Goldilocks and the three bears

Goldilocks had a spatial awareness problem. Who the hell has to try sitting on three chairs if significantly different sizes to realise which one fits their arse?

And who breaks into someone's house and sleeps in their bed?!

The more I think about it, the more I come to realise that this chick was batcrazy.

Gossip Girl

Not watched the final yet, but does anyone else think the character names are a wee bit rude?

Blair and Serena get called B and S...BS...yup.

Chuck Bass...Bass...tard.

That's actually all I've got.

Scamming

Have you been in an accident?

Were you not looking where you were going, and walked into a lamppost?

Did you slip and fall on a floor because you were wearing stupidly high heels?

Does a sore thumb lead you to take a year off work?

Do you want to sue that floor, and take down that lamppost?

Call any dodgy looking company who advertise on tv and use text speak (injury lawyers 4 u...seriously?) and ruin someone else's life by gaining money for a mild injury.

What office worker (with a badly cut fringe) needs a month off work for a damaged knee?

I just don't think it's right to sue for every accident and claim money for distress etc. I was in an accident and I was upset... Okay, £3000 will ease the pain and suffering.

This is the UK. The nhs will look after our pain and suffering for free. It is not like we have to pay to get our broken bones healed. And maybe I'm wrong, but when the people in these adverts say they've had a month off work for a broken hand (unless their work involves manual labour, i.e. builder, dentist...) I think it's skiving. I had to go to school with broken ribs, and they totally make breathing difficult. But then I am a trooper.

To conclude, go forth and don't sue people unless it's absolutely necessary. And find a lawyer who looks half f decent; for these adverts they seem to find the most dishonest looking people in existence; would you honestly trust that grey haired guy with the foot long gap between his eyebrows?

I didn't think so.

This has got me thinking about how I am a shallow person as I judge by appearance...physiognomy is still at large.

Back to Uni work I go.

Karma revisited

Dear Karma,

I'm beginning to lose my patience. Some people have wronged me in the past, and they are not suffering sufficiently. I do not think it is acceptable that they still have two eyebrows and have not sat on any whoopee cushions in their lectures.

This is just not good enough.

When people wrong me, I look to you, Karma, to ensure that they are punished. They should be falling into lion pits, losing all their hair, or finding that their toenails are growing at an uncontrollable pace. They should not be prancing about like Mary bloody Poppins as if they're not horrible human beings.

You've given me some good karma, I'll grant you that, but if you do not start dishing out the bad karma, you will be owed some bad karma for further annoying me.

You have been warned.

Tick-tock

I understand why the clocks must change, because if they didn't it would be dark and we'd all walk into each other because we wouldn't be able to see very well.

But I wish they'd make it easier to follow.

Tomorrow, or this evening (you see what I mean, it's already starting to get confusing) the clocks go backwards. This means that 7.45am will be called 6.45am, giving us an extra hour in bed.

In theory.

The issue here is that I don't know if my phone (which is also my alarm clock) changes time to fit in with the clock change automatically or not. Which means I will either stay up until 1am (when the change occurs) to see if my phone goes back an hour, and even then I'm still going to have to find a watch to make sure that I don't get my times all muddled up.

I wish the clocks would change when I don't have anything to do, so I could just sleep and not worry about it.

Just realised the tv will have the correct time, so I can always check that. Phew.

Facebook

Deactivated Facebook to get a bit of a break from social media, but now have found so many things I would write statuses about that I must update my blog.

Firstly, the vo5 shampoo adverts. Why am I watching girls with bad hair, singing badly? It does not make me want to purchase vo5 shampoo. It seems to be more of a warning than an advert.

Secondly, I have a concussion and am annoyed about this. Having forgotten I whacked my head on the sink yesterday morning, I saw my doctor today explaining that I'd randomly been crying, felt light headed and dizzy, was nauseous, had a headache and that my arms felt really, really weird. She did reflex tests on my arm in concern, and must have thought I was proper mental. She asked me if I had taken anything illegal...I must've looked like Will on the Inbetweeners. She then noticed a bumpy bruise on my head and asked me what I had done, and concluded that I had a concussion. I feel the same as I did last time I had a concussion, so am mega embarrassed for not realising that this was he problem.

Thirdly, I think we need to introduce specific times for the insanely fit people to use the gym, because they are irritating and smug. I think they need to be relegated to the lunchtime slot, when us sensible people are actually eating (something they don't do anyway so it's fine).

Fourthly, amazon need to get more books on kindle because I don't like waiting for my books to be delivered in the post.

That is all.

For now.

Anger management for Sally the Shepherdess

My name is Sally and I am angry. You would be angry if you were me.

Every time I introduce myself as a shepherd people laugh at me. They think I am joking, and that I must be 'messing' with them. Once they realise it's not a joke, they go on about how easy my job is, sitting in a field with sheep all day. Yeh, sitting in a field in the pouring rain all day while your dumbass sheep ruin you're life is really easy. Cleaning shit off my floor when the break into my house - HOW do they break into my house?! I don't know!!! The point is, they shit in it! And then last week I missed my hair appointment because they wouldn't move out of my driveway...I have roots and split ends, and people think my job is easy?! I look like a large version of Britney Spears! You know, when she stopped getting her hair done, but before she shaved her head.

