Yearly Archives: 2007
So i’m sort of looking forward to this evening’s non-event; I say sort of in that being on my own on the sofa in front of Star Wars is better than feeling glum in public, but at the same time I wish aspects of my life were very different and I will certainly be feeling a teensy bit down.
An analysis of this year’s resolutions:
1. Complete my NQT induction without doing any more supply.
FAIL. I had to do more supply, I had to take money from the government. I still don’t have a permanent full-time job. I did however manage to get a term of my induction completed so will have finished my NQT year by Summer 2008.
2. Do more kissing.
FAIL. I did a little bit of kissing, but not in any way as much as I would have liked. By the end of this year I felt like I was sliding into non-entity status with MW#1, and he is the only person even vaguely willing to kiss me and not that he wants to know 99% of the time the only person I would currently consider kissing- greasy drunken pricks of the world take note. I’d of course make an exception for Jensen Ackles, especially if he took me for a ride in the Metallicar. Eeeee.
3. Continue to melt and become more confident even if my heart is crushed again and again. Have faith in the innate goodness of people and resist becoming embittered courtesy of my treatment at the hands of others; know that I will prevail eventually.
NOT ENOUGH DATA. I don’t know about that aim; I can say that I feel crushed and embittered and unable to trust. I don’t see myself meeting anyone in the next five years, if ever. I honestly feel like the time to meet anyone has passed and that my job, the people I know, the places I go means that I won’t meet anyone.
Of course, the evil flame of hope flickers weakly inside of me but if i’m realistic about things I would say that the chances of me finding anyone to be something other than a friend is quite low.
One positive thing is that I think that even taking into consideration my flaws, I am pretty fucking awesome as a human being- smart and funny and interesting and as a female I can be teh hawt on occasion. So on the self value front I suppose i’m okay there, but in my head self value is different from self worth; self worth is what has been crushed by the men I have loved, in that I know I am great but they choose another/others over me every damned time. I know i’ll prevail, but that will mean I will be alone.
Resolutions for 2008? I will have to think…
Sigh… if only I lived in San Francisco: seeking goth/pinup/burlesque NYE party hostess
After the crap of picking up the remains of MR X I had an extremely enjoyable evening by myself- A night marooned under my blanket in front of the polar opposites of Prime Suspect: The Final Act and Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain.
The Final Act was my first taste of Prime Suspect whereas I have seen and shed tears over Amélie before; I find I can empathise with Mme Poulain’s need to be loved and all the silly things she is interested in. By the end of the night I felt relaxed and very calm, like i’d been given a good rub down and then placed in between crisp clean bedsheets. Of course, I was all alone save for the company of some cheese.
I think i’ll go through a brief phase of taking extra pleasure in being langurous… Pay close attention to where my fingers rest when i’m washing myself in the shower and how the water runs down my shoulders, stretch out like a big cat when I wake up, indulge.
I long as always for someone to join me in the shower and slide my water-darkened hair off my shoulders, to enjoy making my hair into a mohawk whilst shampooing and to massage shower gel along my back and wash the foam from my legs… Basically I feel the need to be taken care of for a little while but as there’s no-one to wipe the droplets of shower spray from my eyelashes, I will have to stick to lingering under the hot shower.
Picked up the bits and bobs from MR X- A number plate, the old radio and various maps and manuals. I was pleased to find the little fuel book that I’d had since I got the car- A nice little record of all the miles done and the places visited.
The men at the garage found it amusing to take the piss of this lone, transportless female when I turned up. They were EXACTLY the sort of mechanics I despise- Don’t treat me like a retard because i’ve got a pair of ovaries and don’t take the piss when i’ve given you my car to scrap. Fuckers. Anyway, i’m pleased i’ve got all the stuff as I feel like I can move forward.
What Katie Did hilarity – Mini Film – Retro underwear ahoy… Sale starts 5th January
So i’m back from visiting the family and boy, am I glad. To my shame, I spent a fair bit of time thinking angry thoughts about my Mother simply because she had married my Dad. I know- BAD.
As per usual my Dad was overbearing and petty and seemed to be insulted that I did not want him to go and look for a new car for me- Because I do not have one-and-a-half grand floating about. He invaded my personal space on a regular basis and was generally kind-of-a-prick. I was happy to leave after one day but alas I had to stay for five. Ugh.
