Friday, March 24, 2006

Practicing our yucky faces.

My niece has relapsed, another trip up to the hospital, they are talking about grommets and alsorts. But small-family-syndrome hit again, and despite my sisters (wise) instincts, I was minding the poor dear this morning. So we spent quite alot of it curled up under my lovely beadspread (despite the fact that she's been puking, how good am I?) on the sofa watching Cbeebies.
She's not happy with her medicine, and started crying when we tried to give it too her. I can't understand it, the medicine tastes like pepermint creams. As far as yacky (or rather 'nacky') medicines go, it quite nice. So the trade off was this, i'd have a little bit, and she could laugh at my nacky face all she liked, on the condition that she took the medicine and tried to best it.

I am such a good actress, if I do say so myself. Had her giggling her way through taking it, which just goes to show that its not actually anything to do with taste buds. The good news I suppose is that she takes her 'teddybear' medicine, the paracetamol to lower her temperature, with no problem. Cause that one make both me and my sister want to hurl from the smell alone.

A well. We made a fine pair of book ends, coughing in stereo, but apart from her being all ill and wan, it was great to have the chance to hang out with her. Even if I have been tickled more in one morning than I'd want to in a whole life time.

so, as I know my sister means to, but will never get round to it, a list of all the words she get wrong, A, cause its so damn sweet, and b, cause theres still endless teasing milage in her mums 'national quicklium' (curriculum)

nellyphant - obvious, like wise nellyplane, unicorn for uniform, nacky for ucky, wing wing and fly-angle for penguin and flamingo.

more as they occure of i'm reminded of them.

I sorted my three favorite peoples music into their own lists, my favorites for each one. Currently listening to the Tori Amos list. God I love that music, and never realised how much of it was based on a waltz. I really want to learn to waltz, not the slow rubbishy one that they teach in old folks clubs, but the fast paced one where you swirl around the room so quick, it feels like your head is going to fly off. That sound exilhirating.

Not that much of a shame...

(after Serenitys comment on the last post)

I'm sure it would have been absolutly great for someone else to be captured bound and subjected to an episode of Firefly, munchies and slightly subversive but probably highly energetic shenaigans (despite what he thought he was doing with that blade (!)) however fictional they may have been.
The thing i've been trying to get across in all my Tree posts is that I hate emotional scenes - sex scenes, anything like that. Forced to watch them on tv I start commenting on the drapes, wallpaper, even the damn lighting arrangements. I scan and skip in books, and often even fast forward when people get overly personal in songs. Its an issue, but... we're all allowed our little malfunctions. Arn't we?
So when required to write them (which I would have been, should I have stayed in there, or should I turn round and fall into 'Jadehands' arms like a wilting flower) I panic. I can barely read some of the more romantic posts, so writing them? Its just impossible! (with the exception of Soul proposing - that was so damn sweet it even melted my little icicle heart.)
Its like poetry, I get actual allergic reactions, hot flushes, rashes and crap. Even writing a rejection scene is far to much for me, hence the plea at the end of the last one that we now get all stoic and just stop talking about it.
I can deal with undertones, and love some good old antagonism, but emotion crap and 'angst' I just hate. But hey, luuurve trouble out the way, the soppier bits of the whole 'back story' dealt with, I can get on with the light asides about food cravings and knitting.

In the thread...
I think the peanut butter came about cause its just the one substance in the world that is almost impossible to get oof, it sticks, it stick like sin for all your efforts to remove. Even when you wash your hands it leave a residue. So it was the most tortuous foodstuff I could think of. It also allowed me to get in the muppet quote.

and the going through the plot points of the last few weeks seemed like the best way at the time of explaining exactly why she wouldn't be in the mood for recreation.
And then Jade comes in and suddenly i'm maiming people with screwdrivers. I have to adit I throw things, but inever aim to hit! Ah well, little bit of melodrama, can't wait for the pagent to start, or the wedding.