And then there's that dog. Toby. Chases his tail instead of the sheep. I hate dogs. I like cats. I had a cat called Lady Tabitha Finkleston, but I think Toby ate her. Or she ran away. Either way, I clearly can't have a frickin' cat and am stuck with this dumb dog. Ugh. I get dumber just watching him. I thought he'd at least do tricks and bring me my slippers, but he ate them. I'm still waiting for him to pass my engagement ring...that dog has one slow digestive system.

I don't even know if I'll clean that ring before I give it back to salmonella Simon. He got me that stupid dog in the first place. I wish dogs could just be for Christmas, and not a fucking life sentence. Much like marriage to that two timing wazzock would've been. Can't believe he cheated on me with my own sheep. I hate my life. It is a comedy of errors.

Eek

Today I am having a thoughtful day, where I think about how far I have come since I started university:

I have learned some things, and forgotten other things. For instance, I am quite good at English, but I have forgotten all my maths. And I can't speak Welsh as good as I used to, but i can definitely understand Medieval English a lot better.

I have stopped dying my hair darker. Something my parents wanted me to stop doing years before uni...ah well they get it right sometimes. Dark hair did not suit.

My nose has moved half an inch across my face.

I am pretty sure I have grown a bit taller.

This makes me think that I must be a more mature person, however, a certain friend of mine just posted pictures on Facebook in which I am covered in face paint, attempting to play twister. Hm.

And now for something completely different

Lisa was in a bad mood as she left the doctors surgery. Having broken her nose during a particularly vigorous game of battleships, she felt as though she was walking about with a traffic cone attached to her face. Being told she had to wait a year before it could be fixed was intolerable, and surely a travesty of international proportions. Despite friends assuring her that she looked fine, Lisa knew her nose was attempting to crawl round her face to join her right ear. She was not being paranoid or irrational. This nose had been let loose, and was clearly going to ruin her life.

In addition, Lisa had seen an ex boyfriend of hers when she had decided to go running. Flailing about in the midst of what could only have been a heart attack was not how Lisa wanted ex boyfriends to remember her. To add insult to injury, the ex had cut his hair and now looked like a shaved bird. Why is it that when you stop seeing a person they take it as an excuse to go about looking like a complete tosser? The mind boggles.

Asparagus

Does anyone like asparagus? I was thinking about it, and I don't see how anyone can. It's weird, and apparently it makes your pee smell funny. I don't like it at all. It reminds me of this tv show, where these leeks had faces and it was really creepy. I don't mind leeks though. The leeks with faces didn't look like leeks; they looked like asparagus.

Even the name asparagus sounds bad. Like abacus, but green and non-educational. I don't like it at all.

On second thoughts, I'm not sure there actually was a tv show with scary talking leeks, I think it was maybe a dream I had. Regardless, I do not like asparagus.

Irritated

Today I have been getting really irritated by the adverts polluting my television time. Polo and golf cars are at the top of my list.

What sane person, just buys a car in the same way they buy groceries?! I realise that if you were rich arbitrarily buying a car would not seem insane, but I assume rich people do not buy polos or golfs. To a normal individual like me, these adverts promote reckless spending, and whilst they make me feel less guilty for squandering eighty quid on a pair of Wellington boots, they still make me feel irritated.

I am also irritated by my iPad automatically 'correcting' my spelling. I meant to write 'polos', iPad. If I meant 'pools', my comment would not make sense, as of course rich people buy pools. Furthermore, when I am writing specifically about maids, I do not appreciate my apparently politically correct iPad to 'correct' this to 'house cleaners'. If the book I am writing about says maid, that's what I gotta say too. If my iPad had a degree in English it would realise this, and stop irritating me.

Which brings me to the final source of my irritation: Internet arguments. Correcting another person's spelling does not mean you have automatically won the argument. It means you are an asshole.

lady luck

Having a really good week, so have bought lottery tickets just in case I'm extra lucky just now.  Did not realise how complicated the lottery actually is.  There are thunderballs, lucky stars, and sometimes you need five numbers but other times you need six.  I had to go back and make changes 'cause my first attempt was wrong.  Not feeling so lucky now.

There were a lot of slow walkers in town today, so I huffed a lot, and daydreamed about leap-frogging over people, which then led to me thinking about basketball, and whether I'd be any good at it.  I was torn between learning piano, bagpipes or ballet, and now I must add basketball to this list.

Have been thinking a lot about the future recently.  Keep wondering how many things are going to change.  Wispas went away for a bit, but came back which was ok, and marathon bars changed their name to snickers bars, but what changes will the future bring?  Maybe crunchie bars will not be with us in the future.  Or worse, I'll move away from the UK and have to eat chocolate that does not taste like chocolate.  Like Hershey's.  Blergh.

Some questions for 'the future':

- Will Jedward still have really tall hair?
- Will Susanna Gregory keep writing books for me to read?
- Are there going to be books, or is everything going to be online?
- Am I going to need a lawyer for anything?

Hmmmm

Olympics

Today I found a quiz that tells you what kind of Olympian you would be. I found it on my friend's girlfriend's friend's page, obvs.

