking years.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said about him driving on the road.
Except that nowadays his lack of speed is the problem rather than too much of it. I stopped accepting his offers of lifts a long time ago, white knuckle rides are not my thing. But one day before I wised up he was driving me home and turned a corner without slowing down causing the poor man who had just stepped into the road to cross it to jump back.
And Dad ?
He stopped, I thought to check the fella was ok. But no, he wound the window down and shouted at him to "look before you cross the fucking road".

I wish he would just give up his car.
Every year he says he is going to, he no longer goes very far in it anyway, but he never does.
For someone who has always been reckless at the best of times, when you put the issues of old age into the equation it goes beyond stupid and into the range of fucking dangerous.
Actually scrap that.
It's always been dangerous.

I think there should be some system in place that means that when you get older you have to prove that you are still capable of driving. We all know that as you age your physical capabilities can lessen, and not just your eyesight. Dad has arthritis in his knees that makes it impossible for him to climb my stairs, he cannot sit on my sofa because he can't get back up from it and walks with a stick, yet he drives a manual car.
I worry about him, and of course anyone else that might be involved if he had an accident.

Because, of course, it wouldn't be Dads fault.

I'm not saying that all old people are bad drivers, nor do I think that all bad drivers are old.
I've never managed to learn to drive and not for the want of trying.
But my last instructor refused to give me anymore lessons because apparently I am "a liability" and he was worried "for my car and my own personal safety".
I thought I was doing ok.
I'd got to the point where he no longer had to tell me 'clutch, brake etc' - just where to go, and we were driving through a little village high street. The car had five gears, so I was damn well going to use them, and as we turned into the road I was going (or so I thought) a bit too fast to be able to stop before I hit either the double decker bus that was coming towards me or the policeman on a pushbike in front of us.
So I hit the policeman.
Not badly, I wasn't going that fast. Really I just clipped his back wheel and he wobbled a bit before kind of stepping off. When he saw it was a learner driver - and the look of terror on my face - he just waved us on.

But when we pulled up outside my house and I wanted to book my next lesson the instructor wasn't exactly happy.
I guess lack of driving skills are another thing I've inherited.

Dad was always giving me advice to "help" with my lessons. The one I remember was "when you approach a bend in a road drop a gear (sound advice so far. . . ) then as you get to it go up again and drive into it ".
Hmmm.

Lately I've been thinking that I might try to learn again, I'm not as reckless as I was when I had those last lessons, they were quite a long time ago.
But I might just get behind the wheel and turn into Lewis Hamilton.

I am my Dad's daughter after all.

the cats whiskers

I am what some people call a "cat person".
One day I will be the crazy old bird who lives with thirty and is found dead having been consumed by her own pussy.

Having recently read a couple of pet related posts I thought I'd write one myself.

It's not that I don't like dogs, I would love to have a Jack Russell, but it's not fair to leave a dog alone all day.
I grew to love Jacks because my sister used to have one, she was a grumpy old thing (the dog not the sister) with a worse case of the mentalpause then me but such a character.
Should that be mentalpaws ?
When son was little we sometimes had her for the week-end, and she very quickly learnt the things he did that always caused me to shout at him. The end result being that as soon as she heard him kick his shoes down the stairs she would run out and bark at him before I had a chance to shout.
I learnt to watch the TV for any adverts that had the sound of a doorbell. Because if she heard one I would have to get up and pretend to open the front door to get her to stop barking.

My sister used to make matching hats for her boyfriend and the dog.
(I know what you're thinking, and yeah madness runs in the family).
One day I got chatting to a little old lady at a bus stop who had a Jack Russell and she told me that she had seen the funniest thing while walking her dog on the common. A man and a dog wearing the same hats.
I didn't tell her.

My Dad also has a Jack. Sometimes she wears my glasses.

Meet Daisy, I think she thinks it makes her look intelligent.

