I follow a blog by a lovely lady by the name of Ginny. You can find her here at Praying to Darwin. Give her a read, she keeps me clutching my ribs and I giggle till my little lungs can giggle no more. Put it this way, if you're a smoker, don't smoke while reading her blog. You may hurt yourself.
One of her recent posts, Maybe a Girl's Best friend. Just Not This Girl touched me. As you will read, Ginny’s post isn't about diamonds but rather, it’s about how her hero wouldn’t buy her a big flippin’ ten-ton-tessy necklace but rather give her something with some meaning. Her other half being the REAL Hero she needs.
I understand what she's hootin' on about first hand. While some of you look at your boyfriends and husbands and touch wood you will never see them hurt, I touch wood that I will never see mine hurt again. I don’t want to go into details but a couple of years back Justin took a bullet in the form of a size 10 Nike sneaker… to the head.
When you see your other half in a way that I saw Justin that night you realise that nothing really matters. You know what love really means when you’re rattling off their blood group, what their allergic too and an entire medical history rite down to his last dental check up. He can’t remember any of that night. I don’t think I would want him too, even if he could.
I would rather trade all the diamonds in the world than see him hurt like that again. I would rather us both be poor and just have each other than have the world but have no one to share it with.
So every year when he produces presents for me I always accept them with a huge smile and hug. To be honest, he could be giving me a clump of dirf decorated with dryer lint, little does he know that my big present every year is really just having him by my side and watching his eyes light up as I open my gifts. But please don’t tell him though, his ego is big enough already and I've really got my hear set on a slanket.
Wednesday 23 December 2009
Sunday 20 December 2009
I still want a Slanket!
A week ago I wrote this blog. On my list to santa, you will see that I noted down I wanted a Slanket. A slanket is a blanket with sleeves. Justin has been giving me grief about my slanket request. Personally, I think it's a damn good idea. Nothing worse than trying to drink a cup of tea and having a flight with the blanket in the process. And think of travelling. How much easier would it be to have a slanket on a plane instead of a static blanket that has covered many people before you.
However, while I think it's a great idea and I very much want one, it seems the world is against me and world rather make of fun of the idea.
Laugh all you want but I still want one. And when I get one, who will be the one laughing when you have cold arms?
Tuesday 15 December 2009
What I Have to Deal With!
As some of you know, Justin plays guitar. In fact he just doesn’t play guitar he more lives, eats, dreams and most probably shits guitar. He loves it and frankly I count myself lucky to drift off to sleep most nights listening to music he has written just for me and only me.
However, while it all sounds so romantic, lovely and all the ladies out there are jealous, it gets bloody annoying when he plays the same song over and over again. Of late his torture of choice has been ‘I’m Yours.’ Great song the first time you hear it but after three months of the flipping thing you want to hunt down Jason Mraz and bash that wooden box with six strings over his head for ever writing it.
So to give you all a taste of what it’s like to live with Justin and his 6 guitars, watch this video about 10 times before you go to bed. Heaven help me if he ever had a protege like this!
And because this kid is so flippin' cute, watch this one too!
However, while it all sounds so romantic, lovely and all the ladies out there are jealous, it gets bloody annoying when he plays the same song over and over again. Of late his torture of choice has been ‘I’m Yours.’ Great song the first time you hear it but after three months of the flipping thing you want to hunt down Jason Mraz and bash that wooden box with six strings over his head for ever writing it.
So to give you all a taste of what it’s like to live with Justin and his 6 guitars, watch this video about 10 times before you go to bed. Heaven help me if he ever had a protege like this!
And because this kid is so flippin' cute, watch this one too!
How not to talk about sex with a teenager
Now it may not surprise you when I say I don't have the best relationship with my step father. I’m going to hold back from throwing insults and show a little respect. We never shared anything while I was growing up. Complete polar opposites but, there was one night when he put on the dad pants and made my inner girl scream with embarrassment and cringe at the awkwardness. That was the night we were both taken by surprise by an ‘adult scene’ in a movie.
When you're a 13 year old girl, sex scenes are extremely awkward to watch with any member of family. If I was to witness one with my mother now I probably make obscene comments until she blushed or walked out of the room. Back in the day I was quite content to pretend I didn't know what sex was. That was of course until that fateful night.
My mum had gone to bed. It must have been a Friday because I was allowed to stay up and watch the rest of the movie with my step father. Mum was quite liberal and let me watch M15 movies, it was no different from any other movie... or so she thought. As we sat there, the plot thickened. I must admit I don't actually remember the plot or what the movie was called but that’s not important for this story. What’s important is while I was munching on popcorn and sipping herbal tea, (no normal tea after 7pm due to the caffeine. If only she could see me now!) All of a sudden the main female character was taking her clothes off. Hmm, thinking quickly I looked away,
“Wow check out how interesting this piece of popcorn is?”
Yes things got that bad and we stooped to that level to try and avoid what was going on over on the TV.