It might have said sailing, fencing or athletics, but I like to think it said Kate Middleton 'cause that would be my ideal Olympic job. I would sit and look sophisticated with nice shiny hair. This means that I will need to purchase some hair shiner, and start looking more sophisticated and less fidgety.

I might take up swimming, just in case I am really good at it, and no one has realised yet. I am no longer completely scared of swimming pools, so anything is possible.

Also I hate KFC and wish their adverts would stop annoying me.

Karma

Today I have been thinking about karma.  This idea that when you do something bad, something bad will happen to you really bothers me, because lots of bad things happen to me when I've not done anything wrong myself.  This has led me to conclude that our interpretation of karma must be wrong.

1.  I do something bad.
2. The universe comes to get me.

We assume that when bad things happen to us, it is due to us being bad.  But what if we have the order of events wrong?  Consider this:

1. The universe bites me in the ass.
2. It is now my turn to do something to really hack somebody else off.

I think that when something bad happens to us, it is not 'karma' for something bad that we have done. I think it is the universe giving us permission to be bad ourselves.  So karma is actually reverse karma: when bad things happen to you, it is not your fault.  It is your turn to hide your flatmates porridge, or eat all your boyfriend's food.

Enjoy.

Cruisin'

Have returned from holiday, so everything is crap as it is no longer sunny and my tan is due to fade.  There is also no ice cream.  Schade.


When on a cruise ship, I have learnt that there are certain things you must avoid doing:

1.  'iceberg, right ahead!' - even if you say this when on the back of the ship (i.e. sailing away from the non-existent iceberg) people still panic.  So don't do it.

2.  'this lifts going down a lot  faster than usual' when in a crowded lift.  Only the deaf will remain in the lift with you.

3.  'what flavour ice cream is there?' when the sea is choppy.  People will get sick.


I still haven't unpacked.  My room is like the dead sea; near impossible to wade through when I need to put mascara on.  Which reminds me, putting mascara on when you are on a ship is near impossible, I kept jabbing myself in the eye.  Walking in heels was also a lot harder...I did my usual 'walking in heels routine' where I pretend I'm super Mario, and I get points for overcoming obstacles like steps, slippery floors, and pensioners.

I am thinking of learning a musical instrument again.  I'd quite like to revisit the piano, but I also really like the idea of playing the bagpipes.  I could be like the pied piper of Hamelin, and could adapt my skills to get all of the rubbish men out of Scotland, leaving only hot and eligible gentlemen.

I am on a boat.

Day two on the cruise...nothing much to report, except that the boat does rock about a bit, so I know I am on water. Walking on water, as it were. Like Jesus, except ever so slightly less religious.

The one thing I am struggling to cope with is my cabin...the stewards come in twice a day, and they TIDY it. They tidy away my shoes and my penknife!!! It's like having an over active mother. My room is so organised that I don't like it, it's made me away of my minor messiness, and my (self-diagnosed) OCD is now in overdrive.

In other news, the bikini is ON.

If you hear reports of an innocent girl being harpooned/thrown overboard for being too fat to sail/shot for being a water buffalo, that'll be ME.

Butter wars

Today I decided to see if my (amazing) home made butter is better than anchors. Here are my findings:

Presentation

Liz's: wouldn't look out of place in Selfridges or Harrods. Has a certain elegance.

Anchor: yellow, which reflects the yellow butteryness within. Nowt special.

Spreadability

Liz's: quite solid...probably because of it's high quality.

Anchor: easy to spread. Gits.

Taste

Liz's: mild. Tastes of butter.

Anchor: think they put salt in theirs. Tastes of butter.


Score so far is a draw...Liz wins on presentation, but anchor snatched a win for spreadability, and the two butter makers are drawing on taste...there is only one thing for it!

Fish's verdict

Blub blub blub blub

...Liz wins!

New fish

Today my flatmate, Ethelred, and I got some fish. Six cardinal tetras. We named them Sushi, Calamari, Scampi, Sparrow, Pope and Captain Nick Fury ('cause the poor bugger's only got one eye).

Watching these fish fly about has made me realise how much easier my life would be if I was a fish. Having wet hair would cease to be annoying. Clothes would not exist to stress me out in the morning. I would never have to bother with nail files (I feel like I can HEAR the noise they make, don't like it). As it is, I am a stressed out human. Siiiiggghhhh first world problems.

Have stopped using my voodoo chalk board. After causing the download bus to break down, mud at download, and potentially annoying several people I don't like, I have decided to use my voodoo powers for good. I do not know how I will do this yet. It is likely I will revert to trying to annoy people by writing their names on it. And drawing them.

Sea monkey song

Soft fishy, warm fishy, little wiggly fiiish

happy fishy sleepy fishy

Swish, swish, swish

Noses

On Tuesday I have to go into hospital to have my broken nose straightened, and I am starting to feel a little nervous. Am seriously considering retiring from competitive battleships as it is just plain dangerous.

I have visions of myself sitting in a chair while a doctor hits my nose with a hammer to get it back in shape.

The worst thing about this is that my nose is not my best feature, so having this already beak-like orifice turn squint has been nothing short of traumatic.

