Hog on the Run
Thursday, March 31, 2005
A Tale
Once upon a time, there was a very little girl who refused to eat solid food. The Mummy was at her wits end, but the very little girl would not eat the Gerber goo, nor even the home-cooked goo, no, not at all.
One morning, the Mummy was horrified to discover the Daddy, happily engaged feeding the very little girl tiny pieces of black pudding. This delicacy, for the uninitiated, involves spices and unmentionable "fruits" of the pig. It is in no way suitable for small persons' digestive systems. The Daddy, blithely ignoring the Sainted Doctor Spock, and indeed, health and safety in the home, pointed out, "Look! She likes it". And she did.
And thus it was written. So it would be in the very little girl's home, with the Mummy attempting to uphold the household rule of law, and the Daddy thumbing his nose at such things and just going with it.
Kudos to you, Dad. I hold you single handedly responsible for my tendency to go my own way, and for my inability to believe anything without checking it out for myself.
And for my love of black pudding, even now I know what's in it.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Things to waste your time with
Strangely compelling, yet pointless, and not good if you suffer from motion sickness.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Sideshow Boob
Last time, I absolutely promise. Or call it a leitmotif, whatever makes you happy.
At the weekend I purchased a new bra. I rather liked it, it's kind of meshy and slightly floral, with those sort of foamy line-enhancing cups. Foolishly, I did not try it on, assuming that manufacturers of lingerie actually stick to sizes when they make the damn things. Idiot.
I tried all the usual manoeuvres while getting dressed, tightening the straps, hoiking the twins up and resettling them, to no avail. The bosoms rested in the cups (hate that word) like a pair of Victoria sponges that had been cooked for too long and had shrunk back in the tins. Running short on time and patience, I slung on a loose sweater, hoping this would disguise the evidence, and made haste for the office. Uplift, schmuplift.
On reflection I should have thought the whole thing through more. In the bathroom mirror, the tightened straps made my chestal orbs appear to be levitating against the wool. There was a definite amount of quad boob going on , only the top two halves of the quad had seemingly sunk. I also noted a certain level of oscillatory action. Look into my boobs, you are feeling sleepy, very sleepy.......
I can only assume that either a) Lingerie makers are assholes or b) my boobs have shrunk.
Sidekick notes, "Bigger is better than smaller, I suppose. Although, that's a matter of opinion". Definitive, I think you'll agree.
Pointless Observation of the Day
Why is it that you can smell snow, but you can't smell water?
Friday, March 25, 2005
Office Fun
When bored out of your tiny mind, why not send letters to people who don't even exist?
Mr C
38 Pootle Lane
Ferckley in the Wold
Botswanadon
BB5 4RR
25 March 2005
Dear Mr Cheese & Onion
Please find enclosed a timetable for eyeball pain / headaches this year.
On the 8th of June, a shower of bastards is expected in the morning. Be sure to take the necessary precautions.
Please contact me if this change causes any difficulties for you.
Yours Sincerely
Okapi
Office Ham Sandwich
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Procrastination
"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."Douglas Adams
It's amazing just how long I can put off doing something. My approach tends towards leaving it until it is a) too bloody late by a long shot or b) pointless. I now believe myself to actually be incapable of just getting on and finishing it. It is for this very reason that it took me four and a half years to finish a three year university degree. Do I need to explain that playing Zelda on my Un-intendo 64 was infinitely more necessary to me than completing a 4000 word essay on the political effects of the printing press? Or that discussing porn in the pub was more interesting than dissecting the history of the romantic novel (providing a comprehensive list of all references)? Or that seeing Rolf Harris in concert was more vital than revising? Actually, I never went to that concert, stayed home "to revise", but instead had a two hour bath and watched a documentary on the SAS. Bloody typical.
Even right at this moment, I am completely failing to tidy the bedroom in any way. Look at me. I'm still not moving, despite the fact that it would really make Sidekick happy if I would just have at it.
