Tagged: lists
Repetition
Oops.
I think I’m going slightly mentalissimo.
See this post I wrote t’other day? Wishlist? You read it? You had better farking read it. Ten push-ups if you haven’t. Anyway. Seems I’ve repeated myself a bit. Cos I wrote this post – Want – back in January. And they’re too farking similar.
Not the content. Obvs that’s different. I was not the same person back in January. My list of wishes was a rather more wistful affair. And it did not contain cheese, which is outrageous. But the idea is the same: all I did, in both posts, is write a list of wants. Something initially so simple, yet to my fuddled brain I can’t help but berate myself for repeating the posts, and NOT BEING ORIGINAL.
I mean, fucksake. Who wants to read the same old crap again and again? Next thing you know, I’ll post MORE naked photos of myself. I’ll write about how disgusting periods are AGAIN. I’ll recount something funny that Moo did, or recall an overheard conversation, or just post photos of bizarro pictures from colouring books. And y’all indulge me, and I’ll think I’m great, until it all happens again and AGAIN and before you realise, I’m just writing the same old shit EVERY SINGLE FARKING DAY.
I started out writing this blog under the auspicious heading of ‘parent blogger’, though I didn’t claim to offer tips and handy hints on parenting. I haven’t got a farking clue what I’m doing to Moo, so I’d never presume to impose my haphazard ideas of motherhood on anyone else. I kinda just tell you what happens and hope y’all go along with it. Writing about parenting seems, dunno, a bit false of me. So I don’t.
The funny stuff gets recorded cos it’s funny, and makes me LOLZ, and I want to share it. That sort of thing happens often-ish. But sometimes, forcing the funny just doesn’t work either. I’m not in a humorous mood right now. It’ll come back, I’m sure, while in the meantime? What, more lists? Jeezus.
Blog posts that are lists – for me – are lazy. Brilliant, but lazy. I do a list post when I haven’t got a farking clue what else to write about. Just so happens that Bastards is my most viewed and commented on post to date, and THAT’S an epic list. But man alive, I wrote that in, like, two minutes. Lazy. And since then I’ve been tempted to write similar. Only called Cunts. Or Fuck-Donkeys. Or Total Arseholes. Maybe one day.
I don’t know what to write. If I’m running out of ideas, I don’t know how to generate more. Seems I’m damned if I write about the personal stuff, but that’s all I’ve got going on right now. I have the impetus and the urge to vent and to write, but not the platform nor the audience for the finished product.
Fark me this is getting technical.
Look, I’m struggling. I don’t want my blog to die. I love it too much. What can I write about?
Asda
Me: ‘I just need to stock up on some nappies. And baby wipes’
Ex-husband: ‘OK, let’s go to Asda’
Me: ‘Cool’
[we go to Asda]
Me: [frequently] ‘OMFG IT’S ONLY A POUND’
So I come back with:
nappies
wipes
cheap shoes for me
socks for him
sanitary towels (erm, for me)
razors
bubble bath
cocoa butter
biscuits
more biscuits
bread
cheese
ham
salad in a bag that’ll last about five minutes before turning brown and creepy
strawberries
apples
blueberries
more biscuits
baby food in pouches in case I feel too lazy to feed Moo properly
pesto
rice
tuna (me: ‘OMFG it’s so CHEAP! Is it on offer? For the love of Jeezus, BUY ALL THE TUNA NOW’)
and finally, the most essential…
plastic bat and ball. For Moo. It was only a pound. Honest.
I should not be allowed in supermarkets. Esp not cheapo supermarkets. That’s almost SEVENTY POUNDS worth of ‘cheap’. FFS.
What was the last thing you bought that you didn’t really need?
Lick
OK, OK it had to be done. Y’all know how I’ve licked Kevin Spacey? Well, there’s plenty of other people I’d happily take my tongue to. Oh yes. And not your regular muscled hunks either, no no. This Lick List is dedicated to the oddities we somehow INEXPLICABLY fancy, and the whole world thinks we’re mentalistic, but we don’t care, cos given half the chance, and no restraining orders (sorry Kev) we would TOTALLY and SLEAZILY lick them. ON THE FACE.