Also, he bought me a Radley bag. Yes, once again something I will NEVER wear; as he has no idea what i like, when he tries to buy me anything other than a computer he fucks it up. His greatest hits:
It started with a pure wool jumper when I was five which my Mum then insisted I wear, ignoring the fact that I complained on and on about how it was itchy and I didn’t want to wear it (my skin is sensitive to wool), then it was a Wet Wet Wet scarf when I was around twelve (I hated all boy bands), then it was perfume which was men’s eau de cologne when I was twenty, then it was perfume from JLo the next year, then it was an expensive fountain pen then it was the Radley bag. Fifty-fucking-pounds worth of Radley bag.
I tried to explain that um, a certain sort of woman wears Radley and that it really wasn’t me but my Dad and Mum insisted, with my Dad telling me that he saw it and thought it was “very me”… I have to say that is somewhat insulting. Anyway, it sits, Brand New With Tags at the bottom of a Sainsburys bag as I decide what to do with it. eBay is the best option, but i’m not sure whether I have the heart to flog it. I think I might do what i do with the rest of the inappropriate gifts and chuck the bag in my cupboard and try and forget about it.
It was SO difficult to accept the present- Oh thanks, it’s really nice, but it’s not really me, no, a certain sort of woman wears these, i’m not sure when i’d wear it, thanks… How do you accept a present you don’t want without seeming ungrateful?
So although it was lovely to see my Mum and brother I am very glad to be back with Patrick and the orange blanket and my personal space. I have to go and collect the remains from my car this afternoon but then I am free from commitments for another week or so hooray.
I can browse the underwear sales and keep up with the Bhutto assassination- I suggest you read dave’s post that sums up what I feel about the whole situation. I was genuinely shocked when I heard- Such a terrible end for such a brave woman…
davenotdave – Benazir Bhutto
I’m off up north to spend as few days as possible en famille…
I hope everyone has a low-stress-as-possible few days…
So I got MR X back… but then I had to part with him permanently… :(
I did not choose to have my car stolen, nor did I choose it to be nicked at this time of year. For the privilege of being a victim of crime I had to part with £105 to cover the cost of my car being picked up from where he was found (approximately 200m away) and towed miles away to be forensic’d- Then he would have needed around £150 spent on him to fix the wiring on the ignition. All of this added up to more than the car was worth, so I said they could go ahead and scrap him :(
Well, I didn’t tell them, my Dad did, as after getting a second opinion from him I couldn’t communicate my wishes to the garage- Tears streamed down my face and goo ran from my nose onto the notebook page I had written all the details down on making small blurry craters. Pathetic but true. I am so sad that a car that was otherwise running fine is essentially being binned because of bureaucracy.
I will go and collect the junk left over and the number plates at the end of next week. Merry Christmas indeed…
MR X HAS RETURNED!!!!!!
Recovered locally and in one piece the lady poh-leece told me- except for the transmission, so he could still be a write off… :(
At least I can give him a proper good-bye if he is too expensive to fix.
I am happy! Celebratory steak and a blowjob beckons… Well, steak and chips given my lack of a cunnilingerer…
I have to ring the garage where he is being stored on Saturday to see if he is fixable; Scenes Of Crime has to check him out first. Apparently it was found only a few streets over when someone noticed two people fucking with it and chased them off.
If he is fixable the first thing I will do is get him cleaned inside and out and then drive to Halfords and buy a steering lock.
Please be fixable…
Source image taken from Naok – Japanese Dog’s Tooth Violet
Today my hire car (a metallic blue Punto) was delivered to school by a nice young Eastern European man sporting questionable English. I had it for all of twenty minutes before I had to give it back. Yes, it sat in the car park- I didn’t even get to drive it. And yes, I had to go cry in the staff toilet because it’s all so fucked up.
I was told by my insurance company that because MR X was worth so little, with the excesses and the remaining premium taken off I would actually owe the insurers money and lose two years of no claims. So I had to cancel the claim and give the temporary car back.
So I pay out money for fully comp, I add extra hire car cover on top and for what? I might as well have bought third party only. What the fuck was the point? I am without a car due to no fault of my own- WHY do I not receive ALL the money?
When stationary MR X was crashed into whilst he was parked on the street WHY did I not receive ALL of the money it cost to fix him? I had NOTHING to do with the accident, nor did I leave my car unlocked or leave anything in it to tempt the THIEVING MOTHERLESS CUNTS who have pilfered it. Fuck your excesses- If I am not at fault and not exactly involved in what has befallen my car, GIVE ME MY MONEY.