The point to all this is how enjoyable procrastination can be. Every now and then, if you just can't be arsed, let it go. After years of practice I can take not being arsed-ness to a whole new level of slothful inadequacy. It's my art.
Suppose I'll go put some clothes away and hoover. But first I need to read this book I got yesterday, smoke a few and then perhaps a face mask? So many fabulous ways to waste time, so little excitement in the things I should do.
In other news: today I consistently typed "pumpls" instead of "pumps" and "chimney bresty" instead of "chimney breast". I feel sure my brain is doing this on purpose, with the sole intention of preventing death by complete boredom. Is sniggering a sackable offense?
Pumpls. I like it. *Snigger*
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Office Security
MEMO TO ALL STAFF
For your convenience and safety, we provide the following information:
- Owing to the sheer numbers of staff now on leave with stationary-loss stress related illness, all pens, writing instruments, pencils and markers must now be chained to their owner.
- Tippex "mouse" style correction pens are now banned. They are obviously too bleeding edge, and no one can be trusted not to purloin them when they are left unattended.
- Any individual found keeping a pencil sharpener for their own use will be fined. Please use the cast iron sharpener, which can be found holding the door to accounts open.
- Pens will no longer be handed out willy-nilly. If you require a new pen, please return your used-up pen so that records can be kept. Your new pen will be available for collection after a waiting period of 24 hours.
- On no account leave food on your desk overnight. Or in the drawers. Even if they are locked. It just will not be there the next day, including the packet, which the gremlins will remove to make it look like there was never any food at all.
- There is only one labelling machine in the building. Please remember this, and do not remove it so that it can be hidden in your office.
That is all
Signed, the office ham sandwich office administrator
God I hate being in charge of The Cupboard
Friday, March 11, 2005
Deviancy and the Dolls
While shopping the other day I found the most amazing thing. Wow, I thought, all Barbie's endless horizontal jogging with Ken has finally borne fruit. This cannot be, surely not, especially since I read this: it can't be true.
Let me tell you, virtually all my childhood games with Barbie culminated in her and plastic bewigged, genitally deformed Ken making the beast with two backs. My parents must have thought, "How lovely, see how peaceful the girls are", when really we were just waiting for them to leave the room so that we could move on from the dressing up to the stripping off*.
God only knows how that came about. Schpickley suggests that it was our way of releasing our fledgling sex drives. Or that we were just deviants.
Sometimes Barbie fancied a bit of rough, so she'd have it away with Action Man, who had the advantage of real hair (i.e. felt (thanks Schpickley) but only one leg. He also had perma-pants, molded in place and including a belt like Honey Rider's. We called him the legless lawyer, obviously conscious of class issues even aged eight.
It turns out I was wrong. The doll was Midge, one of Barbie's friends (although plainly one Barbie hasn't really got time for anymore, since Midge married tedious finance analyst Allan, got herself up the duff, and left behind her youthful dreams and morally bankrupt sex n'drug lifestyle.) I love the explanation for Allan's existence:
Allan® was conceived for three important reasons. First and foremost to target the "shared clothes" ideal with Ken®, second for the double dating possibilities and lastly as a "buddy" to Ken®.
The shared clothes ideal? And note those telling quotation marks around the word buddy. Read between the lines, and this says only one thing. Ken is definitely a switch hitter. For his part, Allan is a bigamist, marrying not only Midge, but also poor, innocent, trusting Vicky in Brazil.
Midge, for some reason, has freckles, which I can only assume somehow illustrate how wholesome her marriage-sanctified pregnancy is. Where are the stretch marks, the haemorrhoids, the morning sickness? She has a magnetically attached stomach/womb thing going on instead apparently....Still, considering the hoo ha she created over there you'd think playing with the doll would somehow instantly cause teen pregnancies**. It's too late to worry about it! Kids have a tendency to think up things you just wouldn't even imagine, no matter what you do.
Ignorance, lack of better options and low self esteem cause teen pregnancy. Not dolls. Just my two cents....