Would you like your dress making for you? Go totally to town, i'm planning on just stealing what ever fabric we require from Garrison.
And back into real life...

I started the writing thing, what I was road testing in the thread, I don't think i'll ever be brave enough to put it up on the site, but it may be a good place to start forcing my self to deal with all this kinda stuff, and yet practice keeping it away from becoming a second rate Eastenders script.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


Things have a way of getting very strange, very quickly.

Like I've just tied a man up naked, covered him in peanut butter and left him at the mercy of a llama with a new found taste for the crunchy stuff.

Only in fiction mind, but it does make me wonder where the hell all this stuff come from. Is there a dark little part of my mind that I don't like to admit to, even to my self?

I'd blame it all on Trent Reznor and his music, thats about the darkest thing in my life, or Brom. But to my knowledge, niether of them has either sung or painted about peanut butter.

ah well

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Wildlife programs.

Thats it, i'm renouncing them.

Its not that I'm squeemish, all in all i'm quite philisophical and sanguine about the more horrific aspect of nature, some I even find inappropriatly hilarious (the fact that the male Praying Mantis can't copulate with its head still attatched to its body? God, if there is one, is female, and pissed) (you want more proof that She 's female? Ok, the average human female, on the first two to three days of her cycle - the bit with the pms - needs 500 or so more callories a day -roughly the amount of calories in a large bar of chocolate. *)

But watching this program about rivers, theres a section on Wildebeast crossing the rivvers full of waiting crocs. I've seen this before, I can deal, I don't like, but I can deal, there are so many of them, not endangerd, of use, part of the 'circle' at least its a quick death....

Then the bastard narrator, lovingly describes how once the croc has bitten it never lets go. Yup, knew that (dealing, dealing). 'Cept now they show you a wildebeast caught only by the leg, panic stricken, struggling, obviously in Pain. Narrator? (not perturbed in the slightest, almost happy sounding) it takes over an hour for the beast to drrooowwwn... (what, was he mugged by a herd or something?!?)

Friggin bastard! I hate you, stupid stupid presenter and all you animals. Bloody crocs, slow drowning wildebeasts! I hate you all!

Its like, I was once traumatised for weeks after one show (probably Dickie A again) slaveringly described how mother cheetahs don't kill the zebra's outright, they catch, have a little knaw, let them loose for the cubs to practise their hunting. I can see, could see even then, the neccesity of it. BUT I WAS TEN FOR F'S SAKES!

This is the girl (6years) who believed when her mother told her that if you eat apple pip a tree will grow in your stomach, and didn't eat apples for six years (and still can't eat them with out dissecting them with a knife first)

But my moms boyfriend, even more philisophical than I over these things, pointed out basically that thats what amimals do, the just well, feed fight and fuck, (His actual words, they have a cetain poetry to them) he also pointed out that it is the function of nature, propagation, fill the gaps with infinite variety. We're never going to get great works of art or poetry or whatever from them (well, 'cept maybe primates and elephants) and some of them are pretty pointless to the casual observer - mayflies, born, float, surface, mate, die - the first two take years, the last three a matter of hours, huh? So it kind of made me appreciate humans more, sort of.

So I am renouncing the wildlife shows, still prefer the animals to most of the humans I meet.

Official Crap Weekend

garrrgh. It was horrible. Starting with getting into work on saturday and finding my manager doubled over in her chair, extremely sick and going home as soon as she'd finished set-up.

Ok. Then remember that the assistant manager is on holiday, as is the guy down from himis on his day off, and the other full timer, oh, and guess what, the girl just above me is sick. Who does that leave in charge? Me.

Oh shite.

Ok, things going fine, cover arranged, then weekenders' mum calls in, she has the mumps and can't come into day. Oh dear lord preserve us. Only by the skin of our teeth and the very very wonderfull offer to work to the end of the day do we manages to cover all the posts. Even then, the cover lot don't know what they're doing, and don't want to stay long, so every hour or so i'm having to run through How to Work the Shop - The Basics, one of them just wonders off to have a look around the museum in the middle, and I don't even know if I have the authority to tell her off (turns out I do, yey!)