I looked from my piece of interesting popcorn back to the TV. The main male character was looking at the female character like a lion that hasn't eaten in weeks and has just spied a zebra fresh from the watering hole. AHHHH my down played sexual education was diminishing before me. I knew what they’re doing, my step father knew what they’re doing but did he know that I knew? I guess not.
I squirmed, the step dad squirmed. Not exactly a bonding moment to seal our already fragile relationship! As the female character (with boobies out) mounted the male character in a sexual position that made my Barbie look amateur, my step dad turned to me with a bright red face and said, "she's just comforting him."
Not knowing whether to laugh, cry or run from the room and wash my eyes and ears outs with soap, I was mortified! Here is my step father, on a Friday night, in front of the telly, trying to give me ‘the talk.’ I racked my brains trying to find a witty comment, an excuse to leave the room but I was rendered speechless and frozen. All I could muster was a big fat, “Oh.”
I think he though the look of horror and shock was because I had no idea what was going in the movie. I guess he made the assumption that my mother had neglected to inform about the finer points of baby making. I was more than happy to let him believe that if it meant he wouldn’t make any more comments like, “Comforting him.” Trust me when I say this; that looked far from comfortable! I think ‘Oh’ did the trick though because he didn’t say anything back and he left the room to fill up the already full pop corn bowl. Too little, too late.
When you're a 13 year old girl, sex scenes are extremely awkward to watch with any member of family. If I was to witness one with my mother now I probably make obscene comments until she blushed or walked out of the room. Back in the day I was quite content to pretend I didn't know what sex was. That was of course until that fateful night.
My mum had gone to bed. It must have been a Friday because I was allowed to stay up and watch the rest of the movie with my step father. Mum was quite liberal and let me watch M15 movies, it was no different from any other movie... or so she thought. As we sat there, the plot thickened. I must admit I don't actually remember the plot or what the movie was called but that’s not important for this story. What’s important is while I was munching on popcorn and sipping herbal tea, (no normal tea after 7pm due to the caffeine. If only she could see me now!) All of a sudden the main female character was taking her clothes off. Hmm, thinking quickly I looked away,
“Wow check out how interesting this piece of popcorn is?”
Yes things got that bad and we stooped to that level to try and avoid what was going on over on the TV.
I looked from my piece of interesting popcorn back to the TV. The main male character was looking at the female character like a lion that hasn't eaten in weeks and has just spied a zebra fresh from the watering hole. AHHHH my down played sexual education was diminishing before me. I knew what they’re doing, my step father knew what they’re doing but did he know that I knew? I guess not.
I squirmed, the step dad squirmed. Not exactly a bonding moment to seal our already fragile relationship! As the female character (with boobies out) mounted the male character in a sexual position that made my Barbie look amateur, my step dad turned to me with a bright red face and said, "she's just comforting him."
Not knowing whether to laugh, cry or run from the room and wash my eyes and ears outs with soap, I was mortified! Here is my step father, on a Friday night, in front of the telly, trying to give me ‘the talk.’ I racked my brains trying to find a witty comment, an excuse to leave the room but I was rendered speechless and frozen. All I could muster was a big fat, “Oh.”
I think he though the look of horror and shock was because I had no idea what was going in the movie. I guess he made the assumption that my mother had neglected to inform about the finer points of baby making. I was more than happy to let him believe that if it meant he wouldn’t make any more comments like, “Comforting him.” Trust me when I say this; that looked far from comfortable! I think ‘Oh’ did the trick though because he didn’t say anything back and he left the room to fill up the already full pop corn bowl. Too little, too late.
Thursday 10 December 2009
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
It’s that time of year again when I write to you and try to justify my actions of the past 12months. Seeing as we’re both adults I don’t feel it’s necessary to beat around the bush. Unlike certain children, I don’t feel I need to draw you a nice picture to prove my intentions. I can’t draw. So let’s get down to business and discuss why I should be on the good list and how I should be rewarded.
I can’t lie like little kids. I’m not even going to pretend that I’ve helped out around the house and done something nice for someone everyday. Santa my man, you are all knowing and all seeing so it’s pointless to even pretend that I’ve tried. In my defence, can I just say that while I am shockingly disruptive, a professional procrastinator and all round story teller… I am actually a good person deep down. I can be caring when I fancy it and I try to do the best by others (unless I don’t like them very much.) When I laughed at the midgets wrestling on Jerry Springer a few months ago, I meant no offence to your elves in any way.
So let’s get down to business. May I please have something half decent? You know my boyfriend Justin? You must know him; he’s the one at the top of your good list with a halo around his head. As much as everyone loves him, he has no Christmas cheer. For Christmas may I please have a boyfriend who isn’t so suborn and just goes with the flow? If I want to dangle lights all out the place, I would like him to smile and say “good job! Our house looks like a cheap brothel and is completely uncoordinated but good job!” It’s just not Christmas unless we’re both wankered on Baily’s, wearing Santa hats and singing dodgy Christmas carols while dancing around the lounge. Also, I would love for him to understand the importance of wrapping everything and anything in wrapping paper… just so I can open it on Christmas morning. Could you please remind him that I left the wrapping paper, sticky tape and scissors on the kitten table? There are only 2 tags left but I’m sure he can pick some more up from the pound shop.
