Yearly Archives: 2007

NYE 2007

Hey Dean-o

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…
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seeking goth/pinup/burlesque NYE party hostess

Sigh… if only I lived in San Francisco: seeking goth/pinup/burlesque NYE party hostess
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Fairy Wedges

New in the gallery: NSFW Fairy & SFW Wedges
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Le Fabuleux Destin

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.
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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.
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What Katie Did Film

What Katie Did hilarity – Mini Film – Retro underwear ahoy… Sale starts 5th January
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Crap Christmas

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
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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…

Permanently Gone

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…
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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…
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Source image taken from NaokJapanese 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
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Mourning My Car Day Two

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.

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Mourning My Car

So anyway…

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…


Bye Bye My Beloved MR X

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…

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Jesus Fucking Christ


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…

Pepper garnished pupils

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
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My Child Doesn’t Get On With That Teacher

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.”
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Underneath the mango tree

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?
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McCy Party Doom

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.
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Mahoosive Linkage

Something different – Hiromi X – Longings
NSFW – 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
Deleted Images
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 mummiesKegadoru: 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
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Dearth of posting of late; aside from big events I can’t seem to muster much energy to write anything of substance on here (as substantial as navel-gazing prose can be).

I’m full-time now and the end of term can’t seem to get here fast enough; things are dragging, the kids are turning annoying and disrespectful, the usual suspects in my form are being their usual disgraceful selves and a colleague was accused of slapping a student when she tapped the back of said fucks hand to stop her from verbally abusing a learning support assistant. Le fuckin’ sigh.

My exciting underwear is still in the bag it came in, i’m getting hormonally podgy; I am so looking forward to my brief period of hibernation this weekend. I’m accompanying McCy to a corporate event-style Christmas party this Saturday to take advantage of the free food and booze and oh yeah, provide moral support; it is going to be “interesting”…

Mmmm… hibernation… cocooned topless in bed with my soft orange blanket round my shoulders and a hot water bottle against my back, hugging Patrick tightly as I imagine someone kissing my nose and gently folding me up in their arms.
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Fake Birthday Night of Doooom


Saturday night I would say that I outdid myself in the costuming department, managing to look pretty damned hot in tulle tights with seams that ran all the way up the back of my long legs before arcing up the bottom of my bottom and disappearing under my frilled burlesque pants. I wore a white scarf under a tuxedo jacket and finished the look off with a striped trilby, stripper shoes and dark eyes with vivid red lips.

Quite meI spent the majority of the evening wearing my coat over the top of everything so that if I had to move around I could conceal the fact that my arse that hung out the bottom of my skimpy coverage pants. Hee. Bobby Convey most generously gifted me two intellectual tomes of literature- Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English and Marcus Hahnemann’s Premiership Diary (eeeeeee). To cap these off she had found the above shown iron-on-patch of The British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith– I will definitely have to iron that little beauty on to something appropriate.

McCy added to the bounty with some very cute lace-edged pants (which looked a little skimpy but are surprisingly very comfortable) and wonder of wonders, Charlie Brooker’s TV book- I am reaallly looking forward to reading that one. Again, ridiculously great giftage from all my friends, but aside from the merchandise it was really good to be reminded how many good friends I have.

So, attending were Bobby Convey as Amelia Earhart rocking some awesome home made flying trousers and a rubber flying helmet, Caversham Princess in black cocktail dress as (eventually decided) Natalie Wood, Sawyer with butchered hair and turn ups as James Dean, Leia Ewok Village in white halterneck dress as Marilyn Monroe/the future dead Angelina Jolie once the wig came off, Woods, Tiger as Fred Astaire with a disturbing amount of brylcreem in his hair and McCy with voluminous hairdo as the future Amy Winehouse i.e. Dead Amy. Everyone looked fabulous and I had an excellent evening laughing, railing against things, drinking rum, lime and tonic and a variety of cocktails. I navigated myself from place to place in my heels without major incident- except for a small stumble over a dent in the tarmac whilst crossing the road. Ak.