But we do it. Fine, breath easy.

Then it comes to cashing up, everything ok, one till spot on, the other correct but someone has put a credit sale through as cash, still no biggie. Then we get everything ready to go int the safe and theres two bags of coins sat on the sodding table.

We check the banking, still all good.
The float, £5 up!
I figure its a change thing gone wrong, check the safe. Spot on.

Bahh! Where the hell does £25 just suddenly appear from?!?!?!?!?

So i'm there till an hour and a half after I should have gone home counting and rea counting and checking my sums and everything (I have dyslexia, I'm not good with numbers but it means I am hypersensitive to mistakes and very good at sorting out problems) and just cant see where it could have come from. So in the end I bank it, and leave the new sheets and slips and crap ready to be signed in the morning, write a big long note expleining whats happened. Finally get home tired stressed sick and about ready to cry. I even phone home ahead and make sure my mum doesn't leave before I can get home for a bloody good hug (i'm 24 for gods sakes, but its still the only thing that works sometimes)

This morning was the commute from hell. So much for getting into work early to get things sorted. Again everyone is sick, the cover don't want to stay longer than an hour each, one guy is running late, and the manager goes through the banking from the night before and starts telling me all sorts, i've written down different numbers, made mistakes here and there, and over here, when I know full well what I've written where, and its not what she's telling me. And even when I'm stood there with the banking sheets in my hand exactly as I'd written them the night before, with the figures that she's telling me I should have on the actually on them , she's still telling me I got them wrong. (she also told me that the float was wrong, and that todays taking would be wrong, they wern't. Spot on. Funny that...)

But when the worst I think was when she turns round and says, oh, no problems, we all get into a' tiz' sometimes. Well she can fuck right off there. I was not in a 'tiz'. I had a problem, I worked my way through it and was unable to find the answer. (Maybe if I'd ever been trained to do what I was left to do? perhaps? Liked i'd asked?) I did my best, admitted I couldn't see where the mistake lay, and waited for a more experienced person to tell me where I had gone wrong, so in the future I could avoid maybe. Having someone pat me on the head and say ' yeah, never mind silly girl', not only makes my blood boil, but really doesn't achieve any thing, much does it?

I seem to be having this big issue, maybe its the dyslexia, I don't know. But people seem to be labouring under the impression that i'm stupid.

The fact that I could do their jobs (given the same amount of training and experience) (hell, some of the time even without) with one hand tied to my foot, make no difference.

I want to be my own bloody boss, I'm sick of people who don't have a clue running my life, and I'm especially sick of doing things in stupidly complicated ways because someone decides thats the way to do it. Sick of it.

Friday, March 17, 2006


Its just occured to me, typing thats last post, that characters from two of my favorite shows, that when drunk, ok, anytime, I will admit to fancying, regularly sleep in those all in one pj things, that are about as sexy as Har Mar Superstar. Ok, If you're wierd, as sexy as dead halibut.

I'm a little disturbed now.

Grown men in onesy's, and I fancy 'em, what part of that is the wierdest? This is like the Rimmer fixation all over again.

Poor little mite.

I'm currently at my sisters house. My neice is ill, poor little mite, and my sister got ill last night and wasn't able to get up at all today, so my mothers been here all day, so to give her a break to go and see her boyfriend, I came up to put the neice to bed and stay until she's settled down for the night. So i'm here, the sound of the typeing has got the budgie all excited, and hes head-butting his toys and bells in response. Insane bird. He's like commando budgie, doing all these impossible stunts around his cage, and regularly hanging upside down from his perch. I could wind him up, all you have to do is make kissie sounds at him and he start shreiking and trilling away. But he's bloody loud and once he starts he doesn't stop until you threaten his life or he falls asleep.

