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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1315450-Bloggerholic/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/9
by Acme
Rated: XGC · Book · How-To/Advice · #1315450
A place where everybody can feel easily offended - my head!
I'm gathering quite a collection of blogs.
"Invalid Item is a bit-of-a-rant. I've got a big gob, and it would be a shame not to use it.
"Invalid Item is just that. It's the product of the bits of me mentioned above *Up* filtered through my subconscious.
"Invalid Item dealing with all things to do with battling sexes, especially exes.


Want to know something trivial or obscure? Not really bothered about whether it's right or wrong, as long as it's believable?

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

WELCOME TO THE HUMAN GOOGLE!


*Check2*I may never have mastered the art of tying shoelaces, but I win every time I play Trivial Persuit.
*Check2*Friends place bets on how many people I can, unintentionally, upset on a night out.
*Check2*I am the place where boundless enthusiasm meets embarrassing arrogance.

*Exclaim*Important Information - Please Read*Exclaim*


*Note5* I realise some folk do not get Satire. I love a little baffoonery and believe, rather like the jesters of old, you can say quite a lot more than kings when people think you are an idiot. If you are literal minded, best not read on. If you can tell your arse from your elbow, and recognise when an attack isn't an attack then please read:
 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#1290842 by Not Available.

Heck, even if you can't tell your appendages from one another, read it anyway: who am I to tell you what you can do and what to take from my writing? *Confused*

The XGC rating is due to the unknown content of many minds - it may be fluffy bunnies or....not! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Welcome to my world! Acme*Heart*

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

http://twitter.com/acmetweet
Skype me at acmetoo

template thing-a-ma-bob:

{c:green}Write{/c}:
{c:green}Edit{/c}:
{c:green}Kids{/c}:
{c:green}Relationships{/c}:
{c:green}Physical{/c}:
{c:green}FFF{/c}:
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February 26, 2009 at 9:42am
February 26, 2009 at 9:42am
#637761
"If a train leaves the station going x miles per hour, and 30 miles away a budgie shits in a coffee, how long will a mid-winter frost linger in a pig pen near Halifax?"


Bloody hell! I sympathise with Shadowpup's car buying woes, but honestly, why don't car dealerships put the ACTUAL PRICE on their sale stock? Shit. If I went into ASDA (erm, Walmart, for my American cousins), and picked up a 48p loaf of bread that had a sticker underneath it that said 48p, and I got to the checkout only to find out that I had to have a beautiful mind to understand why it suddenly cost 57 pence, I'd flip me lid.

Bastard maths. I swear, if it weren't for numbers there wouldn't be an economic crisis. I've already bought into the whole idea that my time is worth a certain monetary value--probably why I'm such a flippie1 deep down. But I just can't get my head around why folk don't tell you straight up what things cost.

I took Acme Jnr to see Confessions of a Shopaholic (don't panic, no review here; it was disposable cinema. A bit like a condom: enjoyable for one time only.) I was sat there with all these make-up wearing, jewelry-jangling teens and missed the point, entirely. That said, the protagonist worked as a financial journalist for a magazine and had to put fiscal matters into layman's terms by explaining credit, APR, tax etc., with shopping analogies.

Why?

I don't fucking work for Chrysler. If I was their client, I would want them to work for me. Hell, if I write a book and don't edit it properly (spellings, typos etc), I won't get it published just because that's the text version before The Elements of Strunk and White are applied. Oh, no sunshine, if you want that book that will cost you $$$ extra.

I'm your potential client so work for me. Show me a fucking price through the window as I pass by. Don't bore me rigid in a drowsy showroom on your terms, while I rest my tired ass in your swivel chair with a full bladder of crap coffee distracting me. I'm sure half the people who sign for the new car only do so because they've had to go through the torture of the finance plans balanced on bulging bladders.

This car costs $12,000. Full stop. That's it. 5 year payment plan and wiggly bits included. HOWEVER, anyone buying it outright can have a grand knocked off as a reward for saving up so well. If you can't afford it FUCKING SAVE UP or buy a shit one. We have them here:
A car: heater works, no radio, new tyres and exhaust, but smells of cat = $8,000
A car: no two doors the same colour, kickass radio, will need new tyres, exhaust, and engine clean = $5,000
A car: no mod cons, but it works = $2,000


Footnotes
1  like a hippy, but with fuzzy logic

February 24, 2009 at 4:58pm
February 24, 2009 at 4:58pm
#637503
Otherwise known as Newton's Third Law of Physics:

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction


I'm an old fart. This comes in handy when recalling economic recessions... but not the one in King Kong... I wasn't there *Pthb*

Stik's contemplation on the reality of consumers lowering their aspirations, when it comes to the more intangible aspects of life, eg. education and funding, struck a chord with me.2

At the tail end of the last recession I went to university. The economics of the day had a big impact on my aspirations. I actually felt guilty of dreaming about Durham University (up there with the Oxbridges IMHO). Why?