Only another day and a half until the end of term, and it can’t come quickly enough, even if I have to remove myself from my comfort zone and head towards family strife… I have lots of kind emails and comments to reply to but I be seriously tired and bed and blanket is beckoning…
Not as wonderfully weird as Renzo Cesana or as lovely as Holiday but I’ll leave you with some Frank… Sinatra, Frank – Violets For Your Furs – YouTube
Still no sign of MR X. He is gone forever but every time I walk round the corner to my street I look to see if he has come home… :(
The bus to work thing is actually okay – Not too much hassle – All I have to do is walk for ten minutes to the bus stop then sit on the bus for twenty minutes or abouts before a five minute walk to the school site. It’s more the ability to decide to go somewhere or stop at the supermarket on the way home and stock up that sucks.
I’m getting a hire car tomorrow but it’s only for a maximum of twenty-one days- So I will be able to get to work this week without the help of the bus but then i’m off work for two weeks. After the break I will only be able to use it for a day or so before I have to give it back, so I will be able to transport myself to my place of work for a mere three days. Not exactly helpful.
I am desperate for the end of this week to come and for me to be rid of my form; I am giving them yet another DT tomorrow yet I feel bad because it is the same toerags who piss about every time, to the very great detriment of the other members of the class.
I last saw my car on Saturday afternoon as I wandered back from town with party produce. I came out this morning to drive to work and I was like, oh, did I not park my car where I thought I did, or… oh, it’s gone hasn’t it…
Not a trace. No broken glass on the pavement, nothing, just no car. I managed to phone the necessary poh-leece, insurance and work people perfectly calmly until I called my Mum to let her know and then I was weeping down the phone. Tres embarrassing.
I got into work over an hour late and proceeded to weep in front of colleagues as I regaled them with my tale of woe- Muy embarrassing again. Then at the end of the day it took me an hour to get home via foot, train and bus whilst periodically freezing my already petite tits off where it would usually take me twenty minutes.
So I have no car and I have no money to buy another. I will probably get around £25 once all the excess etc is taken off, even after all the money I have spent insuring the poor thing. Why steal such an admittedly crappy car when there are much juicier options to be had? So I face spending even more money making my way slowly to work via bus or train; at least I only have to do it for a week before I get a break but I am dreading making the daily trek so early in the morning come the new year.
Why I am sad and angry:
I loved that car. It was my friend. It had been reliable and got abused for its troubles- Crashed into by morons, kicked in by pricks and broken into and vomited on by drunken bastards. It was boxy and simple and Teutonic in design and could fit lots and lots of my junk in the back. It was a pleasing shade of dark metallic blue. I liked the clean clicking of its indicators and the throaty noise of its engine and I liked that it was nearly twenty years old and still kept going.
When most people were on their third car it was still my first, and it had faithfully transported me and my stuff around the country without enough servicing for over seven years. Sure there were things that I didn’t like about it- The increasing cost of fixing problems, the blown bulb on the dash, the manky wheel covers, the lack of power steering, the ice on the inside of my windscreen in the morning, but I loved it for all its flaws. I was overjoyed when it managed to pass its MOT this year with only a solitary bulb needing replacing.
I hate to think of my poor little car being violated somewhere, probably being stripped of whatever it has that’s worth something over a fiver or being pissed on or set on fire. It didn’t deserve to go out that way and I feel like I let it down. I am sorry MR X, I forgive your conking out in traffic, your squealing fan belt and your lack of decent demisters… I want you back and I want you in one piece….
Come back my boxy little friend…
My battered, non-high performance, difficult to start, beloved car appears to have been stolen. I came out this morning to find my poor little car had vanished without a trace. Merry fucking Christmas…
More later when i’m not at work…
After an enjoyable weekend (more on that later) an online conversation with MW#1 has left me feeling profoundly glum. It was about Christmas and New Years- All sorts of unpleasant feelings were stirred up and whilst typing I had to swathe myself in my orange blanket to comfort myself and staunch the flow of tears.
I really don’t want to go back to the family home for Christmas- I don’t want the fuss, the strife the invasion of privacy yet I must because I don’t want to make my Mum sad (and that is important); I wish my Mum and brother could come and visit me and we could leave my Dad out of everything. I don’t have any excuse not to go either as I lack a partner’s family to invade.
I am very glad that I will have the house to myself come NYE… I will be able to curl up in my blanket with Patrick and together we can ignore the rest of the world. I remember last year’s NYE– In a house full of friends I curled up alone in a bedroom and in a text conversation with MW#1 he told me that he loved me, that he wanted to be in my life then he dumped me. In all certainty he was wasted so aside from the dumping he probably didn’t even mean what he wrote, nor could he remember…
Ridiculously, even if it was just drunken grandstanding those words on the screen lodged in my heart like a tiny splinter and I have continued to carry around the burning wound that resulted. This year he has ignored me for months upon end, has invited me out for a drink unbidden once and his behaviour has driven me to tears on more and more frequent occasion; I have cried a lot this year.
