Saturday, January 07, 2012
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Ridiculeyes
Elle has extended my eyelashes. If anyone does not need eyelash extensions, it is me. I can't blink when I wear glasses as it is.
Elle has extended my eyelashes. If anyone does not need eyelash extensions, it is me. I can't blink when I wear glasses as it is.
Wibs says "You look like a tranny". Lovely child.
They do fall off sometimes. They are not applied en masse, they are carefully put on, one bit at a time. Each one, has a little spray of four hairs on it. Elle gave me a tiny tube of this special adhesive, and instructed me to dip the end in and apply, with tweezers, should one fall off. I found one on my pillow after the first morning, and dutifully grabbed a hold of the glue and the tweezers, and after some difficulty (no glasses, which at my age, are definitely necessary every time you have to view anything smaller than say, the taj mahal), I reapplied my eyelash, dipping the dot end in the glue, and pressing it to the base of my own eyelash. Job done! Doddle. I went into the kitchen still without specs, and was bobbling around making a cup of tea when I spied another bloody eyelash clump in front of the kettle. "tsk" I said, going back to fetch tweezers to pick up the lash. Couldn't find the glue, so popped my glasses on to root around in my makeup bag - got it! Went to dip the lash into the glue, and discovered it was a gnat.
So, if you see me out and about with gnats, spiders, bits of tobacco glued to my face, don't laugh. Take pity.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Introducing ...
... Neo. My dear friends over at Ameeka, Stacie and Ian, had Neo for two years as a stud cat - imported from Sweden. Neo is an Ocicat Classic, and has fathered many of their litters. Now retired at the age of two (soft git) he has been gifted to me by them. He's had his vitals removed though - as if anything less would be tolerated in THIS house! He is very very demanding, headbutting me so hard that my spectacles fall off (and onto his head) when I attempt to pick up a book to read, and sitting, glaring at me with his massive green eyes, his backside on the keyboard if I open up the laptop. He is content only when everything is set aside and all concentration is on ruffling his belly fur.
Neo Scrumptious, as he has been renamed (sing it to the tune from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) has made himself at home, firstly by opening hostilities with Harriet McFlap, Boxer of Little Brain, and secondly by peeing on my goose feather duvet.
"Oh no!" says Stacie, appalled. "It's his safe place - lock him in a room with his litter tray until he feels more confident"
Safe place? It wont be if he does it again, says I.
Today, the warring factions (team Cat and Team Dog) continued displaying openly hostile behaviour. The ruling Militia (me) is managing to maintain peace in the short term. Just.
Hello Neo. You are gorgeous, and you are staying. I always fancied a Swedish Stud.
... Neo. My dear friends over at Ameeka, Stacie and Ian, had Neo for two years as a stud cat - imported from Sweden. Neo is an Ocicat Classic, and has fathered many of their litters. Now retired at the age of two (soft git) he has been gifted to me by them. He's had his vitals removed though - as if anything less would be tolerated in THIS house! He is very very demanding, headbutting me so hard that my spectacles fall off (and onto his head) when I attempt to pick up a book to read, and sitting, glaring at me with his massive green eyes, his backside on the keyboard if I open up the laptop. He is content only when everything is set aside and all concentration is on ruffling his belly fur.
Neo Scrumptious, as he has been renamed (sing it to the tune from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) has made himself at home, firstly by opening hostilities with Harriet McFlap, Boxer of Little Brain, and secondly by peeing on my goose feather duvet.
"Oh no!" says Stacie, appalled. "It's his safe place - lock him in a room with his litter tray until he feels more confident"
Safe place? It wont be if he does it again, says I.
Today, the warring factions (team Cat and Team Dog) continued displaying openly hostile behaviour. The ruling Militia (me) is managing to maintain peace in the short term. Just.
Hello Neo. You are gorgeous, and you are staying. I always fancied a Swedish Stud.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
I've got another job, on top of my first. Money is very, very tight, dreadthepostman tight. Anyway, I am pulling pints. here -
Is it not beautiful? My right arm is growing stronger, pulling pints of real ale in the base of that windmill, running round with Sunday roasts in the attached restaurant..
Just think - I am now a nurse that also works in a brewery. Line up lads.
Is it not beautiful? My right arm is growing stronger, pulling pints of real ale in the base of that windmill, running round with Sunday roasts in the attached restaurant..