To start with, I'm a twin. Twinny wanted to study ponies in Licolnshire. That cost money. Money wasn't that rife in my single mum's already down-sized home. Little sis was just two years behind us and was a good, conscientious, hard-working student who wanted to do the same thing. I, on the other hand, had my own demons: I wasted opportunities. Hence the guilt and lowering of personal aspirations. You know those annoying students who don't study, get pissed mid-week, turn up to an exam with a hangover and are happy to settle with an average grade for no effort? Yup, that was me, and no, I'm not proud of it.

I left school and went to work for two years to help with college costs, scraped some half-decent grades together and then worked for another couple of years to save up for uni. I chose one that was a bus ride away to commute to daily, saving mum the cost of student accommodation. Good job too. I couldn't be arsed once I was in a band.

By the time I pulled myself together, looked into spending my second year abroad, and aimed for a career in journalism: BOOM time hit me. I was pregnant.

Hubby had is own fair share of woes. I was wife #3, and he had kids from his former wives to support. We were in a recession, living in a damp-riddled terrace house from the Victorian era, with dodgy neighbours, high crime rate, and the albatross of negative equity hanging around our necks.

I had such a small budget for food. I forgot what a brand looked like. Talk about lowering aspirations? I went two years with HP Sauce on egg butties. It was a good job I was vegetarian; there was no way I could have afforded to eat meat.

The decade of prosperity we've now departed, sees me living in a house that has no major repair needs and is situated in a quiet residential area. My children go to the best state schools that money can't buy, and while times are getting harder, we count our blessings.

I'll run the Rover into the ground. I've never had a 'new' car, and I doubt I'm the kind that will lose sleep over that. I've always been thrifty, whether that's from collecting tokens for cheap holidays from newspapers, getting three meals from one scrawny chicken, or getting my name on the waiting list for an allotment so I grow my own veggies on a larger scale than a small back garden with mini-greenhouse.

For Christmas, hubby gave me book tokens. I waited until the January sales and one of my treats was The Thrift Book: Live Well and Spend Less by India Knight. I haven't made time to read it yet, but I will.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Thrift-Book-Live-Well-Spend/dp/1905490372/ref=sr_1_1?ie=...

Footnotes
2  'cor! That's a long sentence!

February 23, 2009 at 5:28pm
February 23, 2009 at 5:28pm
#637345
I have no taste. Well, that's not entirely true; I have bad taste. I'm sure I'll come back in fashion if ever Jason King, Camp Detective Extraordinaire, ever does.

Home improvements in our house go like this: water, gas and electric = get a man in. Decorating is a little different.

I like to destroy stuff; it's a gift. But I'm a perfectionist when it comes to the TOTAL ERADICATION OF THINGS AND STUFF. I can't paper over paper, like hubby prefers. And I mean any paper. Scraper in hand, steamer in the other, I would rather crack the plaster on the walls than let one pea-sized wafer remain. It's the same with gloss. I use more sandpaper than a dermatologist, but oh, my woodwork is perfect for a well keyed next coat.

Continuing to blow my trumpet, I have to admire my internal plumb line. I can usually judge wallpaper straightness within a millimeter. So, while hubby chooses colour schemes and cushions, I'm more than happy to hang paper and paint. Oh, and I'm a genius at flat-pack furniture. They're like the grown-up version of 3D jigsaws *Delight*

But colours? Textures? Design?

Sorry. These are all concepts that I can't get my head around. It doesn't matter how many magazines I read, shows I watch, or hubby explaining seasonal no-nos in laymen's terms: I don't get it.



February 22, 2009 at 3:51pm
February 22, 2009 at 3:51pm
#637169
Well, sometimes you do.

Volition. It all comes down to choice. Choices are easy to make when they are theory, but practicality is a bitch. I love the film Sophie's Choice, because it had a profound effect on the way I think about choices. If you don't know the choice part, it comes when a Nazi officer tells Sophie that she must choose between both her children dying, or one of them dying and the other living. She chooses to save her son, consigning her daughter to death. I was only young when I saw it, and I had never before, or since, been so invested in a protagonist's world. In the brief moments she, and I as the viewer, had to come to that decision I honestly couldn't make that decision. Then I realised, that was her real torture; another slight against the victim at the hands of her oppressor. Sophie's Choice would haunt her for the rest of her life, no matter how she coped with the adversity placed upon her living through the holocaust. Like my fave Lincoln quote:

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power. ~ Abraham Lincoln (a man who chose to take in a show)


Isn't giving someone a choice, really about seeing how they handle the power of that choice, rather than their relative adversity?

Years later I studied law. I had intended to pursue it as a career, but should have opted for civil law, and not criminal. While I loved to research, cite and argue wording, I couldn't cope with the people at the other end of criminal law: the victims.

One case made my mind up to concentrate on literature instead as the basis for my continued studies at university. In other words, it was not that I chose literature, but rather that I did not choose law.

I can't quote the case now -- my memory for dates, names and precedent is long gone -- but I do recall the details. A woman was raped in her own home by an intruder. He was found not guilty because of point of law that revolved around the 'consent' issue.

