There y'go. Links to decent content.

Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog: Serpentes on a Shippe!

The Gallery of Regrettable Food. The vilest? Looks like sick...

Fun with Einstein.



Official Seal Generator.

Arsebuckets.

Why did that last post show up twice? It didn't yesterday!
This computer is pissing me off!

(Thanks for the monkey, Chary.)

I have a surprise monkey.

Today I received a parcel. Someone has sent me a Slingshot Flying Monkey.



It's a great laugh, and it cheered me up no end. I'd like to thank the sender.
But... who sent it?
'fess up!

I have a surprise monkey.

Today I received a parcel. Someone has sent me a Slingshot Flying Monkey.



It's a great laugh, and it cheered me up no end. I'd like to thank the sender.
But... who sent it?
'fess up!

The bubble.

The bubble lives in my brain. The bubble is full of all the hopelessness and humiliation and terror. The bubble is always there. The bubble is cold. The bubble changes size. Sometimes, only occasionally, it is tiny, and sometimes, only occasionally, it is huge, rubbing against thoughts that it has nothing to do with, chilling them. Sometimes, like now, like for the last couple of weeks, all I can think of are the terrors, the shamings, the uselessness of me.

The bubble can make me shiver all over. I can physically feel me retracting inside my own skin (although that's impossible). It's cold.

The bubble makes me stop on the inside. I'll crack jokes and chat, but inside I'm firmly contained. I have to be.

Right now, I'm terrified about jobs, and money, and the writing I do to make the bit of income I have. I relive scenes from up to 15 years ago - everything that's hurt me - and I am ashamed.

Right now, the bubble is chilly against the edges of my skull. I think this time it's going to be really bad.

Strangers whose blogs I read.

Mimi
Alice
Julia
LoD
Palinode and Schmutzie
Melissa
Nancy
Karen
The Mincemeat Vixen
Ernie
Abortion Clinic Days

I should point out also that I tend to read a few posts, decide I like it, then start from the beginning. I'd urge you to check them out - it may turn out that there is or isn't writers you're interested in reading, but isn't it always best to try?

For better or worse.

There's some things I won't write about on here. I think my sex life is too much information for a lot of you (shout out to my family, here), so you have to put up with scintillating descriptions of the plants I have, and odd conversations that occur. You poor bastards.

As you can imagine, Matt puts up with a lot. A lot, bless him.

• I sing in the bathroom. And not just in the shower.
  
• I make dewey decimal system jokes.
  
• I need a certain amount of tea every day.
  
• If, for example*, I am sitting on the back of the sofa brushing Matt's hair, and then he gets up and the whole sofa goes over backwards with me on it, I will go on and on about "Oh, woe is me! My husband wants me dead!" for at least half an hour.
  
• I just persuaded him to try the fish vertebrae out of a tin of salmon, like I like to eat. I don't think he'll be forgiving me for this one.
  
  *'For example' meaning 'as happened last night'...
  

Seven-tentacled list.

1. You bloody Australians have made me have to go out and buy vegemite - I got used to having one slice of toast with vegemite and one with marmite.

2. We went to see Beergut 100 at the festival. Bill Bailey and co. were good as ever, and me and Rowenna made it down to the front, at which point this guy came up to us and said something along the lines of 'You're at the front. You should be dancing more.' We were pretty bemused by this, and asked him what it had to do with him. He said 'I'm from Glasgow, and we know how to party there.'
I said 'We're from Edinburgh, and we're not interfering arseholes here. Off you go.' and shoved him. It was funny. We also managed to get Rich Hall's autograph.

3. I had my leaving do on Friday. I was sad to go, but I was thrilled that so many of my friends turned up for it. My boss said that that was the most the front-of-house staff had ever been involved when someone left. It was a great night, we got taken out for an Italian meal by Colin (Thanks again, Colin...), then I came home and went to sleep on the sofa. Good times, good times.

4. Saturday was a great day. For a leaving gift, I was given £100 in vouchers from my friends. As you know, I've never been anywhere even passing rich, so to have that money was amazing. So please excuse me if I sound materialistic. I went to the shops, and came out an hour later with 5 books, a Johnny Cash CD, 4 DVDs, a beautiful fuzzy stripy jumper and some jewellery. We went for lunch, too, and on to the museum.

5. We then went up to Mouse's house for movie night. We watched Faster Pussycat... Kill! Kill! and Wolf Creek, two of the DVDs I'd got. That has given us some excellent quotes. From Faster Pussycat..., we have:
"You're all bagged out on sauce." to describe drunkenness.
From Wolf Creek, we got (in a cheerful Aussie accent):
"Would you like me to cut yer tits off?"

6. We got home, curled up on the sofa and watched Jack Dee and listened to Equal Rites audio until I started getting migraine visuals and we went to bed.

7. I have my interview tomorrow. I have to look respectable. Wish me luck.

Dialogue

Me, sleepily stroking Matt's face with the back of my hand: I like your whiskers.
Matt: They're not whiskers. Whiskers are longer and... sense things.
Me: No, I meant old man whiskers. Like... old-cowboy whiskers.
Matt: They're longer too and...
Me: Sense things?
Matt: Irritate whores in the back rooms of saloons.
Me: Oh.
Me: You feel like Tygra.
Matt: ...How would you know?

Nerdiness , BTVS style...

Point one. I am a nerd. We're all clear on that, right? So it won't surprise you that some of the time when I'm wandering about making tea or whatever, I sing the songs from the Buffy episode 'Once More With Feeling'.

There's a bit in the song that Spike sings where it goes:

I know I should go
But I follow you like a man possessed
There's a traitor here beneath my breast
And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed
If my heart could beat, it would break my chest
but I can see you're unimpressed

Now, I once made the mistake of telling Matt that, due to James Marster's accent, I always expected that first line to go:
I know I should go
But I follow you like a mountain goat

So now I'll be happily pottering around singing to myself and Matt'll stick his head round the door and sing:
I know I should go
But I follow you like a mountain goat
There's a traitor here beneath my boat
And it hurts me more than a rabid stoat
If my heart could beat, it would wear a coat
but I can see you've got a float...
...or words to that effect.
Bastard.