Just think - I am now a nurse that also works in a brewery. Line up lads.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
House of Women ...
and one of them, is a monster at the moment. Veering wildly between adult and child, she manages to spend most of it displaying a personality just a smidgen less possessed than Regan MacNeil's. Since Christmas we've had a vitriolic spew of mother hatred on Facebook, two all night parties that saw no return for three days, orange hair, pink hair, green hair and now black hair that hangs like a curtain over her sullen features, a scaffold that was executed so badly she ended up in A & E on Boxing Day, and now the same ropey back street piercer has struck again (thanks to her dad RETURNING her to same piercer) skewering her lobes with some dodgy teeny tiny silver studs, one of which vanished inside its own hole the other night. I was working on a monumentally foul piece of academic nonsense when she tentatively pushed open my bedroom door and whispered "I can't find my earring". She came closer for inspection, and it looked as though the ball of the stud had fallen off, though I couldn't pull it through from the back. Big fat tears welled up in the dip between her eye and the bridge of her nose as I gently tried to get the back of the earring off. Horrified, her wee sister stood there and allowed Regan MacNeil to squeeze her hand to distract from the pain. I couldn't get any movement so went to fetch ice and a syringe from my work bag to a background of wails from the bedroom. Hopefully I could try and proggle the back off, or make the hole bigger to pull it through. Once the lobe was numbed, I was able to push it hard enough to pop the earring which incredibly was still in situ, out of the front of her earlobe again. Bloody thing had shrunk back inside and the skin was forming over it. I will be popping the piercers head back inside her neck if she touches my child again.
After the deed was done, I saw a flash of my gorgeous, funny, sparky girl as she stood in my doorway and thanked me, asking would I like a cup of tea. I was agape. A request for as much as a walk of the dog or a brush of her teeth has resulted in a snarling ball of fury for weeks... I said yes, I'd love one. Five minutes later she came back in my room and handed it over. "I love you" she said.
And yes Wibs, I love you too. It's hard work sometimes, but dammit I love you. You and your rainbow head.
and one of them, is a monster at the moment. Veering wildly between adult and child, she manages to spend most of it displaying a personality just a smidgen less possessed than Regan MacNeil's. Since Christmas we've had a vitriolic spew of mother hatred on Facebook, two all night parties that saw no return for three days, orange hair, pink hair, green hair and now black hair that hangs like a curtain over her sullen features, a scaffold that was executed so badly she ended up in A & E on Boxing Day, and now the same ropey back street piercer has struck again (thanks to her dad RETURNING her to same piercer) skewering her lobes with some dodgy teeny tiny silver studs, one of which vanished inside its own hole the other night. I was working on a monumentally foul piece of academic nonsense when she tentatively pushed open my bedroom door and whispered "I can't find my earring". She came closer for inspection, and it looked as though the ball of the stud had fallen off, though I couldn't pull it through from the back. Big fat tears welled up in the dip between her eye and the bridge of her nose as I gently tried to get the back of the earring off. Horrified, her wee sister stood there and allowed Regan MacNeil to squeeze her hand to distract from the pain. I couldn't get any movement so went to fetch ice and a syringe from my work bag to a background of wails from the bedroom. Hopefully I could try and proggle the back off, or make the hole bigger to pull it through. Once the lobe was numbed, I was able to push it hard enough to pop the earring which incredibly was still in situ, out of the front of her earlobe again. Bloody thing had shrunk back inside and the skin was forming over it. I will be popping the piercers head back inside her neck if she touches my child again.
After the deed was done, I saw a flash of my gorgeous, funny, sparky girl as she stood in my doorway and thanked me, asking would I like a cup of tea. I was agape. A request for as much as a walk of the dog or a brush of her teeth has resulted in a snarling ball of fury for weeks... I said yes, I'd love one. Five minutes later she came back in my room and handed it over. "I love you" she said.
And yes Wibs, I love you too. It's hard work sometimes, but dammit I love you. You and your rainbow head.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Time's gone by...
A friend of mine is home for Christmas. Hilariously, he is posting a great raft of pictures (onto Facebook) that he took almost thirty years ago, of me and our friends. Luckily his privacy settings are pretty high, so my boss, colleagues and anyone who isn't a mutual friend, can't see them. For your amusement, I am reproducing one of the photos below. Another friend of mine, said "thirty years ago eh? Why dont you make some copies and we can pass them around. We could title it - 'Thirty years later, can you spot thirty differences?' ". Cheers pal.
Other insults;
Bonny - Wow, look how thin you are mummy!
Wibs - Yeah, We ruined her. Heh.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
FML
.. as the kids say. My Christmas hamper sized pack of Haribo is all gone, finished my book (Patrick Suskind's Perfume - words cannot describle how difficult, and enjoyable, this book was for me) and (yes, I'm such a Brit, I must mention the weather) - it's fucking freezing. Not even December, and it's doing the deep and crisp and even nonsense out there.
In other news,things occupying my mind are ...