As for the gift department, you have yet to let me down. Just to ensure we are on the same page; here is a list of stuff I wouldn’t say no too:
- A head massager (manual or electric. You can pick these up cheap from boots.)
- A Christmas Song CD to play all day long. (must include Wham and Mariah)
- A dressing grown/ slanket (it’s a blanket with sleeves)
- The Sims 3 expansion pack.
- A kitten.
- Eurostar tickets for a weekend in Paris
- Some books, of the soppy lady variety
- Lily Allen, Michael Buble`, Lenka, Peter Andre or John Williamson Album (will settle for downloads as long as they are paid for and I can play them in the kitchen)
- A photo album with all the pictures from our adventures in it
- The lifestyle and culture channel package on Sky
- Christmas flowers delivered to work
- Some arcade games on the playstation (happy with downloads)
- Chocolate dipped strawberries (home made with Cadbury chocolate)
- Arrow Word, crossword book
- A princess outfit for Kitty-Minx (I know he’s a boy cat but he has no balls!)
To be honest Santa, apart from that one year when my brother was born and my presents where rather thin on the ground, you’ve done alright by me. I think if we can maintain at this current strong level of quality we shouldn’t fall out.
Till next year, you’re faithful, naughty, little one. ;)
Kell xx
Tuesday 1 December 2009
It's a Girl! (or is it a boy?)
The other day I had to make a mad dash in the rain from Liverpool Street station to the taxi rank. While I stood under my umbrella waiting for a taxi, a woman joined the queue behind me. In toe, she had a small child which I would put at around 3 years old. Now this child left me with some serious questions.
I’m sorry, but if you have a little girl what on earth would possess you give her a mullet? No really, there is nothing funny or cool about a three year old girl with a shiny mullet for a haircut. In fact there is nothing cool about a 12 year old girl with a mullet but at least she has the voice to fight back. Should the 12 year old roll over and accept her mullet, then laughing at her is fair game. But a three year old, how is that remotely fare. Further more, should you have a son (with a mullet,) why would you put him a dress? It really does confuse things, even for open minded people like me!
If you haven’t figured it out yet, this child looked like a boy, had a mullet but yet was wearing a red dress thingy with trousers underneath. I don’t condone laughing at helpless children but what the heck? I mean surely this is a case for child services… or the fashion police!
I looked down and smiled at the little shim (she/him) and also gave it a little wave. The child gave me a big grin back and waved. Thinking that this could be my chance to find out what gender it was so I could either laugh at the hair cut or attire, I asked, “What’s your name?”
The little shim hid behind its mother’s leg and I heard a small voice say, “Charlie.” Well smack me over the head with a baseball bat and give the shim a biscuit, it has a unisex name to match the gender confused get-up.
If I’m confused what must that poor child think? I’m a boy but mum wanted a girl bad enough that she makes me wear dresses OR, I’m a girl… with a mullet, my life is over. The parents should be shot either way.
A taxi finally arrived and due to the rain, I offered it too the shim and its mother. Freak show or not, it’s still a small child in the rain and freak shows can catch a cold too you know!
I’m sorry, but if you have a little girl what on earth would possess you give her a mullet? No really, there is nothing funny or cool about a three year old girl with a shiny mullet for a haircut. In fact there is nothing cool about a 12 year old girl with a mullet but at least she has the voice to fight back. Should the 12 year old roll over and accept her mullet, then laughing at her is fair game. But a three year old, how is that remotely fare. Further more, should you have a son (with a mullet,) why would you put him a dress? It really does confuse things, even for open minded people like me!
If you haven’t figured it out yet, this child looked like a boy, had a mullet but yet was wearing a red dress thingy with trousers underneath. I don’t condone laughing at helpless children but what the heck? I mean surely this is a case for child services… or the fashion police!
I looked down and smiled at the little shim (she/him) and also gave it a little wave. The child gave me a big grin back and waved. Thinking that this could be my chance to find out what gender it was so I could either laugh at the hair cut or attire, I asked, “What’s your name?”
The little shim hid behind its mother’s leg and I heard a small voice say, “Charlie.” Well smack me over the head with a baseball bat and give the shim a biscuit, it has a unisex name to match the gender confused get-up.
If I’m confused what must that poor child think? I’m a boy but mum wanted a girl bad enough that she makes me wear dresses OR, I’m a girl… with a mullet, my life is over. The parents should be shot either way.
A taxi finally arrived and due to the rain, I offered it too the shim and its mother. Freak show or not, it’s still a small child in the rain and freak shows can catch a cold too you know!
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