I had not invited MW#1 to join us, just like I don’t invite him to piracy nights or any other stuff with my friends. After last year’s birthday I don’t want to have to go through the stress- not wanting to appear too close to him yet wanting to be, watching my friends finding it difficult to talk to him yet worrying that he will have no-one to talk to… remembering how he insisted on getting me a present and publicly proclaimed the fact but that the gift never materialised and he lied about it…

He apologised to me last week for not sending me a birthday text and I accepted his apology, but at the same time I still feel like i’m just one of many acquaintances, a friend he fucks because i’m easy who is zero priority the rest of the time, and I don’t want to feel like that. He covers my skin with kisses and makes me feel intensely happy and cared for yet on the odd occasion when I try and kiss him, it’s like he doesn’t want to know and I feel like a whore. A whore that inexplicably still cares…

Moving along…

The last place we went to is well known for being a very relaxed place to hang out and is that last place I would expect trouble of any sort. The clientele are generally low-key humans and the bouncers friendly and kind yet not the kind to fuck with in any way because, well, you just wouldn’t want to. Anyway, to cut a long story short, whilst drinking there some PATHETIC SCUM-SUCKING MOTHERLESS CUNT stole Bobby Convey’s bag.

Bobby coped very admirably with this calamity (I would have been visibly upset) and all the staff were very concerned and helpful because that sort of shit just doesn’t happen there. I felt crap because a friend had been fucked with and whilst I was there too. It’s not like the WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT even got much from nabbing her stuff, so WHY DO IT? Le sigh.

We decided the best thing to do was to call it a night and go back to mine via comforting Kebabish. It’s just shite when that stuff happens, and to such a lovely person too. :(

After I had successfully negotiated the excessively long flight of stairs down to the street I managed to attract the attention of three, yes three of the bouncers. They, along with seemingly the majority of the males in the vicinity were quite taken with my outfit, or should I say the lack of it. Whilst in the bar I had finally taken my coat off, so all and sundry could ogle… I was too hot you see. Honest.

I managed to refrain from contacting MW#1 despite the drink and my teh hawt outfit which I would have loved him to see (and feel the seams); whilst chatting to the bouncers it struck me- Anyone with an iota of sense would be proud to have me on their arm, and there stood I, single since the day I was born. This week I cried on the way back from work when For Once In My Life came on the radio. Go me.

Why ain’t your boyfriend with you? Why ain’t he here?
Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend.
Well, the only person I care for seems to prefer being with people far less classy than me.
Oh. Well, we’re available.
Er, you’re a little old for me I think.
I’m only 28.
Well, i’m too tall for you.
No you’re not, if you took your shoes off i’d be okay.
Oh, I never take these off… I wear them all day, to work and even to bed. It’s true.

We then discussed Bobby’s robbing and how it was totally unexpected and pretty shit, then our party left for Kebabish, cups of tea and Universal Soldier: The Return. Woo. I had a really good evening and greatly enjoyed dressing up and getting my arse out (!) but it’s just a shame that such horrible things happen to such un-horrible people.

Fake Birthday

Not quite me

Google Video Mr Monotony – Easter Parade – 1948

YouTube: Get Happy – Summer Stock – 1950

Wooooo it’s finally my fake birthday…

The haul:

– From Leia Ewok Village and Woods, Tiger My First Stripper Shoes that I will be wearing out tonight as part of my historically incorrect costume.
– Some ridiculously beauteous pants from the ever-thoughtful Caversham Princess- Silken with small ruffles along their edges all, one pink pair with tiny skulls and crossbones on (Aaarrrrrr), one with a load of spots on that has a tiny peep hole at the back that ties together with a black ribbon and two glorious tie-sided pairs in gorgeous burgundy and peacock green, proper boudoir pants eeee. There’s no-one who can fully appreciate me in my new undies except the viewers on Flickr, but i’m pretty damned happy nonetheless.

On a side note, why is it I get awesome underwear from my friends, but I have never received any from people who have supposedly found me more than lukewarm, possibly even teh hawt?