Is it all an act? When he holds me, kisses my forehead and loops his fingers through mine- Is it all a lie? The positive side of me thinks that it isn’t all a fabrication, that he does indeed care, does love me but is held back because he is fully aware of his own flaws. The cynical side of me thinks that I am a decent fuck and he enjoys my skin a little too much.
Whatever the answer is, I still care for him deeply and cutting him off will be intensely painful. I am decidedly low priority in his life whereas he is of great importance in mine- MW#1, the individual who is barely in my life yet means so much. Le sigh.
So today’s conversation reminded me of NYEs past and future and upset me quite a lot. What would a great NYE be? I guess a night out with someone who thought I was the greatest thing in their life and who also appreciated the way the rubber dress I was wearing clung to my body; dinner then copious drinks before being slung over their shoulder and taken home for a seriously good seeing to. Perfecto.
On a more basic, low cost level, sleepily curling up under my orange blanket with someone who would rub my back and keep me warm whilst pushing my tangle of hair out of my face would be just as delicious…
Alas, for the foreseeable future I will have to keep clutching my hot water bottle to my back and continue hugging myself under hot showers. When I hot showered for comfort today my tears still felt hotter than the water that streamed down my face- A most peculiar sensation. Y’all should try it sometime…
BBC: Eye Spray Used On Unruly Pupils
That’s right, hit them with the pepper spray and see if they say “you can’t touch me”
I aim to make it to Friday without going nuclear because of my form; I sick to fucking death of my class of ladies which contains far too high a proportion of arrogant, pathetic, self-absorbed bitches and I am close to getting THE RAGE.
The thing is, they don’t give a fuck, they really don’t. The same horrible pupils laugh at me every time when I get mad and start to shout; today I managed to keep the lid on but I was sorely tempted to try and break my hand by punching the classroom’s door in as I was finally rid of them.
A class-full of year 8’s were whining on today about how it was too cold for them to take their coats, scarves and gloves off (we were inside at the time); I had asked them then told them a couple of times to do so- I did The Scary Voice- “When I ask you to take your outerwear off I expect you to do so!” without even consciously setting out to do so and they quickly complied. The room fell quiet but still one little madam sitting at the front said, “Oh but Miss, you’re wearing a jacket-” and pointed to my hoodie.
Fixing her with a stare “Well done” said I, “Well done on saying that; I’ll just take my jumper off” (i began to remove my hoodie) “and teach in my shirtsleeves shall I whilst you all get to keep your jumpers on? And right at the start of the lesson too, well done…” She shut up then. I taught in my shirtsleeves for the hour. FUCKS.
My boss enjoyed The Scary Voice, but as it erupted out of me out of nowhere I was a little concerned- I need control rather than THE RAGE kicking off and I know it would be so very easy to go medieval on their arses and say something I would later regret. Carefully, carefully…
TES Behaviour boards
The common refrain:
“My child’s behaviour is poor in that teacher’s lesson because he/she is new/ young/ nice/ female/ male/ too strict/ too lenient etc.”
Delightful words of wisdom from the TES boards:
“Your child’s behaviour is their own choice. If they CHOOSE to misbehave, then they have to accept the punishment. Not every child misbehaves for this teacher, so it is YOUR CHILD’S FAULT if they do so. Now fuck off and bring your child up properly.”
I seem to have been spending a large amount of money lately on yes, Christmas presents but mostly I must admit on myself. Hot looking underwear, nice clothes, sex toys- Things I actually want as opposed to what I will find under the tree on Christmas morning. So I figured spending my birthday money buying things that no-one will appreciate me in or share with me will make me happy. Eeee.
On that subject: Knickers Blog has a bargain section– Low and behold SPANK is having a sample sale until this Thursday: Twenty-five percent off pretty pretty silken things if you follow the link. I have ordered two pairs of knickers- including the fab JB knicks in bright pink… if some items I have been teased with materialise, these will go very nicely…
Somehow I am still not quite Honey Ryder…
Underneath the mango tree
Me honey and me can watch for the moon
Underneath the mango tree
Me honey and me make boolooloop soon
If me honey and me were on a deserted stretch of beach and the hot sun made the wearing of a two-piece feasible then I might go for it and wear a bikini; me honey would of course have to tell me that my stomach flab was cute and that the cellulite raking up my legs was visually pleasing. And if a tan, thin and blessed with a rack woman wandered by he would have to say that yes, she’s got nice tits however i’m more than happy with your handfuls and your arse is better.