*The dolls, ok, the dolls. Deviancy in this case only goes so far.
**(2002? Well, I know this story is old, but this is Scotland, and we've only just got the 'lectric and the indoor water closet)
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Don't let the couch watch
Very small link dump, on account of not feeling inspired right now. Where the Fuji is that muse I ordered from Amazon? They said he was available with 24 hour delivery.....
snuff movies for inanimate objects
The couch puts up the best fight. For a while, it looks like it might just make it, bouncing out before succumbing. The mattresses are just too sad for words; they just give in, as if life has been too much for them. Perhaps they were already dead, gone from this world to another where their mattressy souls frolic, surrounded by such wonders as the burnished antique four poster frame or the stainless steel moderne plinth. The worryingly yellow toned stuffing that pours out looks overly fleshy somehow. View, and be amazed at man's appetite for destruction.
From a link snaffled from fazed.
Monday, March 07, 2005
What I Did On My Holidays
Or rather, what I did on Sunday.
I give you this.
"Bush" 
I know, I'm like a bug eyed poster girl for Lucozade. Sidekick's little bro has some aggression issues to work through.
The venue: Glenshee
The website makes it sound like some sort of alpine paradise, but in reality, you really have to need to snowboard to try it. There's only two chairlifts and the rest are instruments of torture known as "Pomas" or "T-bars". The pomas aren't so bad once you get used to being yanked off your feet, but the T bars....oh the unearthly anguish! You are simultaneously hauled upwards toward the sky and forward towards the ground. I have surprising bruises on my inner thighs. The thing about Glenshee (which I repeated endlessly to the two skiers in our party) is that it just isn't designed for boarders.
Still, perfect day, beautiful snow, and I managed to get away without damaging myself. It's all good. Tell me again why I have to work this week?
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Updates
I am attempting to right the wrong that is my hair. Currently, I am sitting here with my head oozing "non-drip gel colourant", patiently removing said non-drips from my forehead before they turn my skin blue. I feel like Adrian Mole painting his bedroom black - "bloody purple still showing through!". Doubtless the backs of my ears are now a cracking shade of Celtic Woad. Why do I bother? Vanity, thy name is Okapi.
Also, I had to answer the door this morning to one of Sidekick's mates, who wanted to borrow the mothership. And me having barely moved from my pit.
- Hair like straw, flying in all directions as if caught in its own personal tornado? Check.
- Unshaven hairy legs protruding from the bottom of shapeless dressing gown? Check.
- Face that needs a good ironing? Check.
- Too much coffee style morning jitters? Check.
- Inability to understand much of what he said on account of not being conscious? Check.
Wow. I bet he was impressed.
Bugger. Update on the update.
He just came back to return the keys. He's seen all my best sides this morning. Fuckity fuck. At least I had pyjamas to cover the rainforest that is my Winter legs. On the other hand: Hey: What? What?!? WHAT!?!?!
P.S. Blogger spellcheck wants me to replace "Fuckity fuck" with "Bucket Fuji". Nice one, but no cigar.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Today's Minor Misfortunes
- My underwear appears to be trying to kill me. I experienced a series of stabby sensations in my chestal region, like carpet burn, only sharper. On retiring to the ladies room, I noticed that one boob had acquired a sort of hemispheric attitude, as if I had chopped a grapefruit in half, stuffed one half into le brassiere, then forgotten to do the same on the other side. Assuming the worst ( spontaneous Pam mams?) I fearfully lifted my sweater to check the evidence. Turns out, the underwire on the left had decided to tear free from it's moorings and make a break for freedom. I then had two choices: allow extra time for bathroom visits to check on the situation vis a vis my globe-boob, or remove the offending strut and spend the day looking lopsided. I opted for number one. (Yes, I know, I should rename this The Boob Blog. Let me tell you, these appendages are out to get me.)