A cat doesn't care if you're out all day, in fact a cat prefers it when you are because then it doesn't have to share the bed / sofa / heating with you.
It only needs you to be there to feed it - in fact mine seem to be under the illusion that I only come home because they're hungry since as soon I get in the door I am expected to fill the food dish before I have taken my coat off.

Even if Son came home half an hour before and fed them.

Maybe I should show them this. As a threat.

I think those people who assume that their predisposition to perform tricks means that dogs are cleverer then cats are wrong.
I think it means they are smarter.

And don't feel the need to please or impress anyone, as the world revolves around them since they are the superior species.
Most cats think they are in fact the cats whiskers.
I have known cats that will fetch a favourite toy, and had cats that worked out how to open a door or window, and not just those that involve a push. The cat we had when I was a kid would stand on the bottom bolt of our back door and hook one paw through the handle whilst banging on the catch with the other one, at the same time he would kind of push his weight against the door until it opened.

For weeks my Mum was moaning at me and my sister for leaving the door open.
Until the day she heard it being banged and saw what the cat was doing.

When you want to teach your dog a trick it thinks "I best learn this because it makes my master happy", when a cat wants to learn something (and a cat learns a trick because it wants to - not because you want it to) it thinks "What's in it for me".
And if the answers nothing then forget it.
Who needs a cat treat when you can catch a mouse.
In fact often it's the cat that thinks the human needs a treat. You learnt to feed me so here, have a dead bird, you deserve it.

Of course just because your cat doesn't need you doesn't mean it's not going to make you pay if it feels you have let it down.
I used to have a little silver tortoise shell, her routine was to come on my bed in the morning while I was drinking my coffee for a fuss. Whether I wanted to fuss her or not.
Then I got a job that meant I was away a week at a time.
Eventually I had to put a lock on my bedroom door because her way of pissing me off showing her displeasure at me for going away was to leave a turd curled up in the middle of my bed.
The night before I came home.
Once I left that job all was fine and I no longer needed to lock the door, but when I went on holiday I came home to find a runny turd IN MY HANDBAG !!
It went straight in the bin - contents too. There might've been money in that bag but I wasn't going to look.

A couple of years ago, by which time I had another three male cats, it became very obvious that she was not happy. She hardly ate and started to look very ragged - even though the vet could find nothing wrong with her - so a friend said she would take her. Within a week she was looking happy and healthy again, obviously she wanted to be the only cat.
About a month later the same friend told me she had gone away for a week-end and came home to find a "present" on her bed.
I laughed and told her to check her bags.
Maybe I should've warned her. . .

I'm not one of those people who thinks her pets are children, but I do love them. I mentioned a few posts ago that we have recently lost one.
His name was Nelson.
Because he was a black cat Son had wanted to name him after a famous black person and I didn't want a cat called Tupac.

A few days ago Son informed me that he thought we should get another cat, as he had a dream and Nelson (he was very devoted to Son) had told him it was fine.
I said I would, but not just yet, and that when I did it would be a female.
"Ok, but we are going to call it Naomi"
"Why ?"
"Because that is Nelson Mandelas daughters name"
"Is it, how do you know that ?"
"Naomi Campbell, she's his daughter"

I'm sure I don't know where he gets his brains from.

My second favourite tshirt. 

My favourite one says "I'd like to fuck your brains out but you don't have any". A statement that is only backed up by the amount of men who read the first bit and get sleazy without bothering to read the rest.

When Son was about seven I adopted a black and white cat from a friend of a friend as it's owners were living in a third floor flat. What they failed to mention was that this cat was not neutered. The huge furry bollocks it possessed were a source of fascination to Son, who would lift up the cats tail and show his friends.
"Look, my cat has huge nuts ".
However the huge furry bollocks also meant that the cat was spraying in the house and so they had to come off.
I explained about this to Son, as he was certainly going to notice when they weren't there anymore, that the cat was going to have an operation to remove them.

The dogs bollocks ? Nah cat's are bigger.