This be my Lick List. Who’s on yours? (remember: must be a bit odd. Regular smuttage-fodder not allowed)
- Tom Jones
- Brian Blessed
- Alan Rickman (that VOICE *spaff*)
- Gary Oldman
- Morgan Freeman
- Cliff Richard
- Alan Cumming
- Richard E. Grant
- Rowan Atkinson
- Kevin Costner (what is it about Kevins?)
- the weather man on my local news (I don’t know his name, Geoff summat, or Dave)
- David Mitchell (the comedian)
- David Mitchell (the author)
- Tim Dowling
- Jon Ronson
- Russell Brand (I know, I know, but I just would, OK? Just to see what he tasted like)
- the Pope
- Barack Obama
- Prof Brian Cox
- Steve Buscemi
- Danny de Vito
Oh gawd, I could go on. Please bear in mind when compiling such a list, it is a LICK list, not a shag list, or a roger gently list, or a spanking list. That’s an ENTIRELY different matter and MANY more blog posts.
So. C’mon. Who are you going to lick?
I’ve just noticed mine seem to be mostly be old men. Old, bearded men. Yikes.
Class
So I have been watching the eye-blisteringly camp-tastic Britain’s Got Talent this week. I think it’s safe to say, it’s not a programme with much class, despite the presence of uber-suave Simon Cowell – who looks like he is made out of stretched, patchy leather and veneers – and the sheer volume of gold ticker tape they use is testament to this.
But then, ITV never was class. I always think of it as the shoddy, tarnished channel. A bit ramshackle. Gaudy. The fake tan to the BBC’s light, golden, naturally sun-kissed tones (though BBC4 is, of course, pale and interesting). I don’t usually watch anything on ITV other than the big singing-and-dancing-and-spaffing contests, and even then I’m only drawn to them out of some strange compulsion, like wanting a McDonald’s, which always leaves me a faint nausea and a mouth that tastes like salty cow flaps. Watching a commercial TV channel is only slightly less beefy. Just can’t stand it.
Does this make me a snob? Probably, though I don’t think I look down on anyone for wanting to watch ITV. I generally look down on people because they’re kissing my extraordinary arse. I jest! OF COURSE I DON’T LOOK DOWN ON PEOPLE. You actually just don’t LOOK at people while they pay sweet homage to your extraordinariness, cos it gives them an inflated sense of purpose, and I need to control the peasants somehow.
Mahahaha! Oh, you know me well enough by now to know I spout utter nonsense. Yet I’ve been turning this class business around in my head space and, after some gin, a cavalcade of biscuits and a vodka douche, have come up with a list: a list of class.
So what is class? And what is not? Cast your eyes there below and see if you agree with me! And what have I left out? Leave your answers in my usual comments receptacle…
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Class |
Not Class |
|
Boots |
Superdrug |
|
Eastenders |
Hollyoaks |
|
Olives |
Sundried tomatoes |
|
Gin |
Vodka |
|
Starbucks |
Costa |
|
Cerrie on Cbeebies |
Katy on Cbeebies |
|
Doc Marten’s |
UGGs |
|
Grazia |
Heat |
|
Log fires |
Central heating |
|
|
|
|
Diamonds |
Plastic |
|
Unicorns |
Dragons |
|
Sunshine |
Rain |
|
Chanel |
Primark |
|
Neighbours |
Home and Away |
|
Marmite on toast |
Jam on toast |
|
Apples |
Bananas |
|
Grey |
Orange |
|
Trees |
Yukkas |
|
No pets |
Pets |
|
Short and square |
Long and pointy |
|
Witches |
Vampires |
|
West |
East |
|
Cake |
Biscuits |
|
Thai takeaway |
Chinese takeaway |
|
Deal or No Deal |
Come Dine With Me |
|
His Dark Materials |
Harry Potter |
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Foxes |
Badgers |
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Arse |
Boobs |
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Libraries |
Pubs |
|
Geoff |
Jeff |
|
Blogging |
Not blogging |
Bastards
Today it is raining like a bastard. Rain is going on my list of bastards.
Yes, that’s right. I have a list of bastards. Are you really surprised? I won’t JUSTIFY anything on my list. It just is.
The list of bastards includes:
Cats.
Cling film.
Teenagers.
Bus drivers.
Daily Mail.
Waiting rooms.
Olives.
Boden.
Flannels.
Fearne Cotton.
Toenails.
Wasps.
Cranberries.
Tumble driers.
Banks.
Cheap jewellery.