He was hard. He was an intruder. He was going to rape her. She realised there would be no getting out of it. It was the late 80s and AIDS was very much in the public eye. Believing she had no out of the situation, she pleaded with him that if he was going to continue to abuse her, would he please wear a condom, and she had one in her bedside draw. The judge found that by asking the accused to wear protection, she had implied consent for the sexual act to take place. My arse. It was another 'Sophie's Choice' to me. I couldn't look at the law the same way again.

You just don't know... sure, we do. Sometimes, we only know how to react to the events in front of us. Could I blame a young kid for having an abortion? Nope. I'm not them; I don't know the road they've taken to get to where they are. I don't know who took that road with them. Are they a victim of incest/ abuse/ rape/ ignorance etc. And what the fuck does it have to do with me? Would I have an abortion? No. I'm catholic. But I only reserve that judgement for the moment that I'm in right now and for the road that I walk today. Who knows what tomorrow brings?

Do I like hunting? Not live animals, but I used to love shooting with my dad (clay pigeon). I'm pleased I know how to clean, load, and care for a weapon. I'm also pleased that I know how to use it responsibly. I was a vegetarian, but liked nothing better than tickling trout (just the tickling, not the braining and gutting *Sick*). I find I'm comforted that I know how to hunt and kill, and that my current circumstances allow me not to exercise that power. I've never had any doubt that I am capable of horrendous acts, but I've also never doubted my desire to not realise them.

Who knows what life will throw at me? I've spent years building up an arsenal of know-how, whether that's by reading Dickens, or 1001 survival tips, or by immersing myself in cultures and cliques, bad crowds and good ones.

I know. I know that I can only guide myself and not judge others.

I know. I know that I can only be responsible for the values I hold today, based on the circumstances, facts, and information up to this point.

I know. That whatever decisions I make will not be right or wrong; they will simply be choices, and only open to interpretation in hindsight.

And that is all I know.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084707/synopsis

and, thanks to grand juries, it looks as if the boot is on the other foot in more recent (1992 is way more recent than my legal know-how *Blush*) cases:
http://www.aegis.com/news/ads/1992/AD922047.html
February 21, 2009 at 2:35pm
February 21, 2009 at 2:35pm
#637032
My beloved tea emporium, Whittards of Chelsea recently went into administration before being sold to private equity partners. Odd, or not, but that was the moment I took the whole 'credit crunch' thing a bit more seriously. After all, it must be bad if my morning cuppa is threatened.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7796751.stm

I was brought up on English Breakfast Tea when a tot; Nana C would alternate our bottles of milk with either tea or tomato soup. "All babes should have tanned stomachs to sturdy their constitutions" was the reasoning behind the tea. "All babes should have fat, sausage-roll legs" was her reasoning behind the soup.

Twin sis will have her bergamot, so she insisted on Earl Grey. Little sis liked a hint of citrus, so she plumbed for the Lady Grey. They thought me rather a martyr to tea when I took it without milk, but my favourite was Lapsang souchong. As a teenager, mum would let me smoke in the house to avoid the neighbours having something to gossip about, but I felt rude doing so. A cup of my fave tea was the closest thing I could get to drinking smoke, so it staved off the cravings until I could hide behind the bus stop on the way to school. Maybe I should take it up again? Now it's my kids that don't want me to be seen in public, and my hubby who worries what the neighbours think... mind you, he won't have me smoking in the house... or my own car, for that matter. Mmm, perhaps a cup of Wuyi tea might be on this week's shopping list *Delight*

I bloody hate being oppressed. I know that my family are only looking out for my health, but I don't feel comfortable 'sticking it to the man!' when I'm not allowed to be the toxic slob that mother nature intends me to be... I'm gonna rebel. Not with fags, but with cauliflower.

Stay with me...

There are a long list of mini-repressions that I put up with. I'm not allowed to play my music loud, in case it offends the neighbours, so I don't. My library/study was turned into a dinning room for the sake of the family, because hubby said I could share his art studio: I have one small laptop shaped space on a desk. He's stood behind me now: painting. Nice. I have no personal space. I used to have my shed. I loved my shed. I could go there, smoke my head off, keep all the crap I wanted, how I wanted it, and pot my plants. He pulled it down to make way for a bench. I had a smashing little runaround car. It cost me £75, sailed through its MOTs and I could park it on a sixpence. It wasn't safe enough so he bought me a tank... well, the Rover, but that's not the point. I've lost count of the amount of crashes I've had in it. He has taste and I don't. I admit this, but it still hurts when I get ready for a night out and he says, "Oh, are you wearing that? Why not wear such-and-such?"

Oh, I will have my Lapsang souchong, and in the absence of a shed, I will grow cauliflowers on the window sill... the pristine must-not-be-cluttered window sill *Pthb*

I can see the household headlines now: rebellious housewife has collie wobbles!
February 21, 2009 at 5:18am
February 21, 2009 at 5:18am
#636976
I don't know what it is, and don't get me wrong, I love a little blog poetry, but backward phrasing just makes any verse sound like Yoda's reading it my head: At articles I peek. For inspiration in the sun. Pout I do...

I love ya, Shazi, and I likes your poetry too -- just look at the Yoda voice thing as my quirk as a reader *Wink*

M is back. He was so bloomin' nice about the whole fishicide thing... bless. What a lovely neighbour I have. I'm a little all over the place again today. Saturdays are hectic.