- I have inadvertently turned my hair a rich and entirely unnatural shade of bruise-like purple. Do not trust the manufacturers of hair dye products! Or alternatively, when the instructions say "Do a shade test" do not assume that they are joking. Since when was "raisin" purple? The colour also has the surprising effect of throwing my nose into sharp relief. Nuts.
On the plus side, the joker who overtook me on the way to work this morning in his pidly Peugeot (and me driving the mothership, who hates to be overtaken) had obviously not noticed the enormous cock n'balls which someone had drawn in the snow on the car's bonnet. Or maybe he put it there. Either way, justice is served.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
A Tale
Once upon a time, there was a very little girl who refused to eat solid food. The Mummy was at her wits end, but the very little girl would not eat the Gerber goo, nor even the home-cooked goo, no, not at all.
One morning, the Mummy was horrified to discover the Daddy, happily engaged feeding the very little girl tiny pieces of black pudding. This delicacy, for the uninitiated, involves spices and unmentionable "fruits" of the pig. It is in no way suitable for small persons' digestive systems. The Daddy, blithely ignoring the Sainted Doctor Spock, and indeed, health and safety in the home, pointed out, "Look! She likes it". And she did.
And thus it was written. So it would be in the very little girl's home, with the Mummy attempting to uphold the household rule of law, and the Daddy thumbing his nose at such things and just going with it.
Kudos to you, Dad. I hold you single handedly responsible for my tendency to go my own way, and for my inability to believe anything without checking it out for myself.
And for my love of black pudding, even now I know what's in it.
One morning, the Mummy was horrified to discover the Daddy, happily engaged feeding the very little girl tiny pieces of black pudding. This delicacy, for the uninitiated, involves spices and unmentionable "fruits" of the pig. It is in no way suitable for small persons' digestive systems. The Daddy, blithely ignoring the Sainted Doctor Spock, and indeed, health and safety in the home, pointed out, "Look! She likes it". And she did.
And thus it was written. So it would be in the very little girl's home, with the Mummy attempting to uphold the household rule of law, and the Daddy thumbing his nose at such things and just going with it.
Kudos to you, Dad. I hold you single handedly responsible for my tendency to go my own way, and for my inability to believe anything without checking it out for myself.
And for my love of black pudding, even now I know what's in it.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Things to waste your time with
Strangely compelling, yet pointless, and not good if you suffer from motion sickness.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Sideshow Boob
Last time, I absolutely promise. Or call it a leitmotif, whatever makes you happy.
At the weekend I purchased a new bra. I rather liked it, it's kind of meshy and slightly floral, with those sort of foamy line-enhancing cups. Foolishly, I did not try it on, assuming that manufacturers of lingerie actually stick to sizes when they make the damn things. Idiot.
I tried all the usual manoeuvres while getting dressed, tightening the straps, hoiking the twins up and resettling them, to no avail. The bosoms rested in the cups (hate that word) like a pair of Victoria sponges that had been cooked for too long and had shrunk back in the tins. Running short on time and patience, I slung on a loose sweater, hoping this would disguise the evidence, and made haste for the office. Uplift, schmuplift.
On reflection I should have thought the whole thing through more. In the bathroom mirror, the tightened straps made my chestal orbs appear to be levitating against the wool. There was a definite amount of quad boob going on , only the top two halves of the quad had seemingly sunk. I also noted a certain level of oscillatory action. Look into my boobs, you are feeling sleepy, very sleepy.......
I can only assume that either a) Lingerie makers are assholes or b) my boobs have shrunk.
Sidekick notes, "Bigger is better than smaller, I suppose. Although, that's a matter of opinion". Definitive, I think you'll agree.
At the weekend I purchased a new bra. I rather liked it, it's kind of meshy and slightly floral, with those sort of foamy line-enhancing cups. Foolishly, I did not try it on, assuming that manufacturers of lingerie actually stick to sizes when they make the damn things. Idiot.