Coronation Street.
Pastel pink.
Shower curtains.
2011.
Student Loans Company.
…oh, and rain.
I could go on. I could continue this list UNTIL THE END OF TIME. But look at me having all the fun! Join me, why don’t you.
What goes on the list of bastards? Leave your answer in my box of comments.
ABC
‘Words, words, words…’ said Hamlet, as he ponced about his huge fuck-off castle in Denmark, moping cos his uncle is shagging his mum. Or something. But he had a point. As do I. Hang on. I’ll get there.
Ah yes! Words. Fab, aren’t they? Can’t do without them. I need them for swearing, and shrieking at Moo. And now I need them for a meme that the wonderfully luscious (Just) Above Average Mummy has tagged me in, aptly called the ABC Award.
ANOTHER AWARD! I’m just collecting them like, er, trophies. I need a cabinet. All I have to do is describe myself using ALL THE LETTERS OF THE ALPHABET. I shall try not to use the words ‘gin’ ‘biscuit’ or ‘unicorn’. *chews fingernails*
Aaaaaaargh
Bagina
Cumberbitch
Doughnut
Ephemeral
Fabulous
Generous
Hot
Icky
Juicy
Kick-ass
Loon
Muff
Nonsensical
Onerous
Phantasmagorical
Quite
Rubbish
Supernatural
Testicular
Upside-down
Voracious
Wham-bam
X marks the spot
Yes, yes, yes
Zoo member
I am seriously making myself laugh here. Can anyone really describe themselves as testicular? Well, I just did. I JUST DID. Put that in your metaphorical smoking instrument and stuff it up your arse. To be honest, I could spend all day choosing words to describe me. It is such good fun. But the Moo needs some attention, so I’d best swan off, but not before nominating the next recipients of the ABC Award…
Good luck, minions!
Things To Do Before I’m 40
OH. MY. GAWD. ALMIGHTY.
I am going to be FORTY YEARS OLD in about 7 years time. FORTY.
That is POSITIVELY DECREPIT.
And now Living With A Hoarder And 2 Princesses has TAGGED me in a meme which has THROWN THE FACT THAT I’M GOING TO BE FORTY SOON-ISH INTO MY FACE AND BEATEN ME SENSELESS with it.
Make a list? Of things I want to do before I’m forty? FECK ME. Where do I start? Do they have to be realistic, i.e. sort out the mould in the bathroom, or totally fantastical, i.e. dress my unicorn in rainbow lights and ride it to the moon and back?
To be brutally honest, I’ve not really considered what I want to have achieved by the time I reach that milestone age. I kind of just want to reach next week with all my wits intact. But I’m not one to turn down a challenge, as that troubadour from Mongolia found out to his cost when I whipped his ass at a game of strip poker. Anyway. I digress.
So this is my list of things to do before I’m forty… *sigh* *weep* *self-flagellate with rusty coat-hooks*
Write another book, AT LEAST one more
Visit a country that is NOT in Europe
Learn to tango
Do some sword-fighting
Ride a horse (so different to unicorn travel)
Go to a music festival of some sort…
…which kind of ties in with the ‘go camping’ thing too
Go to Antwerp/Oslo/Rio
Meet all the bloggers I want to meet
Find the perfect pair of boots
Get a proper hair cut
Stop getting spots
Learn to ride a bike
Lick Benedict Cumberbatch
To smoke something, probably a cigarette, just to see what it’s like
To kiss a woman
To wear a proper ballgown to some really really posh do
Would love to win an award for something (spaffing?)
Get a manicure
Buy a Romany caravan and park it in my back garden to use as a writing shed
See the Aurora Borealis
Punch someone
Meet Regina Spektor and shake her hand
Tap dance at the top of the Empire State Building
Buy Michael Cargill a coffee
To howl in a jungle and scare the crap out of some monkeys
Put on a diamond necklace that costs more than my house is worth, just for a bit
See lions in the wild
And…
Um…
Erm…
I get the feeling that this is the type of list that one can add to as one thinks of things within the moment. For instance, tomorrow I might be brushing my teeth and think ‘Yes! YES! That’s it! I WANT TO HAVE MY TONGUE SCRAPED BY A EUNUCH BY THE TIME I’M FORTY!’ and then I can just slap it on the to-do list.