The Writing Cafe is an hour early today, because there is another event taking place in the Hall at 1:30pm. To try and make it work out a bit better, I've taken the deli wraps, nachos, and cakes off the menu, and there's only one option: Hot Roast Beef Baguettes with onion gravy. I can turn those out like there's no tomorrow, so it should work out a little easier in the kitchen. As for the writing? Well, I've just finished writing up an Action Workshop and a new Skill Share Rota.

Skill Share is doing really well as a group programme right now. Lots of poets have stepped forward with constructed lesson plans/workshops on particular forms. It seems I'm still the only one driving forward with mutual reviewing/editing workshops, but hopefully people will start to see the benefit that can be gained from constructive feedback. It reminds me of how good I've got it here at WDC. I love the reviews I get, even the 'You're shit!' ones, because at least it's another POV, other than my own -- and I'm pretty biased about my own stuff, if I'm honest.

Well, I better put some pants on if I'm leaving the house. I have many quirks, but pink pajama bottoms in public is not one of them.
February 20, 2009 at 3:33pm
February 20, 2009 at 3:33pm
#636897
I did it. I took those 625 items and brought them back under 500. Gawd, I think I'm going to be sick. Just you wait and see. There will have been something really, really, important that I wasn't supposed to delete, and now it's gone: completely purged by the system... *cold sweat*
February 19, 2009 at 4:14pm
February 19, 2009 at 4:14pm
#636739
I'm such a shit. My temper doesn't need much to ignite, especially when I partake in competitive sports. I was brought up in the John McEnroe era and must have been rather impressionable *Blush*

Anyway, hubby just challenged me to Wii Sports and we were on the final leg of events (excluding boxing) with me winning 2-1, when it came down to, what I previously considered, my strongest suit: golf.

He was whupping my ass. Flukes, naturally, but that's not the point. He drove (instead of sand wedged), over shot, hit the flag, and the ball dropped in the hole for a perfect Eagle on a par 5. I congratulated him. I truly enthused on his behalf. And then it was my shot. Shot 3 on a par five with a clear put at distance. It was downhill and half hit: a shoe-in. I lined up, hunkered down, swung back, and . . .

. . . hubby shouts out, "It's a hill!"

I jump, jerking upright and practically launch the put into outer space.

I was not fucking amused.

At least I found out what the wrist straps on the controls are for; I nearly launched it at his head. Racket abuse with a golf club *Angry*

"Fuck off," says I. "All bets are off. You're a cheating bastard and I ain't playing."

So, I came on line to sulk while I calm down... and before I have to say sorry. I hate having to say sorry for being a grumpy shit. After all, I do it so well *Delight*
February 19, 2009 at 1:58pm
February 19, 2009 at 1:58pm
#636713
Bloody hubby's 'puter *Angry* I've made no bones about it, but I bloody hate his computer. When will he fix the bloody router, so I can use my lovely wireless laptop? Now it's the blooooooody 'E' that's on the fritz. Wanna see? This is what normal typing is like (intermittent at best and sometimes with last punched first):

Bloody hubby's 'puter {:angry} I'v mad no bones about it, but I bloody hat this computre. When will he fix the bloody router, so I can us my lovely wirless laptop? Now it's th bloooody 'E' that's on the fritz. Wanna s? Well, you are, right now... I'm gonna go mntal if I have to kep backtracking to pop them in... *Cry* Oh, and I'm being hauntd by th ghosts of daed fish. They com to me in dreams, flapping their fishy lips and swimming like entrails around my ankls. Save me! Sav m!
February 19, 2009 at 1:50pm
February 19, 2009 at 1:50pm
#636712
Write the letter you'll never send. prompt in "Follow the Leader

I miss you. I want to thump you, right now, but I'm trying very hard to be a grown up about things. I've been defending you, you know? All the nasty gossip levelled at you, and me telling folk not to play Chinese Whispers when they don't know the facts. Silly me. Those whispers are based in truth, but we never get to talk beyond your quick, ill-timed, admission.

Why did you tell me? Or, rather, if you felt compelled to tell me, why leave it to the last minute? After I've taken all the flack that bit-part players could throw at me? I'm left with the distinct impression that you pre-judged my judgement, and left me no room for maneuver -- it's like you don't know me at all, and that hurts above all else.

I'm human, and we all judge each other, whether we admit it or not. But I tend to judge on the execution of manners, than on some trumped-up moral code. Heck! I'm only accountable for my own moral code, not the planet's... well, one day, perhaps, but not yet *Smile*

Let your friends be your friends; we're not just enemies waiting to happen.

Still love ya, still wanna thump ya,

Acme *Heart*
February 18, 2009 at 6:20pm
February 18, 2009 at 6:20pm
#636573
http://www.classic-literature.co.uk/american-authors/19th-century/edgar-allan-po...

If you haven't read Poe's Tell Tale Heart *Up*, then please do. If only to know what madness drives me to blog twice in one day.

