I thought about calling this the period reds (like in Breakfast at Tiffany's, when she refers to her moods as 'the mean reds'?) but I'm not in that kind of mood. Matter of fact, I'm not in a mood at all--I'm just in pain. So, blue it is. And I thought I'd compose a little stanza or two, just to amuse myself, while I wait for the agony to subside.
Period blues cause aggravation,
Enduring the pains of menstruation,
Red and raw, your insides bleed,
Ibuprofen and Midol are what you need.
Opt for hot baths and an early night,
Don't move too much and you might be alright.
But take comfort in knowing, it could be worse,
Lie back and enjoy your monthly curse,
Unlikely it seems, but it's horribly true
Even periods are better than pregnancy blues,
So take care--and don't let the worst happen to you.
I'm serious. This is crap, but it'll be over (the pain part, anyway) in 2-3 days, and then I'll have most of a month before I have any more trouble with this. If I were pregnant, I would suffer for 9 MONTHS SOLID. And, I wouldn't be able to take any Ibuprofen. Or have a really hot bath. Or lie on my stomach to get a backrub. AND I'd be sick every day, every time I ate, as well.
9 MONTHS SOLID, of pure suffering, and almost nothing that can be done to help you. Unbelievable.
I have 2 beautiful, beautiful babies, and I'm so glad. Because I'd rather suffer immeasurably for 3 days every month for the next 30 years, than go through 9 more months of Pregnancy Hell, once. Thank God you get babies at the end of pregnancy--without something like that to live for, we'd all kill ourselves before the third trimester.
Monday, 17 August 2009
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Superhero Guy
If I could be a superhero, I would be Sexy Chick,
Finding a boy and then making him drool, and then I would sit on his dick,
And when I saw girls who refuse to put out,
Telling men no and then making them pout,
I'd lift up my skirt and shout 'fuck me quick!'
'Cause I would be Sexy Chick.
Or, if I could be a superhero, I would be Cheeky Cow,
Making men pay for my new clothes and shoes, and anything else they'd allow,
Well I'd take all their store cards and buy lots of crap,
Shop girls on commission would all start to clap,
And if the men told me off I would leave them right now,
'Cause I would be Cheeky Cow.
And if I could be a superhero, I would be Lady Tease,
Just saying no when I really mean yes, and making the men all say please,
Like if a boy wants a kiss I would give him a shove,
And say I never do that unless I am in love,
Then I'd laugh when he's begging me down on his knees,
'Cause I would be Lady Tease...
OR, if I could be a superhero, would you be Filthy Whore?
Making men pay you just what you deserve, and then take a little bit more?
Like if you sigh and you moan then they owe you a meal,
And if you 'orgasm' loudly, that's not part of the deal,
So if you do they'd better take you to your favourite store,
Then you would be Filthy Whore.
Or you could be less obvious,
No, I didn't mean to be cheap,
Go to the Marriott Newcastle and then that's where you'll sleep,
In a posh hotel suite with all the finest decor,
'Cause then you would be Filthy Whore.
Yes then you would be, a superhero like me....
**Just so we all know, I have *never* spent the night in a Marriot Hotel, and I don't charge for my services. It's a labour of love, for me**
Finding a boy and then making him drool, and then I would sit on his dick,
And when I saw girls who refuse to put out,
Telling men no and then making them pout,
I'd lift up my skirt and shout 'fuck me quick!'
'Cause I would be Sexy Chick.
Or, if I could be a superhero, I would be Cheeky Cow,
Making men pay for my new clothes and shoes, and anything else they'd allow,
Well I'd take all their store cards and buy lots of crap,
Shop girls on commission would all start to clap,
And if the men told me off I would leave them right now,
'Cause I would be Cheeky Cow.
And if I could be a superhero, I would be Lady Tease,
Just saying no when I really mean yes, and making the men all say please,
Like if a boy wants a kiss I would give him a shove,
And say I never do that unless I am in love,
Then I'd laugh when he's begging me down on his knees,
'Cause I would be Lady Tease...