I tried all the usual manoeuvres while getting dressed, tightening the straps, hoiking the twins up and resettling them, to no avail. The bosoms rested in the cups (hate that word) like a pair of Victoria sponges that had been cooked for too long and had shrunk back in the tins. Running short on time and patience, I slung on a loose sweater, hoping this would disguise the evidence, and made haste for the office. Uplift, schmuplift.
On reflection I should have thought the whole thing through more. In the bathroom mirror, the tightened straps made my chestal orbs appear to be levitating against the wool. There was a definite amount of quad boob going on , only the top two halves of the quad had seemingly sunk. I also noted a certain level of oscillatory action. Look into my boobs, you are feeling sleepy, very sleepy.......
I can only assume that either a) Lingerie makers are assholes or b) my boobs have shrunk.
Sidekick notes, "Bigger is better than smaller, I suppose. Although, that's a matter of opinion". Definitive, I think you'll agree.
Pointless Observation of the Day
Why is it that you can smell snow, but you can't smell water?
Friday, March 25, 2005
Office Fun
When bored out of your tiny mind, why not send letters to people who don't even exist?
Mr C
38 Pootle Lane
Ferckley in the Wold
Botswanadon
BB5 4RR
25 March 2005
Dear Mr Cheese & Onion
Please find enclosed a timetable for eyeball pain / headaches this year.
On the 8th of June, a shower of bastards is expected in the morning. Be sure to take the necessary precautions.
Please contact me if this change causes any difficulties for you.
Yours Sincerely
Okapi
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Procrastination
"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."Douglas Adams
It's amazing just how long I can put off doing something. My approach tends towards leaving it until it is a) too bloody late by a long shot or b) pointless. I now believe myself to actually be incapable of just getting on and finishing it. It is for this very reason that it took me four and a half years to finish a three year university degree. Do I need to explain that playing Zelda on my Un-intendo 64 was infinitely more necessary to me than completing a 4000 word essay on the political effects of the printing press? Or that discussing porn in the pub was more interesting than dissecting the history of the romantic novel (providing a comprehensive list of all references)? Or that seeing Rolf Harris in concert was more vital than revising? Actually, I never went to that concert, stayed home "to revise", but instead had a two hour bath and watched a documentary on the SAS. Bloody typical.
Even right at this moment, I am completely failing to tidy the bedroom in any way. Look at me. I'm still not moving, despite the fact that it would really make Sidekick happy if I would just have at it.
The point to all this is how enjoyable procrastination can be. Every now and then, if you just can't be arsed, let it go. After years of practice I can take not being arsed-ness to a whole new level of slothful inadequacy. It's my art.
Suppose I'll go put some clothes away and hoover. But first I need to read this book I got yesterday, smoke a few and then perhaps a face mask? So many fabulous ways to waste time, so little excitement in the things I should do.
In other news: today I consistently typed "pumpls" instead of "pumps" and "chimney bresty" instead of "chimney breast". I feel sure my brain is doing this on purpose, with the sole intention of preventing death by complete boredom. Is sniggering a sackable offense?
Pumpls. I like it. *Snigger*
It's amazing just how long I can put off doing something. My approach tends towards leaving it until it is a) too bloody late by a long shot or b) pointless. I now believe myself to actually be incapable of just getting on and finishing it. It is for this very reason that it took me four and a half years to finish a three year university degree. Do I need to explain that playing Zelda on my Un-intendo 64 was infinitely more necessary to me than completing a 4000 word essay on the political effects of the printing press? Or that discussing porn in the pub was more interesting than dissecting the history of the romantic novel (providing a comprehensive list of all references)? Or that seeing Rolf Harris in concert was more vital than revising? Actually, I never went to that concert, stayed home "to revise", but instead had a two hour bath and watched a documentary on the SAS. Bloody typical.
Even right at this moment, I am completely failing to tidy the bedroom in any way. Look at me. I'm still not moving, despite the fact that it would really make Sidekick happy if I would just have at it.