I am seriously considering scamming the nhs for a free nose job. I quite like Disney noses, they are all little and cute. Or I could get a nose just like the queen, pretend I'm her missing daughter, usurp Charles and RULE.

Aahhh I'm hungry.

Snickers taste better than skinny feel

I love and hate this time of year. It's great that the sun comes out, but with sun comes heat, and magazines begin to bully you into going on a bikini diet. That, or wear a poncho, permanently.

My issue with this is that I think I am constantly on a diet...there is the pre Christmas diet, where you aim to lose weight to avoid needing to lose weight after the holidays, and then there's the post Christmas diet because your pre Christmas diet failed. We then begin the spring diet, where fashion magazines encourage you to fit into your 'spring wardrobe'. We finish with the summer bikini diet, and then there is a little break where you hide in chunky knits before beginning your pre Christmas diet.

And if you're like me, you never lose weight because dieting is really boring and snickers bars DO taste better than skinny feels.

Despite this, I am now on my summer diet, where I tell myself I will eat more fruit and less chocolate, and go to the gym twice as much. Usually this lasts a week, and then I do my pretend diet, where I eat normally but pretend that the plate of pasta is actually a salad.

This year I am going on holiday so am taking my summer diet a little more seriously to avoid being harpooned by confused locals when they see me sunbathing.

I had a point when I started writing this blog entry, but I've lost it.

Cheers and goodnight.

Shakespeare blog entry

I have a new guest space on blogging Shakespeare - check it out, there are loads of interesting pieces there.

Here is my contribution:

http://bloggingshakespeare.com/shakespeares-bridget-jones

Eeeek!!!

On Sunday I was at a university battleships tournament. During a vicious assault on one of my five-peg ships, my nose was sadly broken. A friend of mine now has a fractured jaw. Despite this game being advertised as suitable for ages 3+, it is not for the faint hearted.

Temple run

Temple run is a game that certain members in my battleships crew are addicted to, and get very competitive as a result. Naturally I decided to get involved by trying to beat their high scores so I could be like 'hahahahaa'.

Sadly this is perhaps not meant to be. I keep running into trees, and the weird monkey things keep waving BBQ sauce at me in an intimidating fashion. I thought I had achieved a score of two million (meaning I would have accomplished my goal) but it turns out I can't count zeros and had a few thousand points.

Whilst playing this game, I started wondering about the runner:

Why did he go to an ape infested temple?
Where is he running too?
Does he have an umbrella in case it rains?

I find the baboon ape monkey whatever things so irritating that I am going to write to the makers of temple run proposing a new game:

Temple CHASE.

Because why would anyone go to an ape infested temple without a tranquilliser? In this fame you get to chase the monkeys and shoot at them with tranquilliser darts. I am using this form of attack to discourage children from becoming influenced by this game and start shooting monkeys with actual guns; my friend works in public health and told me that games and things really do influence people.

This means that the sequels to temple chase will be 'push over a cyclist', 'punch slow walkers in the ass' and 'headbutt rude teenagers'.

:)

Which reminds me, the other day I was almost assaulted by three children outside boots. One of them threw a mcdonalds milkshake at me, while one laughed and the other made an obscene gesture. Not sure why they laughed as they missed and demonstrated why they should be in school being forced to learn how to throw in p.e classes, but I was affronted nonetheless. It also worried me...kids are getting so confrontational these days and it is not safe. For all they knew I could've been a psychopath, in which case they'd have had the trauma of watching a twenty something year old licking milkshake off the floor. Or I could've been crazy aggressive and started ripping bricks down from the wall and biting them. Obviously I just ignored the little shits and walked on, but I found it worrying.

Dating guide for boys

1. Do not be late. No woman wants to be lurking outside a pub/restaurant like a prostitute. In addition, we do not want to sit inside to wait for you as we have being-stood-up phobia.

2. Shave. You may think that your stubble is manly, but in fact you look like a homeless person and for us girls, it is like kissing a cheese grater.

3. Don't ask us to make you sandwiches. Ever.

4. If you comment on our weight, you might as well walk away and leave us to foot the bill. You'll pay for that jibe either way.

5. Don't date other girls at the same time as us. It is likely that we will just befriend them and bitch about you.

6. Don't argue: it just won't end well. Generally, us girls try to be tolerant and amiable, to give you a fighting chance.

7. Never say that we are being hormonal, even if we are being hormonal. In fact, if we are hormonal there is all the more reason not to comment on it, as the likelihood of us punching you will be increased.

8. Floss your teeth. No one wants to know what you had for lunch...yesterday.

9. Don't be paranoid, you know we are watching your every move and judging you.

10. Don't try coming into our flat at the end of the first date; we don't know you well and with that stubble we are concerned that you will steal our belongings for drugs money.

The quest to become a WAG

After checking my bank balance I have realised that the next logical step in my life is to become a WAG. I need money, clothes, shoes and the hot footballer part also sounds reasonable to me.

The problem is that I am not really WAG material. I do not look like Cheryl Cole or Posh. I do not think chubby knees can be considered an alternative to big hair.