OR, if I could be a superhero, would you be Filthy Whore?
Making men pay you just what you deserve, and then take a little bit more?
Like if you sigh and you moan then they owe you a meal,
And if you 'orgasm' loudly, that's not part of the deal,
So if you do they'd better take you to your favourite store,
Then you would be Filthy Whore.
Or you could be less obvious,
No, I didn't mean to be cheap,
Go to the Marriott Newcastle and then that's where you'll sleep,
In a posh hotel suite with all the finest decor,
'Cause then you would be Filthy Whore.
Yes then you would be, a superhero like me....
**Just so we all know, I have *never* spent the night in a Marriot Hotel, and I don't charge for my services. It's a labour of love, for me**
Thursday, 13 August 2009
I Don't Wanna Go to Moscow
If anyone cares, the above is actually a bastardized line from a Third Eye Blind song: ''I don't wanna go to London...'' which, if memory serves, is about a girlfriend who's cheating on her boyfriend with an English guy (English men are tasty, I will attest to that fact). In this instance, my use of the line ''I don't wanna go to Moscow,'' is a reference to my sister's new calling plan, which allows her to make free off-peak calls to such destinations as Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, and, marginally closer to me, Moscow.
What the fuck.
Why would my sister want to call Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, OR Moscow, when she has a sister living in England? I suppose it's just the way generic companies do these things--oh look, there are this many major cities in the world, let's create a magical calling plan that lets you call ALL of them, and nevermind those rural backwaters where you might actually have friends and families...
I *do* very much live in a backwater, at the moment. So does my sister, albeit one 4000 miles away. But that's what rednecks do. We're born in bumfuck nowhere, we grow up in bumfuck nowhere, and we die in bumfuck nowhere. Even if it's a different nowhere than the one we grew up in, we are genetically programmed to seek out the nearest hub of ingrained racism, pervasive ignorance, and substandard education, and that's where we move. And then, of course, there are no local amenities, no decent internet or phone services, everything closes at 5 every day and earlier on a Wednesday, and we can't stay in touch with the folks back home, because calling plans are designed for people who either live in, or wish to call, major cities.
But what about the rednecks? How are they meant to keep in touch? Oh, the humanity... I guess I'll just send my sister a postcard.
I'm definitely NOT moving to Moscow.
What the fuck.
Why would my sister want to call Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, OR Moscow, when she has a sister living in England? I suppose it's just the way generic companies do these things--oh look, there are this many major cities in the world, let's create a magical calling plan that lets you call ALL of them, and nevermind those rural backwaters where you might actually have friends and families...
I *do* very much live in a backwater, at the moment. So does my sister, albeit one 4000 miles away. But that's what rednecks do. We're born in bumfuck nowhere, we grow up in bumfuck nowhere, and we die in bumfuck nowhere. Even if it's a different nowhere than the one we grew up in, we are genetically programmed to seek out the nearest hub of ingrained racism, pervasive ignorance, and substandard education, and that's where we move. And then, of course, there are no local amenities, no decent internet or phone services, everything closes at 5 every day and earlier on a Wednesday, and we can't stay in touch with the folks back home, because calling plans are designed for people who either live in, or wish to call, major cities.
But what about the rednecks? How are they meant to keep in touch? Oh, the humanity... I guess I'll just send my sister a postcard.
I'm definitely NOT moving to Moscow.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Odi-Jo
My best friend from when I was 9 just posted on my Facebook. I say just--what I mean is, she posted early this morning, well, yesterday evening for her, and I now have her telephone number.
I'm pleased, nay, thrilled, nay, ecstatic... and frightened.
She's been the first person I've mentioned, any time in the last 10 years, when asked about my friends. Or elementary school, as a child. Or how I survived the horror of middle school. Or what friendship is. She was, for a couple of years, the glue that held me together, through the unremitting terror of what most people call school.
