Archive for January, 2012


Posted: January 26, 2012 in Random
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Other people are hard work. Other people take themselves too seriously. Other people are not in tune with my version of reality.

These are the only logical conclusions I can draw considering there is overwhelming evidence to suggest that I easily offend people. Are other people overly sensitive, am I overly brash, or is it somewhere in the middle? These kinds of questions make my head hurt kind of like when I eat that first spoonful of ice-cream and get a brain freeze.

When did people become so thin skinned? Perhaps it’s a by-product of a culture that applauds political correctness and frowns upon anyone that upsets the status quo. It’s like we’re dancing on eggshells and the music stopped playing a long time ago.

I’ve been called all manner of names in my time. Gorgeous, heavenly, spellbinding, and on the odd occasion addictive. But by the same token there have also been some colourful descriptions, peppered with a number of expletives for good measure, flung in my direction as well, when I have inexplicably met with someone’s displeasure or wrath.

Do I let it affect me? Do I dwell on it ad nauseam? No, I simply shrug my shoulders, and let it wash over me like water off a Sports Illustrated swimwear model’s back. Then I smile, and imagine the half wit who insulted me, meeting an early demise at the hands of a suicidal cow with sharp hooves. 

The point is while other people’s opinions should be taken into consideration from time to time, and objective and constructive criticism can be productive under the right circumstances, the opinion that matters the most when it comes to your self-worth is your own. For example I’m awesome! Admittedly 99% of the population agree with me but still there’s that 1% that doubts me. Quite obviously they’re jealous and have webbed feet. But I don’t mind because I think I rock and that’s all that matters.


Now that I’ve been on WordPress for all of 5 days (That’s all your fingers on one hand which is a lot!) I think I speak for everyone when I say how thoroughly impressed I am with the quality and sheer joie de vivre of the blogs featured on WordPress Freshly Pressed.

Some of you may see this as brown nosing and a not so subtle attempt to be featured on Freshly Pressed myself. In that regard you would be absolutely right and I applaud you for being so astute. Obviously you were educated at Eton and ate all your veggies as a young child.

Regrettably however the more I perused the blogs on Freshly Pressed the more I began to realise they could string proper sentences together that actually make sense. In contrast I just randomly stick simple words together in the hopes I get my point across before I become too distracted. It’s fair to say that I have the attention span of a hyperactive six year old who has just snorted 10 packets of sugar.

The truth is whenever I discover that someone is better at something than I am, I instantly loathe them. How dare they make me think less of myself. As far as I am concerned I am awesome and smell like rose petals. Don’t even get me started on how dainty and cute my feet are.

Therefore it should come as little surprise that I find the featured blogs on Freshly Pressed utterly distasteful. I can’t stand show offs! It’s one thing to be talented but it’s another thing altogether to flaunt it. The only time showing off is truly justified is when I’m the one doing the showing off in question. I can do a handstand if that counts for anything. Okay that’s not strictly true. I used to be able to do a handstand when I was 10. Now when I even attempt to bend over, I whimper like a schoolgirl, and chastise myself for being so foolhardy.

Now that I think about it I am completely talent free. If it wasn’t for Freshly Pressed I would never have come to this realisation at all. So thanks to Freshly Pressed tonight I am going to cry myself to sleep and in all probability dream about Bear Grylls. Hey don’t judge me!

In my dream Bear is attacked by a swarm of bees and is hopelessly overwhelmed. Cue my entrance, looking resplendent in a long leather trench coat, my sparkling blonde hair fluttering in the warm summer breeze, and my fly swatter at the ready. The bees never stood a chance really. Needless to say Bear is monumentally grateful and swears he’ll never go outdoors again without proper adult supervision. Instead he will stay indoors and watch Discovery Channel like normal people.


Posted: January 24, 2012 in The Opposite Sex
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‘My favourite number is seven’, she said. ‘That’s quite a coincidence’, I replied.

‘Oh, is your favourite number seven as well?’

‘No, it’s eleven.’

‘I see.’

‘Well it rhymes. So surely that’s a sign?’

‘A sign that you can’t count properly.’

‘That’s not very nice. So if you’ll excuse me I’m going to use the next 5 minutes to pout and imagine something wicked happening to you in my head. I’m imagining a flight of stairs. Oh my God you just missed a step! This is going to end badly. I’m not exactly sure your leg should be at that angle. Oh well.’

‘Hey take that back. Do you know how traumatised you’ll be if I do actually fall down some stairs.’

‘I’m sure I’ll get over it in time. Plus wine helps me forget.’

‘Anyway surely you wouldn’t want anything to happen to my pretty doll face?’

‘I admit you have a point. You are almost as pretty as me. It’s just a pity about your thighs I guess.’

‘You wish! I could bounce a nickel off my bum it’s that pert.’

‘And tell me how exactly will you manage that? Are you double-jointed perhaps? Because I suspect reaching your arm all the way around and then attempting to bounce a coin off your bum whilst simultaneously assuring it doesn’t get lodged in your crack may prove to be a tad difficult.’

‘Well play your cards right and maybe you’ll be the one to bounce the coin off my bum.’

‘Don’t be so coy. If you want to see me naked all you have to do is say so.’

‘You’re entertaining. I certainly can’t fault your optimism even if it’s delusional. So why is your favourite number eleven?’

‘Because the figure reminds me of two lost souls standing next to each other or even a couple holding hands.’

‘Really? You’re such a romantic. Are you sure your heart isn’t made of candyfloss?’

‘And you, what is the fascination with seven?’

‘I actually got it from an episode of Friends. Let’s just say Monica has a special relationship with the number seven.’

‘I’m delighted to say I know exactly what you’re talking about. You have a one track mind and I love the way it works.’


As always my conversations with the opposite sex are nothing if not thought provoking.


Posted: January 23, 2012 in Uncategorized
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I love New Yorkers. I can say this with great authority because I have in fact only ever met one actual live New Yorker. Of course I don’t mean to suggest that I make a habit of bumping into dead New Yorkers because if we’re honest it wouldn’t be a very long conversation would it.

I met Madeleine (Who names their daughter Madeleine? Obviously somebody with Tourettes and a bad grasp of the English alphabet) this past weekend. She had an accent and that instantly upgraded her from faintly alluring to desperately desirable. She was the kind of lady I could imagine sleeping with twice. This is quite an admission on my part because I like to steer clear of the ‘two in a row syndrome’. As soon as you sleep with someone twice you start wading into the murky waters of a relationship. And before you know it you’re obligated to talk about your feelings and pretend you give a shit.

After talking to Madeleine for 5 minutes I concluded that she was mentally deranged either that or she had a loose relationship with reality. Of course I adored her instantly! I like crazy people they make me feel better about my own emotional instability.

Madeleine sipped on her coffee and then presumably after mulling it over asked me if I’d like to taste it. Has she not heard of germs? What if she backwashes? All these thoughts should have been rushing through my head. But instead I had the curious urge to lick her cheek. She had the most beautiful and prominent cheekbones I had ever seen. It gave her an air of doability or what others might term pedigree.

I was hopelessly out of my depth here. And when faced with those types of odds I wing it. Needless to say that part of the brain that functions what comes out of my mouth became dysfunctional. I told her that I own twenty pairs of Calvin Klein underwear. Would you like to know why I told her that? Well guess what so would I! She could only have concluded that I suffer from incontinence.

Be that as it may it appears that she found me mildly amusing. Of course it goes without saying that I told her a pack of lies about myself. Why be yourself when you can pretend to be something else altogether. As I say give the people what they want and they’ll love you for it.