If I had the gumption I’d tag some folk now but a) I wouldn’t care to judge who is under 40 or not, and b) I’m lazy.
If you have a burning desire to tell me what’s on your list, my comments box is always open. And come back in seven years and check how I’m doing.
I bet I’ve done NONE of them *hides under cushion*
Gratitude
People. Most people are bastards. This I know to be true. But here is a list of people who most definitely fall into the non-bastard category. All have helped make 2011 a truly special year for me, in one way or another.
The marvellous NotSoSlummy, who sends me gifts in the post, and wants to act out dodgy lesbian scenes from Black Swan with me whilst feeding me cake, and who I heart most verily and cannot wait to meet.
The inestimable Mammasaurus. My sister in blood. Quite literally. And the one lady who I’m pretty sure would out-smart and out-filth me at every opportunity. I look forward to rolling around in a field/graveyard/bed with her.
The beautiful trio of ladies Yellow Days, Mum of One and Melksham Mum. Without whom I would have no faith in the human race. They are all lovely, clever and thoroughly warm-hearted individuals. I want to cover them in Marmite and lick it all off.
My golfing partner and mutually exclusive stalking pal SAHDandProud. He has had a difficult time recently but never fails to cheer me up and make me smile. He means more to me than he’ll ever realise. Only he and I know there can never be enough cheese. And I’ll pester him to keep writing, until his ears bleed, probably.
The incredibly funny and talented satirical writer Michael Cargill. I am pretty sure he is slavishly devoted to me by now, so he deserves some attention. And a couple of biscuits.
The wonderful Mum2BabyInsomniac, who I might kidnap and keep in the cupboard under my stairs, so that we can stay up all night talking about deep and meaningful stuff while drinking gin and eating biscuits. Maybe not so much the deep and meaningful stuff… just more gin…
Some special sloppy kisses to Five Go Blogging, Actually Mummy, Boo and Me, Ministry of Mum, Purple Mum, Not Just A Mummy, From Fun to Mum, Hello It’s Gemma, Bibsey Mama, I Am Wit Wit Woo, HPMcQ, Pinkoddy, More Than A Mum, Not The Tiger Mum, Not My Year Off, But Why Mummy Why, Blue Bird Sunshine, Firefly Phil, Expat Baby Adventures, Dorky Mum, Flossing the Cat, Mutterings of a Fool, Goodbye Pert Breasts and Mistress Mummy. I am groping you all under my slanket as we speak.
A huge hug and squeeze to a non-blogging pal @nicolablunders who made a trip to Cardiff one of the highlights of my 2011. She is beautiful in every way.
Fecking hell, if I’ve missed anyone off I’ll feel like shit. Oh – Ordinary Parent , NLP Mum, Here Come the Girls and Cheetahs In My Shoes – I sincerely hope you’re waiting for me in a hot tub in Oslo.
And Flower Mammy, who wrote me a limerick for a Follow Friday… what a shining star in my firmament you are! *mwah*
And SAHMLovingIt – you fecund goddess – you are a legend beyond all legends. May your 2012 be filled with light and love and laughter. And lots of biscuits.
If I’ve not mentioned you and you feel rebuffed and annoyed, nil desperandum. Shout at me in the comments box and I’ll add you in with extra special fairy dust and biscuit crumbs. It’s only cos I have tears in my eyes and a wobble in my lip that I am not thinking straight.
Without much further ado, I would just like to say:
Happy New Year to you all! I love you unconditionally! Thank you.
Top 5 Ventings
Ah, end of year lists. We all like a good list. I bet there’s some quality list porn out there on the internet. Somewhere. Not that I’ve looked *deletes web history* or anything. And what better time to do it than the End Of The Year? That time of New Beginnings? The Shedding Of Skin? Or is it just me who sheds their skin? So here, readers, in all my glory – which may rub off on you, like my old skin, I’m not sure – is the top 5 ventings from the old blogaroo, as voted for by you.
I say voted, I mean I just pulled them from the Most Viewed page. Innit.
In at number one is the now infamous Muff post, in which I blog about my pubic hair. I had my highest ever page views for that. I don’t know if that says more about me or about my readers. Go figure. Anyway, it makes me laugh, and I hope you did too. Bring on the Muff Wars! Long live the muff!