She was the most popular girl in our class, maybe in our entire year, and she plucked the shyest, nerdiest girl you've ever seen (ME!) off the back wall, from where she was hiding behind everyone else; and she, funny and confident and bright and lovely, befriended that lonely misfit with a child's kindness and enthusiasm and sheer passionate devotion, and we have been best friends, off and on, for most of our lives.
We haven't spoken properly in years. Not since I moved away from my beautiful hometown, to live in, I'm sorry, this shithole known as the Northeast. Oh, it has its charms. Take-aways are quite cheap here. Newcastle's a nice place. Even the very mining village where I live, well, it has some quaint appeal. And yes, I grant you, the people are generally quite friendly (along with being rude and narrow-minded, not knowing the words 'please' and 'thank-you' and not having any inclination to go to university, ever).
But. I'm being unfair, and I know I am. This region's no worse than any other--if anything, the hamlet where I live now is fairly similar to the little town I grew up in (not my hometown, which is quirky and charming and beautiful, but the town in which I actually spent most of my childhood). I don't mind the Northeast. I'm quite proud when Newcastle do well on match day, and I think the local accents are outrageous (fun outrageous, though) and the shopping and higher education and lots of the scenery all seem quite good... I just miss my home.
Most of all, I miss people like Odi-Jo. I haven't seen her in what feels like centuries, and now, I'm going to call her, and what if we have nothing to say to each other? We always listened to different music, and had different taste in boys, and liked different movies and books and pastimes and.... I mean. What we had in common, was the fact that we loved each other, and we were both a little less like cookie-cutter kids than the people we went to school with.
That hasn't changed. She'll always be the coolest girl I've ever met, and I'll always be what people call unique, quirky, weird, or eccentric, depending on how complimentary they want to be... but what if that's not enough, anymore? What if after all these years (okay, like 5, but still) what if, with nothing to unify us, we've simply drifted irrevocably apart? What if, somehow, by moving over here, I've lost my very best childhood friend, forever?
I don't think I could bear it. If I call her, and we chat for a bit and have nothing to say, or if she finds me terribly altered, or if I don't recall the girl I used to know, my heart will just crack, split! right in two. I will cry for days. I will be permanently wounded, if Odi-Jo and I don't still love each other.
It could destroy my faith in God, Fate, Kismet, etc, if she and I don't know each other, if she doesn't love me anymore, if I don't still, in my quiet, passionate way, adore her as I adore all the people I surround myself with... I'm sure she will. I'm sure I will. I love her because she looked out for me when I didn't even know I needed looking after, and she'll love me because I love her, and I am something like unusual, in my way. There will be no great problems, in the Lanlock and Snansnock reunion.
Of course. There's another problem, a very, very minor one, it will cause a hint of embarrassment, no more, but even so I'd like to avoid it if I could--the thing is, I've been living in England for ages, now, and although the English don't think I sound like them, my countrymen tend to have opinions on my new manner of speaking...
What if she thinks my accent is fake and pretentious?
I'm pleased, nay, thrilled, nay, ecstatic... and frightened.
She's been the first person I've mentioned, any time in the last 10 years, when asked about my friends. Or elementary school, as a child. Or how I survived the horror of middle school. Or what friendship is. She was, for a couple of years, the glue that held me together, through the unremitting terror of what most people call school.
She was the most popular girl in our class, maybe in our entire year, and she plucked the shyest, nerdiest girl you've ever seen (ME!) off the back wall, from where she was hiding behind everyone else; and she, funny and confident and bright and lovely, befriended that lonely misfit with a child's kindness and enthusiasm and sheer passionate devotion, and we have been best friends, off and on, for most of our lives.
We haven't spoken properly in years. Not since I moved away from my beautiful hometown, to live in, I'm sorry, this shithole known as the Northeast. Oh, it has its charms. Take-aways are quite cheap here. Newcastle's a nice place. Even the very mining village where I live, well, it has some quaint appeal. And yes, I grant you, the people are generally quite friendly (along with being rude and narrow-minded, not knowing the words 'please' and 'thank-you' and not having any inclination to go to university, ever).