The point to all this is how enjoyable procrastination can be. Every now and then, if you just can't be arsed, let it go. After years of practice I can take not being arsed-ness to a whole new level of slothful inadequacy. It's my art.
Suppose I'll go put some clothes away and hoover. But first I need to read this book I got yesterday, smoke a few and then perhaps a face mask? So many fabulous ways to waste time, so little excitement in the things I should do.
In other news: today I consistently typed "pumpls" instead of "pumps" and "chimney bresty" instead of "chimney breast". I feel sure my brain is doing this on purpose, with the sole intention of preventing death by complete boredom. Is sniggering a sackable offense?
Pumpls. I like it. *Snigger*
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Office Security
MEMO TO ALL STAFF
For your convenience and safety, we provide the following information:
Signed, theoffice ham sandwich office administrator
God I hate being in charge of The Cupboard
For your convenience and safety, we provide the following information:
- Owing to the sheer numbers of staff now on leave with stationary-loss stress related illness, all pens, writing instruments, pencils and markers must now be chained to their owner.
- Tippex "mouse" style correction pens are now banned. They are obviously too bleeding edge, and no one can be trusted not to purloin them when they are left unattended.
- Any individual found keeping a pencil sharpener for their own use will be fined. Please use the cast iron sharpener, which can be found holding the door to accounts open.
- Pens will no longer be handed out willy-nilly. If you require a new pen, please return your used-up pen so that records can be kept. Your new pen will be available for collection after a waiting period of 24 hours.
- On no account leave food on your desk overnight. Or in the drawers. Even if they are locked. It just will not be there the next day, including the packet, which the gremlins will remove to make it look like there was never any food at all.
- There is only one labelling machine in the building. Please remember this, and do not remove it so that it can be hidden in your office.
Signed, the
God I hate being in charge of The Cupboard
Friday, March 11, 2005
Deviancy and the Dolls
While shopping the other day I found the most amazing thing. Wow, I thought, all Barbie's endless horizontal jogging with Ken has finally borne fruit. This cannot be, surely not, especially since I read this: it can't be true.
Let me tell you, virtually all my childhood games with Barbie culminated in her and plastic bewigged, genitally deformed Ken making the beast with two backs. My parents must have thought, "How lovely, see how peaceful the girls are", when really we were just waiting for them to leave the room so that we could move on from the dressing up to the stripping off*.
God only knows how that came about. Schpickley suggests that it was our way of releasing our fledgling sex drives. Or that we were just deviants.
Sometimes Barbie fancied a bit of rough, so she'd have it away with Action Man, who had the advantage of real hair (i.e. felt (thanks Schpickley) but only one leg. He also had perma-pants, molded in place and including a belt like Honey Rider's. We called him the legless lawyer, obviously conscious of class issues even aged eight.
It turns out I was wrong. The doll was Midge, one of Barbie's friends (although plainly one Barbie hasn't really got time for anymore, since Midge married tedious finance analyst Allan, got herself up the duff, and left behind her youthful dreams and morally bankrupt sex n'drug lifestyle.) I love the explanation for Allan's existence:
The shared clothes ideal? And note those telling quotation marks around the word buddy. Read between the lines, and this says only one thing. Ken is definitely a switch hitter. For his part, Allan is a bigamist, marrying not only Midge, but also poor, innocent, trusting Vicky in Brazil.
Midge, for some reason, has freckles, which I can only assume somehow illustrate how wholesome her marriage-sanctified pregnancy is. Where are the stretch marks, the haemorrhoids, the morning sickness? She has a magnetically attached stomach/womb thing going on instead apparently....Still, considering the hoo ha she created over there you'd think playing with the doll would somehow instantly cause teen pregnancies**. It's too late to worry about it! Kids have a tendency to think up things you just wouldn't even imagine, no matter what you do.
Ignorance, lack of better options and low self esteem cause teen pregnancy. Not dolls. Just my two cents....
*The dolls, ok, the dolls. Deviancy in this case only goes so far.