– A shocking pink orchid from Caversham Princess’s Parentals (that I am trying to not kill)
– A book on camouflage (from that IWM exhibition I went to) from the Parentals along with cash money that I can use to pay the bills (fair compensation for all the money I spent on the wedding I think)
-SUPERNATURAL SEASON ONE !!!!!!!!!!!! (yes, it really does require both capitals and fuckwit exclamation marks) and Rio Bravo from my Bro

I am now fairly excited and am at the current point quite looking forward to this evening. In case you hadn’t gathered I am supposed to be being Judy Garland- I have asked all attendees to come as dead celebrities, as part of the 27 Club idea… So I should hopefully be seeing Marilyn Monroe, James Dean (East of Eden era), Amelia Earhart and possibly Elizabeth Short amongst others. I am currently watching HOT BOY and his HOT CAR and going eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
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My First Stripper Shoes

New in the gallery: Stripper

I bought myself a birthday present in the form of a Flickr Pro account so I can go overboard with my self-portraiture… Super Sekrit Flickr Account goodness ahoy… :D

Yesterday me and Leia Ewok Village hit the town in search of costume accessories for my Fake Birthday and to visit a speciality shoe shop that I had recently been made aware of. After a fair bit of trawling we managed to find all the bits and bobs, though unfortunately Leia could not find a pair of white stilettos to her liking (fabulously, she’s being Marilyn Monroe NOT an Essex Girl).

The shoes in Puss In Boots were amazing, and me and Leia proceeded to gleefully try on a variety of platform heights and heel styles. I really wanted to try on these cool beribboned wedge heel boots but alas they were out of stock. Leia settled on a beauteous pair of black patent platforms that had red corset-style lacing on the underside and the heel- Muy muy caliente.

I tried on a towering pair of clear slip ons that had blue glittery powder in the heels and a really nice pair of grey satin trucker girl-embellished heels that were very pretty but just a little too high for me to cope with- I almost fell on my arse twice whilst gingerly parading backwards and forwards in front of the shop mirror. They even had the clear Tip Jar shoes which you can buy little light-up balls that you can shove inside the sole. Ooh, light up pirate shoes.

I settled on a pair of these patent black beauties as shown above- Not too high for me to cope with even with the 5″ spike heel, a little long on my foot but still picturesque and surprisingly comfortable to walk around in- They have a very thick foot bed; I suppose this is for the comfort of their usual adult entertainment customers. Girl’s gotta earn…

Leia Ewok Village and Woods, Tiger very generously bought me two-thirds of my lovely new shoes as a birthday present… Thank You! I wore them out later dahn tahn for a trial run- After making ninety-eight per cent of the journey there in my flats of course- They (and by extension I) were pretty damned hot to look at when I caught sight of my reflected self in the shop windows. Although they are not obscenely high they still give the proper look of the stripper shoe, and for around half the price of the ones found in Faith.

I managed the majority of the evening in them successfully navigating slick pavement, raised ironwork and cracks between floorboards (the heel is that sharp) but had to admit defeat when a patch of tactile paving near some traffic lights caused me to stumble and my ankle cried NO. My flats were soon retrieved.

Strangely, all the men who took an interest did not praise my new shoes- They liked my cherry red tights. What do they know about style… Fucking Ben Sherman toting motherfuckers… Of course if one of them happened to be MW#1 and he complimented me on my shoes i’d stupidly be all eeee…

The rest of my presents are still unwrapped. I’m doing well…
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Wedding Report Twenty Seven

one of the many chandeliers en l'hotel

So here we go… A roundup of my weekend.

the Bride wore ivory, that's ivory, NOT oyster

My cousin The Bride looked gorgeous in a custom-made ivory gown that cost €1600- That is ivory people, not cream or oyster or white- ivory. The shoes that cut her feet to ribbons cost €400; apparently the first thing she’s going to do upon reaching the honeymoon location of Barbados is get a pedicure… These were the shoes that you could barely see poking out from under her voluminous skirts by the way…

The wedding service was rather disgracefully religious and I pointed out to all and sundry the story of Lillith in comparison to the story of Adam’s Rib presented in the order-of-service. It was all deadly serious in the church but at least at the end the groom gave my cousin a big happy snog at the altar. Eeee.

everyday accessory in the drawing room

The after show was held in a beautiful castle hotel and wonder of wonders, I got a room to myself, which was even better as I did not have to pay and it was far, far away from my parents. Hoorah. When me and my Mum went to check my room out she commented on how it was a nice treat for my birthday; I pointed out that it was not like I was staying there for my birthday- It was merely a side effect of someone else’s party…

my room the morning after

I spent my one night in the loveliest room I had ever stayed in- A huge wooden sled-style bed topped with a delightfully silken crushed velvet throw, with lots of dark wood and leather. It was also very big and the Molton Brown toiletries (yes, all stolen by myself) were used to good effect in the big-enough-for-two porn-style shower- I highly recommend the Heavenly Gingerlily Shower gel… Mmm silky…

velvety goodness

There were around 100-150 guests at a guess and we had a four course meal- I had smoked salmon, carrot and coriander soup, pink grapefruit sorbet (tasted of that sharp flavour you get when you reach the stick in an ice lolly), the most delicious fillet of beef with red wine jus (hello mister gravy) and a chocolate tarte. All super-delish and I was close to exploding out of my dress by the end (the stomach not the boobs people).