Anyway, niece. She's perfect, pink little cheeks and cherubic air. But it occured to me the only time I ever see her asleep is when she's ill. I read her her stories, she negotiates stories like a pro, and left her with snow bear. She'd been asleep most of the evening, so she woke up het up and grouchy, but when I left she was happy enough, which is a miracle, normally I just make small children cry.

He savaging his cuttlefish now. Vicious beastie.

I leant my boxset of Firefly out! Arrrgh! Its been over a week now, and I have season one and two of Carnivale to go through, which is great, but I still need to see Firefly, every so often, ok, every few minutes, something happens and I get all wanting to watch this or that episode and I can't!

Thats obsession for you I suppose. T.V. is actually quite good at the moment. Bones, flawed but thoroughly enjoyable is on, sadly the same day as My name is Earl, but there are repeats. I'm trying to get into that Rescue me, but missed most of the first season. And they are repeating Due South and Scrubs everyday. I'm in heaven. But still, theres a Firefly shaped hole in my viewing habits.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Talking of that attendant

The one with the crazy Oversoul idea (though I have to admit it was me who cam up with the term 'oversoul')

Great bloke, drinks far too much, faaar to much, but when have I held that against any one (cough, splutter) ok, when have I held that against anyone I'm not sleeping with. Anyway, great bloke, very funny, always willing to fill up quiet hours with a spot of juggling, and that random voices and spontaneous silly walks always amuse one. He's a fellow 'I have a degree in art fer fecks sake! What in the name of all the sheep in hell am I doing here?!' graduate. We seemed to get on well. Which is why every bloody other attendant is convinced that I fancy him.

gargh! Notice how he doesn't fancy me? No I'm the tubby single chick so I have to fancy him, the skinny trendy one (really, he so trendy its painful to see) (sometimes, when he's talking about the trials of finding skinny-fit jeans tight enough, literally so, and I don't have a set)

Anyway. The pertinent fact in all this, is that he has a girlfriend (according to the grape-vine) so if she ever comes in and hears the gossip going around, If she at all the jealous type, guess who's in trouble.


Little old me, and to quote the saying, I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag, verbally or conventionally. so if she really protective. Oh hell.
Yeah, you see, the paranoia (and the evidence of way too much thinking time on my hands) is there. But also remember, I live in Liverpool. Women here are tough.

One thing that did make me laugh, when she was telling me 'that my feller was heading this way'(seconds after trying to set me up with another attendant - her: 'he's a lovely boy, bit strange like...' me: 'he's a prick') she compared him to Brad Pitt. I made a very indelicate sound. And laughed, couldn't stop, not even when waving hello. So coupled with the studious bouts of ignoring him (for when the beady eyed bastards are watching) the poor boy will be getting very confused.

How'd the song go? 'another one bites the dust?'

Is it any wonder I have a limited (non-computery) friend pool? I'm socially inept and surrounded by idiots. Gargh.

Beloved of cat kind

ha ha! paranoid theory leakage warning.

I have this theory that its not that I like cats, its that cats like me.

I am beloved of cat kind. Or they don't trust me and feel that I need to be observed. Basically wherever I live, there is a cat. If there wasn't one already, one will turn up within a few weeks. And of course, although wise to their dastardly ways, I allow this, and even feed them.
Case in point, Fey, or rather Phaedra (a comprimise, I wasn't allowed to call her Hydra, because it would have been tempting fate) Is currently asleep on my chest. Actually, no, speciffically she's asleep on my breast. The precarious sleep of an animal that will attempt it under sufferance, but only because it has very sharp claws.
Yes. Ow.
But she's there, because I, her cruel owner, have the audacity to use my knees to keep the keyboard on. I can't believe that she needs desperatly to be that close to me or she'll just die of loneliness. So I figure I was too friendly to the dog today and warrant really close observation. I can just see her writing her report back to Kitty HQ....
Yes. I can.
So here I am, looking like im wearing a bear fur boob tube. If I breathe too deeply (apart from getting a very hard pooh-bear stare) I get fur up my nose.
She taken recently to sleeping accross the edge of the key board, tail wrapped around one wrist and head on the other, the hard stares in evidence whenever I dare type. One trend I have noticed is she tends to always be there when I'm typing a mail to SR. I think she fancies him. Or that she thinks that he and I are in cahoots (no, not that kind of cahoots you.... oh honestly!) and our correspondance needs to be monitored.
That goes in the reports as well.
I promise that I don't normally have these attacks of paranoia when confronted with animals. Just sheep (no...! go watch them in a field, one small group, a sheep breaks off, joins another small group... planning something) and pidgeons.