**(2002? Well, I know this story is old, but this is Scotland, and we've only just got the 'lectric and the indoor water closet)
Let me tell you, virtually all my childhood games with Barbie culminated in her and plastic bewigged, genitally deformed Ken making the beast with two backs. My parents must have thought, "How lovely, see how peaceful the girls are", when really we were just waiting for them to leave the room so that we could move on from the dressing up to the stripping off*.
God only knows how that came about. Schpickley suggests that it was our way of releasing our fledgling sex drives. Or that we were just deviants.
Sometimes Barbie fancied a bit of rough, so she'd have it away with Action Man, who had the advantage of real hair (i.e. felt (thanks Schpickley) but only one leg. He also had perma-pants, molded in place and including a belt like Honey Rider's. We called him the legless lawyer, obviously conscious of class issues even aged eight.
It turns out I was wrong. The doll was Midge, one of Barbie's friends (although plainly one Barbie hasn't really got time for anymore, since Midge married tedious finance analyst Allan, got herself up the duff, and left behind her youthful dreams and morally bankrupt sex n'drug lifestyle.) I love the explanation for Allan's existence:
Allan® was conceived for three important reasons. First and foremost to target the "shared clothes" ideal with Ken®, second for the double dating possibilities and lastly as a "buddy" to Ken®.
The shared clothes ideal? And note those telling quotation marks around the word buddy. Read between the lines, and this says only one thing. Ken is definitely a switch hitter. For his part, Allan is a bigamist, marrying not only Midge, but also poor, innocent, trusting Vicky in Brazil.
Midge, for some reason, has freckles, which I can only assume somehow illustrate how wholesome her marriage-sanctified pregnancy is. Where are the stretch marks, the haemorrhoids, the morning sickness? She has a magnetically attached stomach/womb thing going on instead apparently....Still, considering the hoo ha she created over there you'd think playing with the doll would somehow instantly cause teen pregnancies**. It's too late to worry about it! Kids have a tendency to think up things you just wouldn't even imagine, no matter what you do.
Ignorance, lack of better options and low self esteem cause teen pregnancy. Not dolls. Just my two cents....
*The dolls, ok, the dolls. Deviancy in this case only goes so far.
**(2002? Well, I know this story is old, but this is Scotland, and we've only just got the 'lectric and the indoor water closet)
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Don't let the couch watch
Very small link dump, on account of not feeling inspired right now. Where the Fuji is that muse I ordered from Amazon? They said he was available with 24 hour delivery.....
snuff movies for inanimate objects
The couch puts up the best fight. For a while, it looks like it might just make it, bouncing out before succumbing. The mattresses are just too sad for words; they just give in, as if life has been too much for them. Perhaps they were already dead, gone from this world to another where their mattressy souls frolic, surrounded by such wonders as the burnished antique four poster frame or the stainless steel moderne plinth. The worryingly yellow toned stuffing that pours out looks overly fleshy somehow. View, and be amazed at man's appetite for destruction.
From a link snaffled from fazed.
snuff movies for inanimate objects
The couch puts up the best fight. For a while, it looks like it might just make it, bouncing out before succumbing. The mattresses are just too sad for words; they just give in, as if life has been too much for them. Perhaps they were already dead, gone from this world to another where their mattressy souls frolic, surrounded by such wonders as the burnished antique four poster frame or the stainless steel moderne plinth. The worryingly yellow toned stuffing that pours out looks overly fleshy somehow. View, and be amazed at man's appetite for destruction.
From a link snaffled from fazed.
Monday, March 07, 2005
What I Did On My Holidays
Or rather, what I did on Sunday.
I give you this.
I give you this.
"Bush"
I know, I'm like a bug eyed poster girl for Lucozade. Sidekick's little bro has some aggression issues to work through.