rocking out with the band

The music came courtesy of a swing band (with an excellently mohawked lead singer) who were awesome and after attempting one dance the giant blue wedges came off and I bounced around to the point of nausea in my beseamed stockinged feet only. I thought my outfit came off pretty well- I was sooo pleased I upped the ante and bought the swirly dress (THANKS DAVE)- my fascinator was voted best headgear, which was a fucking feat when looking at all the expensive hats others were wearing. The morning after the Mother of the Bride, not known for being the most cuddly of people actually said I looked beautiful- And I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me, not even my Mum.

ante upping

I managed to keep the boozing to my limits and I mixed with all pretty well; I must say though I was really glad to escape my parents when we left, especially my Dad, who was as predicted being a bit of a prick… Guesstimates amongst the attendees were on around €30-50k spent for the entire wedding weekend. Seriously.

I felt pretty good all weekend, with not a single tear shed nor did I isolate myself or feel like a big giant loser in such fancy company. Even my night alone in the lovely room was grand although I did spend a while wishing I had someone to share my bed with so that we could make full use of the furniture and shower, so I had someone to curl up with under the soft velvet throw and who would sling me over their shoulder and carry me across the gravel drive when my shoes temporarily disabled me. I resorted to trainers.

On the way back the train was delayed, me and my Bro had to get a taxi to the airport as were were late, that got stuck in traffic and after racing to check-in and then to the gate I found that my flight was delayed by over an hour. When we finally did land there was no gate to go so so we had to wait for steps and buses to get off the plane and into the terminal; the steps did not turn up for ten minutes then the baggage took fifteen minutes to come out and by the time I got the bastard coach back home it was just shy of midnight. So I got around about five minutes of my birthday. No birthday kiss for me, as per usual.

I passed most of the nightmare train, taxi and plane journey thinking sordid thoughts about MW#1, but by the time I was on the coach home I was composing variations on a goodbye letter. After I didn’t receive a birthday text it struck me that I would goddamn definitely send one for his birthday, and the fact that I did not just showed the level of botheredness he has about me and how it’s just another small example of how he does not seem to give much of a fuck and how everything is so unequal. Questions are going to be asked.

Anyway, I was thinking of cancelling the upcoming costumed fake-birthday party as I felt quite down when I got home, but I guess it gives a focal point over the festive season. I am keeping all my cards and presents unopened until then, though this relies on my willpower remaining resolute…

Fucking hell… the festive season :( Another New Year spent wishing I could get a kiss from someone I cared for come midnight- This keeps the one-hundred percent record of no-shows intact. Woo. It’s like if no-one who loves me is willing to spend the evening with me i’d much rather be completely alone, well just me, Patrick and a DVD for company.

I am so washed out- Shower then bed I think. Maybe some Molton Brown action. Le sigh. Whenever I sit down for any period it is rather painful to stand up- My calves are very sore from either the stacked heels or the excessive dancing or an electrolyte imbalance from the drinking, eating and travelling or DVT from the plane. All I know is they’re sore and need a massage. Humph.
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I’m back. I’m alive. My birthday has passed. The wedding went well. I managed not to shed any tears all weekend. Things around the wedding did not go so well i.e. the travel and the behaviour of my Dad. Quelle surprise. I feel more than a little glum. Work in a few hours. Joy oh joy. More later.
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Water Wall

Reading the ridiculousness of this article about designing the every day for the statistically improbable I looked up one of the companies mentioned and found this interesting video of their product:

Waterwall Technology
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Into The Breach

Off I go once more into the breach… Wedding of the Decade weekend starts tomorrow…

A few months ago I decided what to wear to my cousin’s upcoming nuptials; I knew exactly what I was going to wear and with what accessories. Come this week I realised that it was not going to be glam enough (thanks Dave) and so spent hours trawling round the shops looking for something appropriate.