I just stepped out for a smoko, when I heard the tell tale crunch of fish bones in a kitty's maw. NNNNNNOOOOOOOOO! *Worry* I'm being plagued by dead fish.

I wish M could hurry up home, find my letters of contrition and remove those dead, dead, dead, DEAD, fish before I lose the will to sleep...
February 18, 2009 at 5:41pm
February 18, 2009 at 5:41pm
#636569
Entertain me, write something good, ignore me, argue with me, do whatever you like. Just make it good. ~ C.T. Mean Moon

'cor, and here's me thinking you're all shades of lovely. Then I discover you're one of those.... You know the kind? The ones who get blog-fright in FtL and come up with some holy grail of blogging like "invent an invention" *Blush*

I still like ya, though *Pthb*

I've been busy today. Meeting, A. Not so bad, but wary: very, very, wary. But I was proud of me. I stuck by my "let's remember whose wedding this is" guns *Bigsmile* Yay me! Conciliatory, without being a door mat

The weirdest thing about today, was meeting my mate, C. He's off to Arkansas tomorrow. He had a lot to say, but couldn't say it. His ex kept coming in. Gawd, I felt just awful. You could have cut the atmosphere with a sponge. I had a lot to say to him too, but vice versa. I love the fella, but he looked worn, and desperate to win... I just don't think he knows what. My heart went out to M too, but I wish she would have respected the fact that I needed to see my friend before I lost him to the road for the next few months. She made it quite plain that I would be seeing quite a lot of her over them. I'm not heartless, but both he and I needed time together, and I feel cheated. If I ever do get my own computer back (bloody hubby still hasn't sorted out the wireless router), I can Skype him and chat. Sad day though. Sad day. *Cry*

In brighter news, Nana Lena needs a perm, so it's off with the kiddies to take her to the hairdressers tomorrow, and we'll grab lunch before her bingo afternoon with the oldies. It cracks me up that she calls these 60+ women 'oldies', or more correctly, 'old farts', because, in case you didn't know already, is 93 in July. Oh, and for those on Nana Lena watch: she's not the only victim of the yobs anymore. Funny how her neighbours started taking things more seriously when they became targets too *Rolleyes* I shouldn't be churlish: they've set up CCTV and are the first to check on her now if there's the slightest sign of activity.



February 18, 2009 at 6:49am
February 18, 2009 at 6:49am
#636463
1. My friend, R, and I took the girls to the Curry Mile in Rusholme. We made Baby Acme's dreams come true... she is now a Bollywood Princes:

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **


2. On the way home, we stopped off at an Indian confectionist's and bought a whole half kilo of jalebi to nom *Delight* But then the proprietor wouldn't let me pay because I was with R and she's his cousin by marriage. I was so touched . . . and stuffed full of sugary goodness. I actually dreamed that my teeth eroded down to mushy stumps and swollen gums. Nice *Thumbsup*

3. Went to mid-week Mass, because my tender body couldn't handle church on Sunday after imbibing enough wine for a wedding party at Canna for Valentines... While I love a good sing-song on a Sunday, I like mid-week Masses because they're only half an hour long, and the kids don't fidget too much. Although, thanks to full Bollywood regalia, Baby Acme did rattle a lot (bangles).

4. I cooked hubby steak and potatoes, and then realised that I had subconsciously metaphored him through cooking. Can you use a metaphor as an adjective? Sure, you can! The minute you apply a metaphor to a real life situation, you are metaphoring in an adjective sense. He's partying tonight with a bunch of people from work. He's booked a hotel, and is not coming home. The steak was reminder of the old cliche: 'Don't fill up on burgers when you get steak at home.' I told him I don't want him running off when it's taken me years to train him up. The thought of starting with another newbie is not appealing right now. 'And, of course, you do love me, too?' he responds. 'Sure I do,' says I.

5. The kids came bounding in to my bedroom this morning. They want a pet fish. I wanted five more minutes, so I told them I'd think about it, even though my mind's made up. I still haven't explained to M about how badly my fish-sitting went for him. When he does get back, I hope he reads my 'I'm sorry your fish are dead' letter before he goes around to the yard. I can't clear up the cat and fox dinning area... I just can't. Anyway, I came down and explained to the kids that I'm a fish killer and it would not be nice for M to see us gaily frolicking with a new pet, whilst his were swimming in the great celestial pond.

6. I seriously considered using hubby's toothbrush to remove splash-back from the loo wall. Dirty boy. He can never clean up after himself. I told him if he can't control himself, he'll have to sit down when he pees... and I'll set Kay on him if his hygiene doesn't improve *Sick*

7. Hubby's (keyboard) old band mate (guitar), is getting married. His fiancée, S, is lovely, and so we're both invited to stag and hen dos. Hubby's old band mate (drums) is married to a woman who completely hurt me beyond belief. I don't often like bitchy women, as I'm not very good at bitching. Don't get me wrong, I love my female friends, but we all have personality weaknesses, and mine is that I'm not subtle enough for nuances.

This fucks up friendships, because when someone comes along and says, "Ooh, I hate that such-and-such because she did twiddle-twad with thing-a-ma-gig... don't tell anyone I told you!"