I wonder if anyone i’ve been intimate with has ever imagined I was someone else?
I spent Saturday night accompanying McCy to her office party, which was an organised, corporate type event that had the theme of “From Russia With Love”. This meant fake Cossack dancing, terribly dressed burlesque girls and the delightful odour of jet fuel pervading the air courtesy of two fire dancers. Oh, and lest I forget, dodgems.
The food was not particularly appetising involving chicken and unidentifiable hard vegetable matter but it was free and I got to consume a fair amount of just-about-drinkable red (which was again gratis); her co-workers were all very lovely people and I got to have an in-depth conversation about traumaphilia and conceptual art with someone who didn’t laugh or get weirded out. So pretty good.
The place was filled with people who had obviously spent big money on buying outfits specifically for the event, but of course McCy and me did no such thing; McCy looked boobalicious in a tight black number whilst I decided to wear a slinky stripy sweater dress (a sweater dress I actually don’t look fat in woo) with my bone jumping boots. I cannot understand why on earth everyone had spent such money nor why you would choose to get pissed and make a move on a co-worker who you then have to work with for the rest of your year.
True to form, I didn’t jump anyone’s bones nor get jumped by anyone although I did have to give some corporate type a peck on the cheek so that I could steal two lonely looking bottles of wine on a nearby table. I felt DIRTY.
Something different – Hiromi X – Longings
NSFW Wolltraum.de – Jumper fetishwear
NSFW Naughty Needles – Saucy knits – Knit your own fetish wear with some free patterns
Island Blues – Koop – Missing from life
NSFW Droplets – Bad Influence Girl – Traces of intimacy
The Laptop Club – Kids design laptops
The Biggest Chandeliers In The World – Architectural classics
Jason Salavon – AWESOME artist – Amongst other works, the Ikea Catalogue colour averaged
Buffalo’s Grain and Storage Elevators
Marie Antoinette – Film stills – Sugar frosted fantasy
Deer Makes Elegant Leap Right Over Cop Car – Video
The Last Days of Chris Benoit – Maxim
Petrichor – The smell of rain
Resistentialism – “Les choses sont contre nous”
Star Trek’s 10 Cheesiest Classic Creatures
Buddy Rich vs. Animal drum battle – YouTube
Cheese Wedding Cakes – Fine Cheese Co. – If Bobby Convey ever gets hitched…
Kapelle Versoehnung – Chapel of Reconciliation
Murmer – contextual and decontextualized sound activity – radio
Recreating Movement – Computer program for analysing film sequences
Lili-li Ruffle Padded Balcony Bra – Madame V – Red hot pretty
Coelogyne pandurata – Black Orchid
Love You Inside Out – Bee Gees
Military Deceptions – Strange Harvest – WWII camo
Razzle-Dazzle: WWI cubist paint-jobs for battleships
Before They Make Me Run – Keith Richards vs. The Canadian Police
I Who Have Nothing – Tom Jones – Cocksman extraordinaire
Designer Sleep Mask – Insect eyes
The Intoxicating Birds of New Guinea – Poisonous bird life
Most poisonous creature could be a mystery insect – What makes Poison Frogs poisonous
ARKive video clips- Blue bird-of-paradise – Paradisaea rudolphi, Seychelles paradise-flycatcher – Terpsiphone corvina and the cool-looking Darwin’s frog – Rhinoderma darwinii
Internet Bird Collection – Videos galore
Indigobird – Exotic Cuckoos
Violet Blue on why I long to be taken out
Square America – Snapshots into the past
Fatal familial insomnia – Genetic disorder where you don’t sleep for months, go mad then you die
NSFW Ashley Hope – Ripeness Is All – Picturesque murder victims
VRMag – Virtual exploration
Todd Hido – Photographer – Great images of homes at night
Ghost Rider – Fuckwit motorcyclist
Ten Inch Hero – HOT BOY with a mohawk, wearing a skirt and eye liner- Sausagefest ahoy…
125 MAGAZINE – Strip Club interiors
NSFW Behind Every Great Woman – Hot
Strictly No Photography
The Human Marvels – Freakish anatomies
NSFW One-eyed virginal maid mummies – Kegadoru: Injured Idol Fetish
Top 10 Craziest Star Wars Tattoos – The Force in the Flesh
Russian fighter jet can stop in mid-flight
FreeRice – Expand your vocab and fill someone’s stomach (43’s my top)
Jon Ronson on wrestling’s superheroes, steroids and suicides