The other issue is that I'm just not good at sitting and looking pretty. I'm excellent at running about like a mad hatter and sitting down after looking rough as fuck, but sitting pretty is not something I have mastered. I can look reasonably chic, but not every day. There are so many things to spill down your front, and things to trip over resulting in scuffed jeans. For some reason these 'things' always decide to act right before you run into an ex boyfriend, so all ex's think that post break up one has turned into a chaotic mess. Which is annoying, because 90% of the time I do actually manage to look presentable.

The more I think about this the less I want to be a WAG. It just seems really boring aside from getting to go shopping and living in a mansion. I don't think I'd appreciate magazines commenting on what I ate either...realistically I'd be called the fatty WAG because I am not a size zero and I like mars bars.

It looks like I am just going to have to work hard and make my own money. At least that way I still get to eat mars bars.

lazy sunday

This afternoon I have been trying to do my uni work, but instead spent three hours attempting to do my online shopping.  The Sainsbury's website is crap and does not work, it is impossible to find anything and I hate hate hate it.  I don't understand why nothing comes up when I search for low fat cooking oil; I even wrote 'flora' to help them find what I was after.  Despite the challenges I faced, I remained undaunted and managed to complete my shopping.  Sainsbury's had an offer on frozen fruit so I am slightly appeased.

Sadly this delay means I am spending my evening wading my way through books, and because I am tired all I have managed to learn it that it really is the winter of my discontent.

My neighbours now have pan pipes.  They have not yet mastered their accordion or trombone, so I think they ought to try a simpler instrument before attempting pan pipes.  And quieter.

Really fancy some toast.  Buttt I don't have a toaster or bread.  Also not entirely sure how to use a toaster; if you can't see the bread toasting, how can you know it's ready?  They need to invent clear toasters, like how ovens now have clear doors so that you can see what is happening inside them.

I have another invention idea: spray on vinegar.  So that your chips don't get drowned in the stuff.

sea monkeys

Today I was watching my sea monkeys swimming about (and having sex with each other), and I realised how sea monkeys are similar to everything else.

- You can have a lot of things, but if you don't look after each individual thing well, you will lose some; baby sea monkeys often don't survive :(

- You can be annoyed at things, but it won't change anything; my sea monkeys will not stop shagging despite the fact that I have told them not to

and finally:

- Jeremy Kyle never fixes anything; my sea monkeys do not know who their fathers are

cat woman

I do not understand why the term 'cat lady' is seen as negative.  Firstly, cats are quite nice.  They purr, do not make you take them for walks, and do funny things, such as chasing string.  Furthermore, seeing as a lot of men are utter pillocks, it seems understandable that a woman would refuse to settle for one of these aforementioned pillocks and instead settle calmly with a happy cat (or five).

I would not actually want more than three cats, as I think they'd begin to get under my feet.  And they'd outnumber me, and after seeing that milk advert where a gang of cats with thumbs are at a man's door, I think I will amend my cat owning goals to just one cat.  That way I am at least equally matched if there was ever to be some form of disagreement.


Last night I had a really weird dream thing, where I woke up and was really cold, but I couldn't move to get up and put the heating on.  I was STUCK.  At first I thought I was frozen, but then realised I was experiencing that dream thing where you are asleep but conscious.  It was horrible :(

At least if I had a cat I would have had a furry friend to complain to about it when I woke up.  Instead I had to go on with my life as if nothing happened.

Sandwiches

I am fed up of sexist sandwich jokes.  If one more BOY makes a joke to me about making sandwiches, I probably won't do anything, but I will be very, very, cross.

Here is an example of an offending joke:

'make me a sandwich'









Sorry for the long space, I was laughing too hard to type for a while there.

I have three main issues with this joke:

1.  It is sexist.  Sexism is not funny to me, as it is still an issue.  The number of men I have heard saying 'I wouldn't hire a woman because she'd go off and get pregnant' appals me.  As well as the phrase 'go off and get pregnant'.  Here is how I imagine this:

Man: Go make me a sandwich.
Woman: Goes to make a sandwich.  Returns - PREGNANT.
Man: ...
Woman: Don't worry, it's a girl!  There will be lots and lots of sandwiches!
Man: Ok. Can you make some and put them in the freezer for when you go on maternity leave?  I can't hope with two bits of bread, and stuff, it's too much for my brain to cope with.

Or scenario B:

Woman: It's a boy...there will be no more sandwiches.
Man: You're fired.  Wait I can't do that, I'll get sued.  Either build me a time machine so I can go back in time and not hire you, you big preggo, or go make lots of sandwiches and put them in the freezer so I don't starve to death.

Which brings me to point number two:

2.  It is also offensive to men, as it implies that are retarded chauvinists who are unable to get two pieces of bread and put some stuff in it.  They don't even have to cut the bread these days; you can buy it sliced!

I wonder if the phrase 'best thing since sliced bread' came about because a lot of men couldn't cope with cutting bread.  It is quite hard cutting it into equally sized slices.

3.  It is doubly offensive to women because it implies our culinary skills do not stretch further than a simple sandwich.

Man: What's for dinner?
Woman: Sandwiches.

If a guy asked me to make them a sandwich, part of my angry refusal would be that it is not a challenging task.  Ask me to make brioche or omelette; that at least acknowledges that I can cook.