1. The Machinist. Probably the best film I have ever seen.
2. Why are men such a bunch of personality disordered areseholes
3. Haribo, and how to eat it without getting fat(ter).
4. How to dismantle a pomegranate correctly.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Friday, April 02, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
And this, I know to be true
Elle
You are so beautiful, it makes me ache. I think that you might be starting to believe that it is true. Despite me telling you for years, you at last are beginning to realise that it is not simply a mother's biased love that makes me state this fact endlessly. You are not only beautiful, you are graceful, kind, funny and clever. You know what to do with an apostrophe, but more importantly, you do not sneer at people who don't. I actually have never heard you sneer or belittle anybody, and for this, I am immensely proud. There are many who could learn from you. You see beauty in many things, the value of people. Now look at yourself. And thank you for my delicious and fabulous cake. You are clearly talented on top of this. Now let the rest of the world see who you are, mankind needs more people like you, shining among the grit.
Wibs
You also are beautiful. You are 14, with the face of an angel, your expression a mixture of sulk and barely concealed amusement. To you, I say this - do not strive to be what you think the world wants you to be. I have seen you from the moment you were born, raging at the world. The world, needs raging at. You are clever, so clever. Do not cry when you and your boyfriend argue, do not miss him because he made you feel special. You are special, and he is lucky to be with you. Really, you are the best girl he will ever date, and in the future, he will look in the newspapers at the scientist/politician, writer called Wibs, and rue the date that you both agreed to call it a day.
Bonny
Don't put up with it when your friends treat you badly. You don't deserve it. You are good, and noble, and you have the craziest sense of humour. These things will carry you a long way. When your friends call you mental, tell them to fuck off, and carry on without them, it will be their loss. You appreciate that not everything has to be worthy to be appreciated, and my goodness, you appreciate life, biting off huge chunks of it. Hormones are hideous things, don't worry, being 11 doesn't last for ever, and you will emerge the other side, just as precious as you have been for the last 10 years. Think of the uncertainty of being 11, as a blip. Carry on covering your bedroom carpet with glitter, it doesn't matter. Vacuum cleaners are over rated anyway. Incidentally, you are also beautiful, but don't stop pulling hideous faces to make people laugh.
Elle
You are so beautiful, it makes me ache. I think that you might be starting to believe that it is true. Despite me telling you for years, you at last are beginning to realise that it is not simply a mother's biased love that makes me state this fact endlessly. You are not only beautiful, you are graceful, kind, funny and clever. You know what to do with an apostrophe, but more importantly, you do not sneer at people who don't. I actually have never heard you sneer or belittle anybody, and for this, I am immensely proud. There are many who could learn from you. You see beauty in many things, the value of people. Now look at yourself. And thank you for my delicious and fabulous cake. You are clearly talented on top of this. Now let the rest of the world see who you are, mankind needs more people like you, shining among the grit.
Wibs
You also are beautiful. You are 14, with the face of an angel, your expression a mixture of sulk and barely concealed amusement. To you, I say this - do not strive to be what you think the world wants you to be. I have seen you from the moment you were born, raging at the world. The world, needs raging at. You are clever, so clever. Do not cry when you and your boyfriend argue, do not miss him because he made you feel special. You are special, and he is lucky to be with you. Really, you are the best girl he will ever date, and in the future, he will look in the newspapers at the scientist/politician, writer called Wibs, and rue the date that you both agreed to call it a day.
Bonny
Don't put up with it when your friends treat you badly. You don't deserve it. You are good, and noble, and you have the craziest sense of humour. These things will carry you a long way. When your friends call you mental, tell them to fuck off, and carry on without them, it will be their loss. You appreciate that not everything has to be worthy to be appreciated, and my goodness, you appreciate life, biting off huge chunks of it. Hormones are hideous things, don't worry, being 11 doesn't last for ever, and you will emerge the other side, just as precious as you have been for the last 10 years. Think of the uncertainty of being 11, as a blip. Carry on covering your bedroom carpet with glitter, it doesn't matter. Vacuum cleaners are over rated anyway. Incidentally, you are also beautiful, but don't stop pulling hideous faces to make people laugh.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Good Girl.
I hear her voice outside my door
the sound creeps under, "kurva", she whispers
scared someone will hear her, most of all me.
I hear her. I think she hates herself.
In the morning she sweeps the stairs for a rent reduction
and her husband drinks burčák from 8, he fights
downstairs, outside. Sometimes she bakes bread
for the caretaker, whose wife is useless.
She walks to Delvita, comes out laden
with bags, sits to catch breath and rest her feet. I wonder
if being fucked at life gives
you fat ankles. I watch her from my balcony.
She thinks I am reading, Seifert, but I am watching
always watching.
I keep myself to myself, I smell the gulas in her kitchen
she cooks daily. Her children fight but
her husband says nothing. She raises her voice and I think, yes
she is not happy. My mouth waters. I will eat out tonight.
I love the men I sleep with, sometimes briefly, but the love is there
and it's real. She brings in clothes from the balcony line
cracks a shirt in the air. A whip for his back.
Dropping pegs into a tub on the floor she curses her life. Under her breath.
Tomorrow when she slices onions, I will cry for her.
kurva, burčák
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