Second on the list is Shitting Water. I am under no illusions here – people entering some worrying medical symptoms into Google will undoubtedly end up on my blog… and be disappointed. This early post was written after I was, er, quite ill. And hallucinated in the bathroom. Some of my best anecdotes contain hallucinations. Remind me to tell you about them one day. Enjoy!
Ooh and here’s a good’un. After a fun evening talking girl stuff with Mammasaurus (always a pleasure, never a chore) I wrote this post: The Eagle Has Landed. The title is a bit of a cryptic one, which is why I explain in the first paragraph that it’s about periods. In case any menfolk come looking for entertaining film facts. SORRY, MENFOLK, it’s just me ranting about how I have to bleeeeed every month and stink of death while I do so. Yay! If you also bleeeeed and it pisses you off, you might get a kick out of this one. A kick in the foof!
Next up is I Heart Motherhood, a serious (yeah, I can do serious) post brought about in response to an article in the uber-bible Grazia magazine, in which a lady did claim she did not love being a mother, despite loving her child in a totally regular maternal way. I posed certain questions, there was plenty of response and insightful argument, and even some mass debating. Oh no wait, that was for a different post. Anyway. I love a good mass debate, and this was some top stuff. Join in, if you like debating! Mass debating! OK, I’ll stop now.
Ah, the pride in myself just keeps swelling. Hello, here at the bottom (oo-er) of the list is my post called Bumholes, in which I blog about, um, my bumhole. Never one to shy away from salacious subjects, this was a rather slapdash and haphazard attempt to brazen out my health worries. And make sure everyone got a good laugh in the process. I’m all heart, me. If you choose to click through and read, let me apologise in advance. SORRY.
So there you have it. The top 5 posts on motherventing. For this year. Who knows to what depths we’ll all sink next year? I’m thinking bum love and jizz. Oh no, wait… *checks back catalogue* *face palm*
Happy 2012!
Word.
Bring On 2012, Baby
Oh I am SO READY for this year to be over. 2011 has royally fecked me up. It has taken me and beaten me about the shins with a big, spiky stick. The bastard.
So what may 2012 bring? Better stuff, I hope. If I were to make a list, then you could accuse me of making New Year’s Resolutions. And I don’t do those. I break those. They’re there to be broken, innit. It’s like saying, ‘I am going to start exercising and lose 3 stone and be able to fit into skinny jeans again’ and then scoffing an entire tin of lush Scottish biscuits in an hour, at the stroke of midnight, on the 1st January.
What do I want from 2012? Apart from diamond shoes, a unicorn and the moon on a stick covered in hundreds and thousands, that is?
Huh. I guess… I would like…
Moo to be happy and healthy. My friends and family to have all the happiness they deserve. The world to be a better place. And for gin and biscuits to made free on the NHS.
But for me?
I want 2012 to be the year that my writing really gets me somewhere. Whether it’s the blog *strokes the blog* or proper, actual writing *waves to book ideas at back of brain* I am determined – nay, HELL BENT – on making it work. Almost to the point where I would sell my own child to fund such escapades. Almost, I said ALMOST.
I want 2012 to be the year that all the Stuff gets sorted. I ain’t hanging on to the Stuff for much longer. Stuff is soul-sucking and exhausting, it seeps into your everyday life and taints it with murky sickness. So this coming year, I am waving goodbye to the Stuff. One way or another.
I want 2012 to be the year that I grow up. I am 33 years old. In my head, I am 17. And I act like I’m 17 a lot of the time. This is silliness and tomfoolery. I can let down a lot of people by being such a hormonal, tempestuous teen-wannabe and I don’t want to do that. Hence, the growing up. Once I’ve worked out what being a grown up means, of course. I’m hoping it’s not wearing a girdle and listening to Radio 3.
I want 2012 to be the year that I finally get what loving myself means. And no – NO – I don’t mean THAT sort of loving myself. You filthy-minded mongrels. I mean accepting me for all my flaws, physical and otherwise. For knowing that, yeah, I may have flabby bits and stretchmarks and hair that CAN’T BE BRUSHED, but some people must find me attractive. Somebody must do. And if I can believe that, then I can believe that I am capable of loving myself. Finally.
There, that’s not too much to ask for, eh? I’d like it all delivered to me by midnight, January 1st, please.
2012. BRING. IT. ON. BABY. *does feisty dance*
What are your New Year’s resolutions 2012 wish list items?