A few weeks later Son went for a check up on his eye, he had been born with a slight squint and the treatment was to wear an eye patch for a couple of hours a day on the good eye to strengthen the other one. It was checked every month, the plan being that when there was no further improvement for three months he would have an operation to correct it.
As it turned out this appointment was the one where he reached that stage, and so after the usual eye tests we had to go and speak to the surgeon.

So there we are sat in this very posh mans office and he says,
"So young man I think it's time we brought you in for a little operation"
At which Son jumps up, grabs his crotch and says,
"You're not cutting my nuts off".

I had to explain about the cats operation.

If you really wanted to see a post about my actual cats then here's one I made earlier.

♥♥♥ 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.



sick and tired

Urghhhhh.

I have just spent four days laid up with a horrible stomach bug.
You know the kind, where you think you're about to fart, so you do. And realise just in time that it isn't a fart.
Fucking vile.
An entire weekend laid on my bed in agony and two days off work.
I hate that, makes me feel like I have let people down and that is not something I want to do.

And I am now seriously behind with the list of things-I-need-to-do-before-epic-holiday. I'm not that bothered about delivering the few xmas presents I have for people, Son won't mind doing that for me. Nor do I really care about packing too many clothes, it's going to be hot and we will be mostly on the beach so as long as I have packed all fifteen of my bikinis I'll be ok.

But I am worried that I won't have time to get my legs waxed.
If you hear reports on the news of the missing link being spotted on a beach in Goa you'll know the truth.

I've been feeling so ill I haven't even really turned the computer on, and as it's a laptop that takes very little effort, but when I did so just now it's like I have a hundred new posts to read on my followed blogs.
Fuck knows if I'll ever catch up on reading after a month away.
And my OCD tendencies will mean that I feel I have to.

However what I have managed to do is get the guest posts ready, you lot are in for a few treats while I'm gone. I have to say the people I asked all said pretty much the same thing - that they weren't happy with what they gave me.
Why is everyone their own worst critic ?
I think they're all great (there are three, one per week) so I really hope that after reading them you will all go and check out the respective authors blogs. You won't be disappointed.

I also recently started following Interwebs Fails, go and take a look, I'll wait. . .
Honestly I thought the people I had as 'friends' on facebook were a sad indictment of the human race, but some of the stuff he posts there makes me worry for our future.
If aliens are monitoring us they are probably tapping into the web, and looking at most of that they are probably thinking lets blow them the fuck up there is no intelligent life on earth. But some of the 'questions' posts I've seen there reminded me that I once joined a question forum so I went off to have a look.

Unbefuckinglievable.

That's not what I was taught, but I can see how it might happen. 

Don't confuse birth control with your creepy uncle.

(@IWF feel free if you want to use these, I'd be kinda honoured if you did :)

Regular readers know I buy far too many shoes on I'm a big fan of ebay, and one thing I regularly look out for is Uggs, I'm very good at spotting the fakes too.

But last week before the sick bug got me I saw these,

Look at the fucking state of them !
There's used and then there's knackered, worn out, filthy and with a hole in the side. Yes, it is a hole, there were other pictures that showed it better.
She was asking for a starting price of £50 for fuck sake. I've bought genuine brand new Uggs for not much more then that, so I had to go and read the description.

SMELLY ?!!?
Oh wait, it's ok it's just a little bit.
COLLAPSE SLIGHTLY ?
That's a fucking full on landslide going on with those monstrosities.
LUXURY ITEM !?!?
If that's your idea of luxury love then I really don't want to see what you wear when you're slumming it.
SAD TO SEE THEM GO ?
If I got fifty quid for them I'd be throwing a fucking party.
GIVE THEM A GOOD HOME . . .
The only thing they are fit for is the bin.
Anyway of course I had to go and look at the 'similar items'. After all - they couldn't be any worse.
Could they ?

And then the proverbial penny dropped.

This person is hoping that weirdo perverts are going to buy her old tat.

She even had a pair of knickers amongst her stuff, it said they were new 'to comply with ebay terms' but they didn't exactly look new to me.

Urghhhh.

Hmmmm. I have several pairs of tatty old knickers lurking in the bottom of a drawer . . . . 