So, I go along, not telling anyone anything, and then get told off for not telling the wrong person at the right time. Surely a real friend would know that I am a blunt instrument? I don't do subtle. Well, this particular girl, A, delights in nothing as much as stirring up shit. How do I know this? She told me. She actually said, on a night out with S, "It's not a good night until someone is crying. Watch this..." and then went and dripped poison in a few ears. She clapped her hands in glee. SHE CLAPPED HER HANDS IN GLEE *Confused* when the evening went down the crapper. I swear, I've never seen anything like it outside of the Wicked Witch of the West. Anyway, last night she rang. The last time I saw her was last spring. She sent me a shitty text in September about how I shouldn't take out my crap on her kids, and that not getting her boy a birthday pressie was mean. So, I got him a Christmas pressie. S took it round for me as she was going over there anyway, and we weren't planning to. No pressies for my kids, no thank you to me. Just a message on the 17th of Feb saying that she needs to sort things out for this hen night. She wants to exert her control more like. You see, she was not chosen as Maid of Honour, nor as bridesmaid. Poor S, she'll have a whining, attention seeking, manipulative bitch to get past if she wants a good night. So, A is coming around here tonight to 'talk' about the hen party... why can't she just turn up, smile in all the right places, and let the bride to be have a good night out? sheesh...

8. My best friend is a roadie called C. I love him to bits. I hardly ever see him, because he tours the globe, but I don't need to live in his back pocket to feel close to him. He's hurting right now. Of course, he's vehemently denying it. He and his girlfriend of a decade are splitting up. I've got no doubt that they will stay friends, but he wants babies, and she's been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, years ago. Neither will compromise, and why should they? Pretty big deal all round. So they're splitting. I'm off to see him this afternoon, before he ships out again.

9. I stink. I can smell my feet from here and it's putting me off my typing. I'm going to make the remaining four items rather quick, so I can grab a shower.

10. I have so much work to do for the Writing Cafe. I need to set up workshops, guest speakers, and hot roast beef baguettes, all by Saturday morning. I can't be arsed.

11. I should be arsed. But it's the school holidays (half term) and I'm already knackered and stinky, so what hope of being organised by the end a mental week is there? None.

12. I'm behind in my reviewing too, and I normally love that. I should get my finger out. I WILL get my finger out... tomorrow... *Blush*