And I'm going to add a fourth point to my argument here...the joke is just not funny.  It is old, repetitive, and sad.  There are much more funny things to joke about, like when people fall over, or when seagulls do their little dance to get worms out of the ground.  Lots of things are more funny than sandwiches.

To conclude: do not ever ask me to make sandwiches.  Ever.

the last week

The last week has been clouded both literally and metaphorically; the weather has been crap and I have had a lot of work to do.  So I have not had a lot of fun.

On Saturday I went shopping to cheer myself, and bought a FAB dress which obviously brightened my day.

However.

One of the security tags was not removed.

This meant that I was wandering about town setting off every shop alarm I encountered.  The Zara security guard went through my bags to see what I'd been nicking, despite the fact that I hadn't even gone into Zara; I just walked past.

This has led me to conclude that security tags are too powerful, and too well hidden if even shop assistants don't manage to remove all of them.  We need a new anti-theft system and I think I have the answer:

Random arrests.  If we keep randomly locking people up, we'll probably catch half the criminals out of luck.  And if  you are arrested by mistake, you get your shopping for FREE.  Win-win.

Channel hopping

Channel hopping is a dangerous thing, especially late at night. The safest thing to do is to remain watching south park, and then go to bed before midnight.

Television starts to get freaky at midnight.

Firstly, there are all these shopping channels, trying to sell you crap that you don't need. Like monthly deliveries of make up, and monthly Zumba CDs. I like make up and I like Zumba, but monthly deliveries wold bankrupt me, and no amount of zumba with a beautifully made up face is going to help that.

Tonight I stumbled onto a sex show. Not porn or anything like that, it was one of those educational ones. And it worried me. Apparently I have a prostate that I never knew about. I thought only men had them. Which means I could get prostate cancer. And then I started worrying, because what if other people don't know that girls have prostates, and don't notice if I get the prostate cancer. While I was having a panic attack and googling where my prostate is, the show started talking about female ejaculation, and saying if feels like peeing. And looks like peeing. And could well be peeing, but happily. Not sure I want any of that.

Now being told by another shopping channel that if I buy their product I will look younger, be more relaxed and feel good about myself. It is a 'magic wand'. Pretty sure all the women in the advert have had Botox, so instead of buying their 70 pound cream I might just save up for that. Or get hold of some black widow spiders (botulin poison = Botox!) and start up my own salon.

To conclude, don't stay up late, and never ever watch channel five!!! Unless you are watching the hotel inspector. That, of course, is acceptable.

Or Colombo.

Saturday 31st but also Friday 30th because it's night time

Today I visited a television set, and realised after I left that it would have been a great opportunity to write a blog entitled 'a day in the life of a television star', but because I thought of this too late it is not possible.


Instead I am going to write about ageism.  I am in the prime of my youth, and yet certain individuals are implying that I am OLD.  And, because I am single and independent I am accused of being a potential cat lady.


Firstly, I have decided that this is sexist because single men are never called cat men, and also it is ageist because it implies that being older, wiser, and bollocks I can't think of anything else, just older and wiser, is a negative thing.  Secondly, it implies that being single is a bad thing, thus indicating that independence is unnatural because we should all be getting married.


My issue with 'getting married' is that boys are generally stupid. And they don't like it if you hide in cupboards and jump out at them, even though it clearly IS funny.  And they eat all your food, and bring mud into your home.  However, they are good at getting rid of spiders and fixing things, so there are some positives.


I have just been informed that women are stupid too.  This is true, however, men have been educated for a lot longer in history than us girls, so I think they have less of an excuse to be stupid.


In other news, term has just finished and I'm reeeeally going to miss teaching.  I might just start sitting out in town in case any pedestrians want to be taught about Shakespeare.  

Sea monkeys and Jeremy Kyle

I have three pregnant sea monkeys, and I don't know who the fathers are.   It may be the same boy sea monkey.  If the sea monkey babies are not provided for, I will have to take my aquarium on the 'Jeremy Kyle Show'.

Ate three cupcakes forgetting I need to fit into a dress for a dance on Friday.  Now ordering lots of vegetables in my online shopping to undo this.

Am going to start my own version of Jeremy Kyle.  I've thought about this before, and finally have a proper plan:

1.  DNA tests will be replaced with a coin toss.  Heads: you are the father of this child.

2.  Swearing will not be bleeped out, but the one who swears will find their seat ejects them five feet in the air.

3.  Physical confrontations will result in the individuals being made to fight it out in a pool of cat food.

4.  There will be no lie detector tests: whoever can hold their breath for the longest will be declared the truthful party.

5.  Jeremy Kyle will be replaced with David Cameron.  My aforementioned points probably involve methods he is familiar with in his capacity as prime minister.

That is all.

Back

Got home from a weekend away today.  Am a bit hungover and am beginning to wonder if my memory of a sophisticated evening of wine and sensible chat may be slightly inaccurate.

Have become addicted to Susanna Gregory's medieval murder mysteries.  I like that within two to three pages she'll usually have killed off at least one character, no messing.  It means I do not get bored reading about scenery.

