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.