The venue: Glenshee
The website makes it sound like some sort of alpine paradise, but in reality, you really have to need to snowboard to try it. There's only two chairlifts and the rest are instruments of torture known as "Pomas" or "T-bars". The pomas aren't so bad once you get used to being yanked off your feet, but the T bars....oh the unearthly anguish! You are simultaneously hauled upwards toward the sky and forward towards the ground. I have surprising bruises on my inner thighs. The thing about Glenshee (which I repeated endlessly to the two skiers in our party) is that it just isn't designed for boarders.
Still, perfect day, beautiful snow, and I managed to get away without damaging myself. It's all good. Tell me again why I have to work this week?
The venue: Glenshee
The website makes it sound like some sort of alpine paradise, but in reality, you really have to need to snowboard to try it. There's only two chairlifts and the rest are instruments of torture known as "Pomas" or "T-bars". The pomas aren't so bad once you get used to being yanked off your feet, but the T bars....oh the unearthly anguish! You are simultaneously hauled upwards toward the sky and forward towards the ground. I have surprising bruises on my inner thighs. The thing about Glenshee (which I repeated endlessly to the two skiers in our party) is that it just isn't designed for boarders.
Still, perfect day, beautiful snow, and I managed to get away without damaging myself. It's all good. Tell me again why I have to work this week?
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Updates
I am attempting to right the wrong that is my hair. Currently, I am sitting here with my head oozing "non-drip gel colourant", patiently removing said non-drips from my forehead before they turn my skin blue. I feel like Adrian Mole painting his bedroom black - "bloody purple still showing through!". Doubtless the backs of my ears are now a cracking shade of Celtic Woad. Why do I bother? Vanity, thy name is Okapi.
Also, I had to answer the door this morning to one of Sidekick's mates, who wanted to borrow the mothership. And me having barely moved from my pit.
Bugger. Update on the update.
He just came back to return the keys. He's seen all my best sides this morning. Fuckity fuck. At least I had pyjamas to cover the rainforest that is my Winter legs. On the other hand: Hey: What? What?!? WHAT!?!?!
P.S. Blogger spellcheck wants me to replace "Fuckity fuck" with "Bucket Fuji". Nice one, but no cigar.
Also, I had to answer the door this morning to one of Sidekick's mates, who wanted to borrow the mothership. And me having barely moved from my pit.
- Hair like straw, flying in all directions as if caught in its own personal tornado? Check.
- Unshaven hairy legs protruding from the bottom of shapeless dressing gown? Check.
- Face that needs a good ironing? Check.
- Too much coffee style morning jitters? Check.
- Inability to understand much of what he said on account of not being conscious? Check.
Bugger. Update on the update.
He just came back to return the keys. He's seen all my best sides this morning. Fuckity fuck. At least I had pyjamas to cover the rainforest that is my Winter legs. On the other hand: Hey: What? What?!? WHAT!?!?!
P.S. Blogger spellcheck wants me to replace "Fuckity fuck" with "Bucket Fuji". Nice one, but no cigar.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Today's Minor Misfortunes
- My underwear appears to be trying to kill me. I experienced a series of stabby sensations in my chestal region, like carpet burn, only sharper. On retiring to the ladies room, I noticed that one boob had acquired a sort of hemispheric attitude, as if I had chopped a grapefruit in half, stuffed one half into le brassiere, then forgotten to do the same on the other side. Assuming the worst ( spontaneous Pam mams?) I fearfully lifted my sweater to check the evidence. Turns out, the underwire on the left had decided to tear free from it's moorings and make a break for freedom. I then had two choices: allow extra time for bathroom visits to check on the situation vis a vis my globe-boob, or remove the offending strut and spend the day looking lopsided. I opted for number one. (Yes, I know, I should rename this The Boob Blog. Let me tell you, these appendages are out to get me.)
- I have inadvertently turned my hair a rich and entirely unnatural shade of bruise-like purple. Do not trust the manufacturers of hair dye products! Or alternatively, when the instructions say "Do a shade test" do not assume that they are joking. Since when was "raisin" purple? The colour also has the surprising effect of throwing my nose into sharp relief. Nuts.