13. I'm off to nom the rest of the jalebis from yesterday. I'm also doing an experiment involving coffee to bladder ratios; I'll let you know how it goes *Thumbsup*
February 15, 2009 at 4:48pm
February 15, 2009 at 4:48pm
#635971
Before we start a spelling war: yes, it has two 'LL's in UK English *Delight*

~~~~~~~~~~~~


http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn16592-satellite-crash-prediction-is-plague...

I knew it would end in tears. It's going to get to the point where we'll be trapped on our planet, with no means for escape to leave a dying world and find new ones to infest populate.

Okay, so I'm a little bit too doom and gloom, but my gloominess is based in fact (although, it might make a good premise for a sci-fi piece *Rolleyes*)

Truth is, space in no longer the final frontier. We've created our own barrier of space junk and I await the day when the space age will give way to the trapped age.

Last Tuesday, Feb 10th, two satellites crashed, sending debris into orbit in their place. They will not be the last. With 6,000 satellites making just a part of 18,000 objects up there, it will happen again. Every time it happens, means extra fine debris is whizzing around waiting to pierce some other floating piece of junk. Will that stop us lobbing other objects into space? Will it buggery. All that'll happen is that military and commercial outfitters will design stronger outer casings for new launches.

Here's where my invention comes in:
The Acme Factory Engineers will get the blue prints together for The Acme Attractorthon.

*Note5* Using small remote control jets, it will be maneuvered into any orbit necessary (http://www.space-track.org)

*Note5* This device will cunningly use solar power to rub two plastic paddles together over a balloon (reinforced, non-punctury-balloon).

*Note5* When the paddles are remotely extended they will attract small plasticy bits of space junk -- not unlike hair can be made to stand on end when attracted to a buffed balloon (http://www.thenakedscientists.com/HTML/content/kitchenscience/exp/levitating-pla...). A small window wiper will scoop the plastic bits off into a storage facility beneath the 'wings' until it can be recycled.

*Note5* The belly of the beast will have a compartment with an electro magnet -- again remotely operated and charged with solar power. This will be switched on to attract metal debris(http://www.howstuffworks.com/electromagnet.htm). When turned off, inside the hull, it will be neatly stored until recycled.

Note to self: will invent robots to tidy up and what not.(http://www.arrickrobotics.com/arobot/build.html)

*Note5* The Attractorthon will be deployed by any new satellite going into space, and will only have enough burn in its jets for a few orbit changes, before the end fuel is used for reentry.

*Note5* If I can wangle it to land in Area 51, tourists should eagerly rip it apart for salvage and alien claims, thus negating the need to recycle. If not, all the parts can go in the plastics container, or the metals bin *Delight* Ace...


Okay, so there are a few creases to iron out, but I like my invention. What would you invent, and why?
February 15, 2009 at 12:00pm
February 15, 2009 at 12:00pm
#635909
Funny ole Steve and his babysitting malarkey... It reminds me of the dead fish situation.

M (my next door neighbour who entrusted his finny friends to my care) has still not returned, and I wish I could be like Mr Tooms from the X files and stretch my arm into his letter box to remove my explanatory letter. Why? Well, 'cause I said I would deal with it.

So far, dealing with it has included taking one look at the worrying the have received from snacking passers by and hiding where I can't see them. I was going to take them out. But then there were to many bits scattered about. Then I was going to pour soil over them, but it's his pond, and what if he wants to refill it with water? Could be a bit mucky that.

We have a fox family behind our shed, so I was quite happy to leave the matter with them, whilst playing Elton John's The Circle of Life in my head every time I went outside for a smoko. That was all well and good until last night.

I had valentines fun with hubby, downed a bottle of wine and re-watched Daniel Craig suck his cheeks in Casino Royale (can't wait to get Quantum of Solace on DVD). Paused to watch the Being Human rerun, and went out for a fag before Danny got his balls smashed in by Le Chiffre.

I don't know if you know of my current fan crush on this piece of British telly, but it's rather consuming my imagination at the moment. It's not a comedy, but the basic premise could leave you to believe it is: A vampire, a werewolf and a ghost, house-share in Bristol

There's actually oodles going on under the surface, and while not scary, there is a certain amount of gore, but mostly good plot. I love this trailer of Annie (the ghost) from the official website. Oh, and you can watch previous episodes via the website too, in case you fancy adding it to your viewing arsenal.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/beinghuman/prequels/
But I digress. Basically, I've just spent time in the company of a fictional werewolf and I'm stood out in a moon-bathed yard, over looking a desecrated fish grave and a HERD of reflected green-eyed things mewling over bones that I can hear them crunching. Heck! I kid you not, there were a good seven or so cats that I could see; Lord only knows how many were in the bottom of the dried out pond, munching away *Sick*

They just looked at me. Every single head turned toward me, as they sat stationary. It was as if they were saying, "Be grateful it isn't you."

Ooh, I couldn't watch the end of my Bond film. I was most upset. I finally understand hubby's gripe about nature being alright to look at, but he wouldn't want to live with it.

Anyway, I haven't dared go out for a fag without being armed with a spatula. What good this will do in case of feline attack, I don't know. But it seemed more humane than the jug of acid that hubby suggested.

Here, have a bit of Bond to get your mind off my fishpond woes:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hM5UJvnbbuY
And:
http://www.mi6.co.uk/mi6.php3
February 14, 2009 at 2:43pm
February 14, 2009 at 2:43pm
#635778
There are those of us who use the veil of darkness to discover subconscious truths and delve into the inky depths of imagination. Then there are those of us--the annoying bastards--who turn the light on in the middle of a spiritual journey like a fat, whiskered, colonel at a séance who can't see the bloody gin bottle in the muggy light.

I think I'm the colonel. I've walked in on people having sex and tried to be causal about it, asking about their day. I've made bad jokes at funerals, worn fancy dress to black-tie events and dropped babies on their heads.

Some folk are drawn to the darkness and its mysteries. Not me. I'm constantly fumbling for the light switch of illumination. Just once. Just once. I'd love to not cock things up. C'est la vie.
February 14, 2009 at 1:58pm
February 14, 2009 at 1:58pm
#635773
I don't really have any particular aversion to the number 13. Saying that, I don't have any feelings attached to it, really. It's part of my life though, like many numbers are.

Ages 4-8 we lived in a haunted house. Of course, it's only hindsight that makes me acknowledge this. A lot of the world was new during those early years, and freaky disturbances were as typical as learning to tie shoe laces, look left and right over roads, and trying to defraud my younger sister out of the contents of her piggy bank.