Sadly, the majority of the pretty or sophisticated stuff on offer in most of the shops was around 100 quid over my budget. I found myself fighting to hold back the tears in House of Fraser as I looked at what I knew all the young professionals would be wearing- all of which I could not afford, all of which could not be justified as investment purchases as I had no personal events to wear them to and no-one to wear them out with. Anyway… over an hour later I managed to find a great dress for the majestic price of £45- strapless, black and white swirls, silky, prom-style; I even bought a goddamned fascinator. Yes. Really. I’ll look really lovely getting rained on.

All this cash being dropped for someone else’s party… and I will be spending my birthday escaping my family and travelling home. Funtastic. I know that at the wedding I will still feel awkward and like a pleb in comparison to the well-groomed professionals, that my Dad will make some disgustingly inappropriate comment about my appearance and that I will spend most of the evening sat at a table on my own. I am not sure whether drinking will help, i’m thinking i’ll try and keep it to a minimum and maybe slope off to my hotel room and read a book. Unfortunately I am going to be sharing with my Mum, so I can’t even feel glum in private. Eeee.
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Giant Linkage Two

Help Me – Exhibition featuring These Are Their Stories – Watercolours of L&O: SVU corpses

Forgotten NY

NSFW Planet Unicorn – A planet of gay unicorns

My Zombie Eye – Freeeaky tattooed eyeball

NSFW Forget-me-not – SHOWstudio

Exhibitionist spiny anteater reveals bizarre penis

Monster Crochet: The Saw That Dripped Blood…SCARF! – Crochet saw

The Glove That Saves Lives – PopSci – Resuscitation helper

J SMITH ESQUIRE – RCA show – Millinery of a dark and interesting nature

Lucha Britannia

NSFW Ejaculation ethics – Smut and Steff

Art about Life – Art Net – Skull Show Art

NSFW Paradis Magazine – High quality nudity of a thought-provoking sort
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Giant Linkage

Palatine Half Cup Bra – Aubade – Pretty ruching, alas not in my size – Silkstorm

everything you never wanted to know about crohns disease – vented spleen – Comic created in 24 hours

World’s Weirdest Moths

Star Wars Crafts – Jabba the Puppet – Awesome full-sized homemade Hutt

Animal Rights Extremists Wreck Scientist’s House – Denialism- ethylmethyldeath sounds poetic

The ethnobiology of voodoo zombification – Neurophilosophy


NSFW Hel-Looks SWAT – Something Awful – Slagging off the fashion freaks of Helsinki

I Was Peckinpah’s Girl Friday – Really engaging portrait of Sam Pekinpah’s lover/ assistant/ punch bag/ dialogue writer Katy Haber


Glass harmonica – Angelic Organ of Evil – Instrument to drive you to Satan

Human Sexuality Image Bank

NSFW I Am Elena & Lost in Fucking Translation – Disturbing yet effective anti-trafficking campaign from the Helen Bamber Foundation

whitney music box var. 8 – chromatic – 88 organ pipes, rev.

Exhibition @ Infovis’07 – Collections as an approach to information visualization

Animation Backgrounds

NSFW When the Hunted Becomes the Hunter – Reverse Cowgirl – The simply amazing work of the artist Laurel Nakadate

Project Facade – Plastic surgery post-battlefield

Torture and death via Exposure in animal skin & Crocodile shears

Why has the world gone pink mad? It’s the colour of hypocrisy, gingivitis and all things girly – Germaine Greer rant

How to Say I Love You by Paul Ford – A list sarcastic and true

Action T4 – Nazis ridding the world of retards

Astley Clarke – Super gorgeous jewellery that is superly unaffordable

Paint It Black – Sight & Sound – Michael Mann on the colour of night

Ikea as walk-in videogame – David Byrne

I Can Feel the Soil Falling Over My Head – One D At A Time – Loss

Book Dust – “Books (many culled from dumpsters and thrift store bins) are lovingly vandalized back to life so they can assert themselves against the culture which turned them into debris.”

Constraint City – Map made of pain – Walk the streets and feel it

Tony Vaccaro – Soldier photographer to rival Capa, who lived without the glamour

Swastika Night – Orwellian fantasy from a female perspective
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