Make me an offer.

Maybe she could use this for her advertising campaign.

I can't decide whether this guy is a genius or a bit of a cunt.

But anybody messes with my Bikini is gonna be in for a shock.

And not in a good way.

Never mind, these dogs made me laugh.

 Awwwww.

The second one reminds me of the time I bought my (then about 2yrs old) niece some felt tip pens and forgot to tell my sister I had put them in her bag when she left my house. The next morning my sister found her sat in front of the mirror having coloured her entire face, even her eyelids, green.

For days afterwards people kept asking my sister if her daughter was ok as she 'didn't look too well'. She was fine, she just had a greenish tinge to her complexion.

I'm off, I have a hundred blog posts to read and about a thousand texts, emails and calls to reply to.

Yeah. I wish I was that popular.

I also wish I was getting this for Christmas.

Well someones gotta rub the suntan lotion on the bits I can't reach.

let me in

Have I mentioned that I'm going away for Christmas ?

Maybe just once or twice.
TWO WEEKS !!!

However, I have some advice for any of you that ever want to travel to India.
Get your Visa as soon as possible !

I'm ok, I have mine, but there has been an issue with one of them, and for the MOST ridiculous reason. There are nine of us going, one of whom is a four year old. The back story here is that although her Father was around when she was born and so his name is on her birth certificate, he and her Mother broke up soon after and he has not been seen since. His loss. Consequently there has never been any kind of custody hearing, but as far as anything of a legal nature goes ie Tax Credits, benefits and the like her Mother is officially a single parent.
She has been to India for the last three years with her Mum and there has never been an issue with her Visa before, they have just included a copy of her Tax Credit entitlement and a letter explaining the situation with the application.

We all began the Visa process online, then my friend went up to London to the Embassy and handed in all our passports and photos. The next day we got a phone call from them saying that they were all fine, apart from the little girls as they needed to see her full birth certificate. In the UK you can have a short version - which is absolutely fine when it comes to claiming benefits, opening a bank account etc but not apparently for the fucking Indian embassy, they want to see the full one.
Which not everyone gets anyway, as you have to pay.

But, whatever, if that's what they want.
The guy said he would send an email immediately after the call, checked the mail addy, and we could scan the birth certificate and attach it to a reply. So her Mum got in touch with the records office and ordered a full copy.
However we did not get that email.
As we are running out of time her Mum decided to take it up in person, so yet another trip to London.

A few days later she got a text saying the Visa was processed and would be arriving by courier the next day.
It never arrived.
At this point, assuming there had been a problem with the post, she decided to phone the Indian Embassy.
Let met tell you it would be easier to find the combination for the safe at the Bank of England then get their fucking phone number. The website tells you when to call but not where.
Eventually she rang the couriers that deliver them, and luckily they had the number.
Then we find out that a) it has not been posted, because b) they need more information, which is c) a court order stating that she has custody, or d) they want to see her fathers passport.

Again she explains the situation.
But no matter - the person she was speaking to just kept repeating "we need to see a court order". Eventually we can hear that she is starting to get angry, and realising that will get her nowhere tell her to get the number for the complaints dept and end the call.
I rang the complaints dept and explained the situation.
Ever get the impression that you are speaking to someone who either isn't listening or doesn't want to. They are like talking to a fucking stuck CD. I think they just learn three English phrases and are told to keep repeating which ever seems most likely to fit. Yeah fine English is not your native language, but you are working in a place that deals with non-Indian people who want to visit your country - which relies heavily on tourism - so for fuck sake at least make it SOUND like you want to help them get there.
I also pointed out that clearly one end of their organisation does not know what the other is doing - otherwise why was a text sent saying it was on it's way - when clearly it wasn't. Although in a way that was a good thing as we would not have known any of this unless we had called to try to find out where it was.

I was told to call back at the end of the day, which I did, only to be told - yet again - that they needed something from the court or a solicitor.
Motherfuckers.
Exactly which part of we don't have one of them because we don't need one is that you are failing to grasp ?