We lived at 13 Chapman Road, Preston. It was a grand old building. The best that landed Victorian middle class could muster. HUGE, would be the word that would best describe it. In fact, I was wondering if my smallness might have made it seem bigger than it was, but my mum laughed when I recently asked her about this, and just said, 'No, it was MASSIVE.'

The thing is, even after all the odd events there, when anyone asks me if I've ever seen a ghost, I tell them not until I was in my thirties (and even then, I'm not convinced that wasn't more likely to be a strange time travel event type thing).

I never saw a ghost at Chapman Road. But, oh boy, sometimes you don't need to see a thing, to feel a thing.

Along the length of a wide, wood-paneled wainscoting, we had a pantry, a scullery, a kitchen, a dining room, a great room, a living room, and a downstairs cloak on the lower floor. Four king-size bedrooms, an en suite and family bath made up the upper floor. The two floors were joined by a sweeping staircase with half landing under a gigantic stained-glass arched window. The devil tree would knock on its pane when the wind blew. Well, half of it. The other limbs would stretch over to my bedroom window and tappity-tap me awake.

My little sister had a double bed in the corner, my twin had a single bed between me and the door, and I was separated from the window by a wardrobe.

When the devil sent his tree to wake me up, it was so that he could torment me whilst awake. But I would try to fool him. I had two teddy bears that I would swap places with each night to fool the devil. He would come and stand over me, and I knew he was there even though I couldn't see him -- in much the same way when you know someone is behind you and you turn to see who it is. I didn't mind opening my eyes, because I couldn't see him, but I knew, deep down to my core, that I couldn't take my nose from under the sheets. If I did, he would be able to feel my breath and know that my glassy stare was not just another teddy. I would have to lie perfectly still until he went away. I even worked out that if I positioned myself just so he wouldn't be able to see the gentle rise and fall of my breathing chest. After about 10-15mins, he would go away. Sometimes, one of my sisters would stir as if disturbed by his exit, but more often than not they would stay as fast asleep as when he had been there. I could relax. I could go back to sleep. But one night I made a mistake.

On that particular night, he had come, and I had stayed still, and he had eventually left, but I could not get back to sleep. I needed to pee. To get to the family bathroom, I had to cross the floor, go out the door on the other side of my twin's bed, pass the stained-glass window to turn up the corridor that led to the spare/unused bedroom at the back of the house and take the right turn immediately before it.

Originally, my sisters had occupied this back bedroom, because no one liked sharing with me; I was a noisy sleeper and a messy, smelly, child. But they suffered from night-terrors that were so bad that they soiled themselves in bed, rather than dare go to the near-by toilet. They never said what was so scary and while my little sister can't remember, it's something that my twin still refuses to talk about. All I know is that she went a little bit mental for a while and started bringing dead things into the house. She created a pet cemetery in the garden under the back bedroom window's gaze and would periodically dig them up to, and I quote, 'See how they are getting along."

Well, as soon as I faced that back bedroom door I knew I'd made a mistake. It opened. A black gaping maw into different shades of black. Sure, it could have been the pressure of my little feet on a loose floorboard (no, it wasn't), but I did not want to find out. I went straight back to my own bed and wet myself there instead. In fact, from that moment on, if I ever needed a wee in the middle of the night, I just did it where I was, and hoped like mad that I could drift off to sleep before the warm puddle turned into cold clammy sheets.

Mum took me to the doctors, and I just played along. I had charts, incentives, and stickers to help me train. The minute we moved house, I didn't wet the bed ever again.

Number 13.

Freaky house.
February 10, 2009 at 11:30am
February 10, 2009 at 11:30am
#635051
Baby Acme has gone Bollywood crazy. Well, she was crazy to begin with, but now she's crazier than ever.

Happily, one of the user groups at the Parish Hall has a lovely group leader who I've become more and more friendly with. When I mentioned to her that BA wanted a real Bollywood Princess outfit, she offered to take me to Rusholme, Manchester, to traipse around the fabulous clothes shops there. She's from that side of the city and is very knowledgeable when it comes to fashion ... and shopping.

Last Eid, she bought £250 outfits for each of her kids, and with a wedding coming up she didn't need much encouragement or an excuse to show me the ropes of Indian tailoring.

I can't wait, and BA is cock-a-hoop over the chance to wear the finest in Asian fashion. The date is set: next Tuesday afternoon!

BA makes her own saris and puts on dance shows for us. She has a whole draw set aside for scarves, bangles and shiny things that she's horded like a magpie. I think she might actually faint from excitement when she sees all those fine fabrics spilling out in one place.

She's six years old, but if ever I needed proof that my daughter is a would-be-fashionista, I have it now; it's all she can talk about. She's drawing sketches for colour comparisons etc.,

Even way back, when her last craze was mermaids, she designed her own tail and bikini for me to make; chose the material too:
"Invalid Entry
February 9, 2009 at 7:03pm
February 9, 2009 at 7:03pm
#634938
I don't usually offer them, but I do like receiving them.

Christmas came again on February 8th. My mum was poorly on the day itself, so my sisters and I reenacted the event yesterday. It was fab. Christmas decorations once again decked the halls, a three course meal was offered, gifts were given and we felt blessed; one and all.

We even had snow and Cliff Richard medleys. It was a perfect Christmas, but without 25th December.

I love my family so much, but have felt as if I was neglecting them recently (see blog entry below *Down*), so it was good to get together for a re-celebration. All that was missing were the Christmas crackers -- you wouldn't believe how hard they are to track down in February.

Happy Christmas, WDC. I finally got mine *Bigsmile*
February 7, 2009 at 6:22am
February 7, 2009 at 6:22am
#634425
... nowt's wrong, nothing's bugging me, the world of WDC works just fine for me, but I've made a bit-of-a-decision. I need some regular time with my family. I miss them.

Mum's tirelessly battling cancer, Nana Lena's feeling isolated and lonely because of recent events, Acme Jnr's getting teen hormones, Baby Acme's getting lazy, and I only seem to pester hubby for shags, rather than conversation.

Weekends are going to become a little more special. I've got a few bits and bobs to do for Project Write World, so I'll tappity-tap-tap over my keyboard this weekend, and possibly the next, but I finally realised what I'm giving up for lent: WDC weekends.

I'll still be around five days a week; you can't get rid of me that easily *Pthb*

Whatever you're doing, and whoever it's with, have a smashing weekend *Bigsmile* *Heart*

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