I find books quite funny sometimes, because they are so centred around action, scene, dialogue etc that mundane things like morning showers, face washing, breakfast, lunch etc are rarely mentioned.  Yet I can read an entire chapter telling me what the weather is like, and how beautiful the big blue sky is.  The characters in books are clearly much more interesting than me as my life tends to follow a boring routine of get up, brush teeth, shower, eat breakfast, uni work, have lunch, uni work, dinner, gym, TV time and bed.  This is why I struggle to write because half of the time I am eating food.  This creates a twofold writers block: 1. because I don't want to write about food all the time, and 2. I can't write when I'm eating food.  Also I'm living in the UK so there isn't often a big blue sky to speak of, although today it was a little bit blue, and yellow and white as well.


In other news, my sea monkeys have started having sex.  I leave them unsupervised for one weekend and this is how they behave.  Clearly they are not old enough to be trusted yet.

Birthdays and a Story

Tomorrow is my birthday.  This means that people are supposed to be nice to me, give me cards and buy me things.  Whilst this is great, I don't understand why I only get to have one and the Queen has two.  Surely when you reach a certain ages you'd want to limit yourself when it came to birthdays.  People born on the 29th Feb have definitely got it right.

I am quite looking forward to my birthday, as it will be a normal day: work, bit of studying, etc, but with the addition of alcohol and cake.  Guilt-free calories.  And no one can call me a fat bastard for having cake for breakfast.

However, I would like to take the time to acknowledge that there are some people out there who are not as privileged as a lot of us.

They have not been invited to my super-awesome night out, and I feel bad for them.



On a different note, I would now like to tell you a tale of two people I know:

The Story of Fagin and Nancy

Fagin was a peasant.  Nancy was a prostitute.

Nancy was not a good prostitute as she often annoyed the queen of everything by insinuating that she was old, when the queen clearly did not look a day over twenty.  This meant that Nancy was often confined to a shed.  Fagin, however, was an excellent peasant.  He was talented at stealing coats, alcohol and plastic ducks.

In Oliver Twist, Fagin and Nancy are together until Fagin gets cross and kills Nancy.

Mark, you better watch.

the hierarchy of Lisa's World - UPDATED

In life, there are always hierarchy's, and after recently hearing about a drunken row on the topic of social status, I am typing up the official guide to rank:

Queen of everything
Ninjas
Farm girl and farm boy
Teacher in the school
Renters
Pupils in the school
Fagin
Peasants
Nancy the prostitute
Prostitutes
Corpses (otherwise called lazy prostitutes)
Scarecrows
Mud

Currently I am watching Jeremy Kyle, which just shows how much I do not want to do my uni work.

I updated this, and am not still watching Jeremy Kyle.  I am eating a birthday cupcake.

Texting

Today I got thinking about texting, and text conversations.  Texting is great because it means you don't have to phone;  there's no awkward 'okay gotta go now, bye...oh wait you've just started up talking again'.  You can just not text back.  However, we all have that one friend who never ends the text cycle.  I think I might be that friend for a lot of people.  I had this friend a while ago, but they moved to the USA meaning I now have a valid excuse not to text them ever.  Conversations would go something like this:

Me: Home now, had fab night, see you soon!
Textaholic: Me too! What are you doing now?
Me: Erm...going to bed. You?
Textaholic: Same! Just brushing my teeth. It's cold, isn't it?
Me: Yes. I'm getting a hot water bottle.
Textaholic: Oh good idea, I'm going to do that too! And I'm putting the heating on. Have you got yours on?
Me: Yep xx
Textaholic: Good, you don't want to catch a cold! What're you up to now?
Me: In bed, about to go to sleep...
Textaholic: Me too!!! Are you reading your book?

This is where I used to turn my phone off, and text in the morning saying 'sorry, fell asleep xxx' at which point to horrendous text cycle would resume.

x's in text messages are proportional to one of the following:

a) how much you like a person
b) guilt for feeling you've not seen that person enough recently
c) friendly attempt to end the conversation

In other text-related news, this morning my mother texted me saying 'ook'.  When I asked her what she meant, she explained that she was being an orang-utan.

And people think I'M strange.

Friday

Today my friend and I went on a walk to Grouty Fairy, a small town near us. It was a long walk, and on the way we encountered many strange things.

Firstly, we were stopped from accidentally walking onto a cycle path by a security guard, who kindly directed us to the nearest footpath. However, his kindness did not distract us from the fact that there are security guarded cycle paths. Photographic ID is needed to access these cycle paths. I am not sure why; I have images of cyclists smuggling bushels and bits of twig. Perhaps they get caught in random bag searches. Maybe if there is mud on their bicycle tyres they have to return it.

We also found the second best kitchen shop EVER and I bought salt and pepper shakers, as well as a mini chopping board (for chopping little things). Almost bought a cheese knife, but it was too big to look good on my heart-shaped cheeseboard.

Went to the gym and there was a good looking man on a bike. After wondering if he had access to secret cycle paths, I started trying to send him psychic vibes of 'say hello to the nice girl on the cross trainer...' I then realised that I was on a cross trainer, wearing a baggy t-shirt reading 'I am not dead yet' and no make up, so began sending him vibes of 'stay where you are, ignore all cross trainers and go about your business'. Now understand why men I talk to look permanently confused; they don't know which psychic vibe to follow.