There is a happy ending. Her Mum went and got a letter from a solicitor - which she had to pay for - and this was taken up (again to London) on Tuesday. Even this was not acceptable at first. In then end manipulation and lies were used, and they were told that her Father was a drug addict and if forced to contact him it would bring shame and distress to the child.
Apparently at this the guy dealing with it said he "would not want to bring shame on anyone's family".
Yesterday the Passport was returned with the Visa granted.

Which just proves the rules are NOT set in stone, and can be bent when they want to.

At first we could not understand why they made this so difficult, but we came to the conclusion that it's perhaps that India is a culture where single parents are probably not that common. So when they made their new rules they did not make allowances for every eventuality under which that can occur where you might have no contact and/or no desire to.

What if a childs Father had totally disappeared ? He might not even be in the country anymore.
What if the Father was dead ?
What about people who leave their partners because they are violent ?
What about kids who have no contact with a parent because of abuse ?

But they want our Tourist income. Even if that meant telling a child that her entire family are going on holiday and she is not allowed to come.
Do they want to be the ones to explain that to her ?

We gave them NINE Visa applications, and they processed all but one. Even though they can see that the one they refused belongs to a child whose parent they have just granted a Visa to.
Fucking idiots.
What's she gonna do ? Stay at home on her own.

And why has she suddenly been refused after three years of going. Apparently because they changed the rules. As my friend said to them "your rules might have changed but my circumstances have not".

However - there would've been none of this if her Fathers name was NOT on the birth certificate.
So, despite their family orientated culture, from the child's point of view it would be easier to get a Visa if she had the stigma of having no named Father rather then an absent one.

If they had not granted it then they would effectively be punishing a four year old for having a Father who is a waste of space with no interest in her.

If forced to find him and take him to court that could cause a whole load of emotional distress for both the child and her Mother.

When she was still a baby her Mother started a new relationship, and this is the man that the child looks upon as her Father. He treats her as his own and she calls him Dad. What would it do to a four year old - who although she knows he isn't her birth father, has this Man as a constant consistent reliable caring figure in her life - to suddenly have this other prick appear and be told THIS is actually your Dad.
Because he was given every opportunity to be in her life - he chose not to.
And rejection is hard enough to deal with as an adult, never mind when you're four.

And all because the Indian Embassy are refusing to let you into their country for a holiday unless you make contact with him.

Fuckers.

Why does a child even need a tourist Visa anyway ? Especially when travelling with her family.
It's not like she's going to be looking for a job whilst we're there, even though her £40 Visa has ended up costing her Mum close to £250.

Although it's India, I suppose they think we might be sending her off to a sweat shop - or be planning to cut off her arm and send her out to beg.


Did I say that ? Oops. They might not let me in.


But again. . . TWO WEEKS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i wish i hadn't heard that

RIP Joe.

A man and a legend.

I do like boxing, it's the only sport I really watch, although I think it's been a long time since the sport had a true champion like it did in the days of Frazier, Ali, Foreman and their like.
And Sugar Ray was CUTE.
Maybe Tyson could've been, but he let himself down outside the ring. Rapists have no place in public adoration.
We've had a few half decent UK fighters - but none that come close to the greats.

I got my love of the sport from watching those guys with my Dad.

My blogger pal Al, over at Penwasser Place wrote a post about his time in the US Navy and Veterans day. My Dad was in the Royal Navy in his younger years and the comment I left there made me think of a couple of funny things.

My parents split when I was 14. This was not at all a traumatic thing for me, in fact it was a bit of a relief. All I remember them ever doing was arguing so it was no shock - sometimes I think I maybe saw it coming before they did.
I was a Daddys girl - still am really - but as I hit full on puberty and rebellion and began the five year war with my Mum, so Dad became my ally (he no longer needed to back Mum up to keep the peace) and his flat was my refuge when I wanted to escape. Mostly I think he respected, especially by the time I was about 16 or 17, that I was growing up and let me make my own huge mistakes decisions and then bailed me out talked it through with me.
As a result of that we can talk about things that maybe some Dads and daughters can't.