But. I'm being unfair, and I know I am. This region's no worse than any other--if anything, the hamlet where I live now is fairly similar to the little town I grew up in (not my hometown, which is quirky and charming and beautiful, but the town in which I actually spent most of my childhood). I don't mind the Northeast. I'm quite proud when Newcastle do well on match day, and I think the local accents are outrageous (fun outrageous, though) and the shopping and higher education and lots of the scenery all seem quite good... I just miss my home.
Most of all, I miss people like Odi-Jo. I haven't seen her in what feels like centuries, and now, I'm going to call her, and what if we have nothing to say to each other? We always listened to different music, and had different taste in boys, and liked different movies and books and pastimes and.... I mean. What we had in common, was the fact that we loved each other, and we were both a little less like cookie-cutter kids than the people we went to school with.
That hasn't changed. She'll always be the coolest girl I've ever met, and I'll always be what people call unique, quirky, weird, or eccentric, depending on how complimentary they want to be... but what if that's not enough, anymore? What if after all these years (okay, like 5, but still) what if, with nothing to unify us, we've simply drifted irrevocably apart? What if, somehow, by moving over here, I've lost my very best childhood friend, forever?
I don't think I could bear it. If I call her, and we chat for a bit and have nothing to say, or if she finds me terribly altered, or if I don't recall the girl I used to know, my heart will just crack, split! right in two. I will cry for days. I will be permanently wounded, if Odi-Jo and I don't still love each other.
It could destroy my faith in God, Fate, Kismet, etc, if she and I don't know each other, if she doesn't love me anymore, if I don't still, in my quiet, passionate way, adore her as I adore all the people I surround myself with... I'm sure she will. I'm sure I will. I love her because she looked out for me when I didn't even know I needed looking after, and she'll love me because I love her, and I am something like unusual, in my way. There will be no great problems, in the Lanlock and Snansnock reunion.
Of course. There's another problem, a very, very minor one, it will cause a hint of embarrassment, no more, but even so I'd like to avoid it if I could--the thing is, I've been living in England for ages, now, and although the English don't think I sound like them, my countrymen tend to have opinions on my new manner of speaking...
What if she thinks my accent is fake and pretentious?
Monday, 10 August 2009
Weekends
Weekends are quite good, really. Even if you don't have a proper job (haha, raising babies is loads of work, AND it pays rather well in this country, but you all know what I mean) it's nice to have a break in your routine, to do a little something out of the ordinary, to give yourself an excuse to laze around being inefficient for a couple of days a week. And of course, weekends are good times to be very efficient at certain things--catching up on dirty laundry, grouting tiles, buying groceries, etc. Also, weekends are excellent times for frivolous pursuits.
I saw a castle this weekend. It was good. There were loads of privies, much uneven ground, lots of great grey stones, and a dungeon room. I did the following, in this order: tried to get my friend to steal a 400-year-old sword, attempted to make him climb a security barrier and touch an alarmed display, closed an iron gate on him and tried to lock him in the lavatory in The King's Chamber, attempted to prise the lid off the well and push him down it, and then, I refused to smile for his pictures on the roof, and demanded a piggy-back ride when I got tired of walking.
It was, all in all, a very enjoyable day.
Even though, in the half-hour of shopping time available afterwards, my friend bought the ugliest pair of Speedos known to man, and is now insisting on teaching me to swim... I can swim. Doggy-paddling is swimming. What's a dog? A mammal. What's a human? A mammal. We can swim the same way if we want to. And, also in the same way as a dog, I won't be wearing the world's ugliest swimming costume when I dive into the water.
Even being a witness to the purchase of the ugliest pair of swimming trunks ever created, could not mar my general sense of delight yesterday.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun. That may sound sad to you, or even downright depressing, but it's true. Goofing off and being a bit of a TAF (twat-among-friends) on a Sunday afternoon is *well* out of the range of my normal experience. It was just so nice to have nothing to do. To be free to do any old nonsense I liked. To waste some time, on a sunny afternoon, because for the first time in about 5 years, I had time to waste, and someone to waste it with.