Also saw the frenemy in the gym...didn't look directly at her. Was surprised she even knows what a gym is; she looks to me as though she comfort eats A LOT - I like to think she does this out of repentance for ruining my life. I never comfort eat as I have more grit than that; I FURY eat.

Calories

As I have already stated, I am currently on a quest to lose a few pounds (if anyone asks how many, I will END them). Instead of taking mad diet pills, or another juice fast (which ended in me eating an entire 14" pizza), I have decided to take the sensible option and COUNT MY CALORIES.

The problem is calories tend to sneak up on you when you least expect it.

How could anyone know my veggie pasta bolognese would have 350 cals?! It's pasta and soya!!! And red wine - why are there calories in liquids? This shouldn't be allowed; I want calorie free alcohol.

Chocolate I knew would be high calorie but I eat it anyway because it is my right as a raging hormonal woman. Plus I have a cold, and you're supposed to feed a cold. As this is a particularly fat-bastard cold, it definitely needed some chocolate.

Anyway, the upshot is I've gone over my calorie allowance for today, have had to change my evening wine to a small glass, and even then I am going to need to drag people out dancing so I can burn off some calories that way.

Sea monkeys don't need to diet. Bastards.

Rugby

Yesterday I went to watch a live rugby match. It was brilliant! Want to go again. Also want to go to Alton Towers, and to the Edinburgh zoo to see the pandas.

I can now see the appeal of 'rugger-buggers'; they are strapping young men, and there is definitely something attractive about a man who can tackle another to the ground. Naturally this got me thinking about dating rugby boys, and then becoming a rugby WAG...until I thought of the mud. If you were in a relationship with a rugby player, where would you put their rugby boots? They couldn't come into the house. And leaving them outside isn't suitable as if it rained the boots would probably be ruined. And then there are the muddy clothes...can't stand thinking about all that mud coming in my kitchen, in my washing machine...I'd need to rinse the clothes out with a hose first before bringing them inside. Unless they could leave their muddy stuff in their locker room...

This is too much hassle for me, I don't ever want to go out with a rugby player.

In other news I found out on Friday that I am psychic. I went into this shop to buy a stone (I like stones) and found one I liked. When I went to pay for it the man said 'oh, psychic people are often drawn to opalite'. I thought I picked it because it was a nice shape and looked pretty, but now understand that I am a psychic. As a psychic I have new responsibilities, and must only use these new powers for good. So far I have had a dream about snow, so I am predicting this for March 10th. I also dreamt that one of my sea monkeys turned into a salamander and tried to attack me, so suspect I will either see a lizard this week or someone will annoy me.

First Review

I've noticed a lot of bloggers write reviews, so here is my attempt at one:

At the moment I am over my weight category for an upcoming chess tournament. To lose weight one has to be sensible, and the problem is I am not sensible and have a tendency to do mad things that usually end up in me gaining weight.

This morning I decided to try a 'fat burner'. This is a pill which is basically loaded with caffeine, and supposedly makes you burn lots of fat, therefore losing weight. Took the pill, felt a bit dizzy and jittery, so ate a mars bar to revive self.

Verdict: they don't work.

a question of sport

Have started singing 'soft kitty' (Big Bang Theory) to my sea monkeys.

Think it is good that I am going out tonight as perhaps less reading and more human contact will end this mad behaviour.

In other news, I have been trying to learn about rugby as I will be seeing my first ever rugby game on Sunday. Have always found rugby quite strange as it seems to be a homoerotic display of fat men with no teeth wrestling in mud, yet I am now realising that it is in fact a real sport with rules. In Roman times kids used to play a game where they used to whack each other over the head with a wooden club, and the last person remaining conscious won...think rugby might be a bit like that.

In Medieval Wales, they used to play a game called 'the badger in the bag', where a person would get in a sack and people would hit it with sticks going 'what's in the bag? A badger!' - have not yet found a game which recreates this. Perhaps rounders.

Ergh rounders. I am convinced that this game was invented as a form of child abuse. There is nothing fun about running around 'bases' in the blazing heat whilst people flail madly about with a bat trying to get you 'out' with a ball. I always used to go deep field to avoid actually having to do anything, but the teacher noticed and made me 'practice long jump'. Another form of vicious punishment; if I wanted sand up my ass I'd go to the beach.

happy kitty sleepy kitty purr purr purrrrrr

my day

Had to go to the library today and it annoyed me. I don't understand why things are categorised in NUMBERS. Colour coding things would make life easier and brighter for everyone. No-one likes numbers.

Having said that, the university library isn't as bad as the national library in Edinburgh. I need a MAP for that place. Everyone always looks very smart and clever, and I haven't been able to go back since giggling when I saw a book titled 'The Book of Cnut'.

Also find it strange that paint has warnings to tell us not to eat it, and that take-away coffee warns us that it might be hot, but that no books warn us against paper cuts.


Had teaching assessments and passed. It is frustrating however, that whenever you have a teaching assessment your students turn into deaf-mutes.

Sea monkeys are alive. Hard to tell if they're happy/healthy etc as they are just little squiggles.