The pidgeons is a recent thing, very recent, a few days ago infact. I got happy slapped by a bunch of em, well, one, the others just gathered under a tree, pretending to fight over a chunk of bread, but I know they were just waiting with their flashy camera phones, for the moment when one of them flew in and whacked me accross the face with a wing.
I thought it was simply a crap pidgeon and shouted something incoherent (that was meant to be 'learn te' fookin' drive yer diseased pie-filler') until I got into work, and was chatting to one of the attendants, and found out that another attendant had been got the week before, and left with a bloodied nose and broken glasses. I got off lightly it appears.

Then another attendant (we have many) informed me that all of the attendants had had their souls removed and were now functioning under the control of a giant company Over-soul.

But thats another story.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Birthday cakes.

Yesterday was an exercise in curbing the perfectionism.

It being my mothers birthday, we made (well be bought the pre mix packet) a wheat -free chocolate cake mix (two infact) and with chocolate fudge icing made a layer sponge cake. I turned out beautifully, there was even enough choco-fudge icing left for my sister to sate herself with.

I made a perfect purple icing to cover it (purple being my mothers favorite colour) and all went well until we started to roll it out. There wasnt quite enough, I had to roll it thin, and of course, it split. Then having choclate-fudge icing underneath, we couldn't peel it off and start again. Crappit!

After several panic attacks I finally got it all covered having chopped off the excess then used the rest to make bands to go around the sides. Of course, I couldn't use jam or anything to hold the sides together, so I used water. Twenty minutes before she was due to get back I had the hairdryer on it trying to get the water dry. Eventually I just ran to the shop and bought a load of icing sugar and sprinkled it over the top to cover the mess.

In the end it looked ok, My niece made a butterfly shape (i'm told it was a butterfly) and we put a little purple hippo in the middle (hippa-fly) then decorated the outside with sweets (mini eggs) and covered it over with sparkler candles. It looked ok, but best of all it tasted great.

oh, how long has it been?

yeah, this is kind of what I expected. But never mind.

I suppose the best news, personally, is that thursday I went to see some people who make, well they run a Samba School, from what I gather, and the woman, makes the costumes. Their house is incredible, I mean they have a beautiful house to start with, a big huge old victorian house that hasn't been messed with by friggin property developers, but in every room theres a new delight - a work room full to the brim with masks and head dresses and feathers and reels of sequins and beads, a billiard table sharing space with a gieant witch, an huge devil and the leg of an enourmous gold dragon (the rest of which is apparently in the garden.

And then theres the actuall costume storeroom.

They are incredibly passionate about Rio and the carnivale's, showing me a book of one they attended (they fly out their every year they can) and host their own as regularlyas possible, when I went they were working on a spider inspired costume for a charity ball they are hosting at a local nightclub. Beautiful great think on black and deep red with feathers and all sorts.

From what I can see the construction of the costumes is very rought and ready - adapting existing clothing, using glue as opposed to sewing, but the results are almost instantaneous and spectacular.

I think I could be very happy doing that, I just hope they need me to help out.

They gave me an invite to te ball, so I used it as an excuse to buy a new dress. It kind of chinese, I love it, I just can't decide weather the fact thats its a conflicting 'theme' is a good or bad thing, oh, wardrobe worries!