Of course, it could just be the fact that castles *totally* do it for me. All that firm smooth ironwork, loose rope lying about, cold hard uneven flooring and the sound of metal constantly clanking... It's all very, very 'tonight we're gonna party like it's 1699...' I mean, really. Can you imagine it:
Sex. In an *actual* dungeon. Mmmm...
**Not that I *had* sex in an actual dungeon!.. I'm just saying. 2 hours wandering around a dungeon, whilst thinking about it, is liable to put anyone in a good mood...**
I saw a castle this weekend. It was good. There were loads of privies, much uneven ground, lots of great grey stones, and a dungeon room. I did the following, in this order: tried to get my friend to steal a 400-year-old sword, attempted to make him climb a security barrier and touch an alarmed display, closed an iron gate on him and tried to lock him in the lavatory in The King's Chamber, attempted to prise the lid off the well and push him down it, and then, I refused to smile for his pictures on the roof, and demanded a piggy-back ride when I got tired of walking.
It was, all in all, a very enjoyable day.
Even though, in the half-hour of shopping time available afterwards, my friend bought the ugliest pair of Speedos known to man, and is now insisting on teaching me to swim... I can swim. Doggy-paddling is swimming. What's a dog? A mammal. What's a human? A mammal. We can swim the same way if we want to. And, also in the same way as a dog, I won't be wearing the world's ugliest swimming costume when I dive into the water.
Even being a witness to the purchase of the ugliest pair of swimming trunks ever created, could not mar my general sense of delight yesterday.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun. That may sound sad to you, or even downright depressing, but it's true. Goofing off and being a bit of a TAF (twat-among-friends) on a Sunday afternoon is *well* out of the range of my normal experience. It was just so nice to have nothing to do. To be free to do any old nonsense I liked. To waste some time, on a sunny afternoon, because for the first time in about 5 years, I had time to waste, and someone to waste it with.
Of course, it could just be the fact that castles *totally* do it for me. All that firm smooth ironwork, loose rope lying about, cold hard uneven flooring and the sound of metal constantly clanking... It's all very, very 'tonight we're gonna party like it's 1699...' I mean, really. Can you imagine it:
Sex. In an *actual* dungeon. Mmmm...
**Not that I *had* sex in an actual dungeon!.. I'm just saying. 2 hours wandering around a dungeon, whilst thinking about it, is liable to put anyone in a good mood...**
Friday, 7 August 2009
Monday, 3 August 2009
Babies are Made of Win
And two really excellent friends of mine have just had one.
Hazaa!
And there was MUCH rejoicing in the land, and all the people heard tell of the Mini-Kelly, and they knew that he was good. And they travelled far and wide, that they might glimpse the Mini-Kelly in all his glory, and they brought gifts of wonder and joy (up to and including a ridiculously expensive bra from the Figleaves website, to ease the pain in his mother's breasts, because breastfeeding *hurts*) . And the Mini-Kelly thrived, in spite of all odds, and he was well and happy and healthy forever, fingers-crossed-touch-wood-God-willing. And he was beautiful.
Seriously. He's beautiful. Well done, you guys. Give him a kiss from me, and I'll come see him as soon as humanly possible.
Congratulations xxx
Hazaa!
And there was MUCH rejoicing in the land, and all the people heard tell of the Mini-Kelly, and they knew that he was good. And they travelled far and wide, that they might glimpse the Mini-Kelly in all his glory, and they brought gifts of wonder and joy (up to and including a ridiculously expensive bra from the Figleaves website, to ease the pain in his mother's breasts, because breastfeeding *hurts*) . And the Mini-Kelly thrived, in spite of all odds, and he was well and happy and healthy forever, fingers-crossed-touch-wood-God-willing. And he was beautiful.
Seriously. He's beautiful. Well done, you guys. Give him a kiss from me, and I'll come see him as soon as humanly possible.
Congratulations xxx
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