This is not always a good thing.

He's in his eighties now and not in the best of health although still very independent, but I like to hear from him every day. We do this via the daily filthy text joke.
I frequently have a conversation where I will read one to a friend. . .
"Who sent you that?"
"My Dad"
"Your DAD sent you THAT ???"

He once told me the story of how he ended up getting circumcised by a Navy surgeon, apparently Dad was not lacking in size and the doctor ("He was fucking faggot too..") asked him to drop his trousers then lifted the offending appendage up with a pencil and made a complimentary remark.
At which point Dad replaced his clothing and told him he "best get someone else to do the op because I'm worried what you might do to it when I'm out cold . . ."
He had shared this because I thought Son might've had a problem and I'd asked his advice.
TMI Dad, TMI.

Not the first time he put a picture in my head that I really didn't want to see.

One night he had gone out and met a rather nice young lady who had agreed to go home with him. He said he knew she was a fair bit younger then him but although he was in his early fifties at this point, Dad has always looked a lot younger then his years. (I love him for passing those genes to me). So he gets back to his flat and the female spots the picture of me and my sister when we were teenagers on his wall.
She points at me and says
"That's ..............isn't it ?"
Dad asked her how she knew me.
"Well I don't really know her, but I remember her because she was well known in the year above me at school".
Dad called her a cab.


The saying is that sailors have a girl in every port and I once asked my Dad if he did.
"No, but I once caught a nasty dose of the clap from a prostitute in Korea that I had to get rid of before I got back home to your Mother".

When Son was first at College he had kept mentioning a girls name, and one day when he was kind of distracted I said it sounded like he had a girlfriend. . .
"Nooo, she just comes round and gives me a blow job when you're at work"

Great.
So now my Son was also putting pictures in my head.
There are some things a Mother just doesn't need to know.
Or a daughter.

Because when I relayed this story to Dad. . . .
"Lucky bleeder, when I was his age if I wanted one of them I had to pay for it".

You think ?

My favourite of all his stories though is not at all rude, but from when he was a boy growing up in a city that was getting bombed by the Germans.

Dad, as usual, had left for school in the morning but also, as usual, had not actually gone to school and was instead playing by the locks. In those days where there is now a train line there was a canal.
During the morning, the Luftwaffe had decided to drop a bomb on Dads school.
Luckily there were no casualties and all the children were accounted for. . . .apart from Dad.

When it was the right time Dad had made his way home.

Meanwhile a policeman had been despatched to the house to give his Mother the bad news.

He said as he walked in the front door my Gran screamed, lunged at him, hugged him then hit him and continued to switch between the two for quite a while.

Dad has told me that he is writing all his memories down.
I have suggested to him that he should get a computer to do it, but he says he likes writing by hand. In a way that's a bit of a shame because I'm sure it would make for a great blog.

Either way I can't wait to read them.
Even if some of them are bound to give me nightmares.

He's a bit of a legend himself.

And just to prove my point, here's a selection of this weeks jokes from Dad.
Enjoy.

Today my mate was doing a crossword and asked me if I knew the medical term for a swollen vagina.
He's a thick cunt.

I was down the gym this morning when I noticed a hole in my trainer big enough to get my finger in.
Anyway, she's now made a formal complaint.

My dysexic friend told me he was going to be covering his penis in black shoe polish last week-end.
I said to him "you idiot you're supposed to be turning the clock back".

A priest booked into a hotel and told the receptionist he hoped the porn channel was disabled.
She said "no you sick bastard it's ordinary porn".

A man was in court charged with murdering his pretty young wife. The judge asked him what he had to say in his defence.
"Well your honour I came home and found the dirty slut in bed fucking my best friend so I shot her"
The judge said he thought that was fair enough and asked the man what happened to his best friend.
"I wagged my finger at him and told him he was a bad dog".

Went to bed with two Thai girls last night. It was like winning the lottery, we had six matching balls.