tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9979720249301269352024-03-12T23:29:33.328+00:00i used to believe in forever...Observations, thoughts and giggles from a chemically imbalanced mind.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-35432143403778049942011-08-18T18:45:00.000+01:002011-08-18T18:45:45.616+01:00Other Peoples Words<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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</tbody></table>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-77895358516543251472011-08-07T14:47:00.002+01:002011-08-18T18:50:56.223+01:00Fun Potatoes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><u><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpSKdve3sYnEjKgkhWFeVUbsVoEwaYE-NyicbfwLeGpmacFu806hj2I0OUbeQwv8qe3QM5kZ5hyphenhyphenlQtSMKvbfKBK_RjxcM4fnjHiwbATJh1g6v4FBj2_QUmJxhzNlOItJZP13keR9lym_7/s400/DSCF1958.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></u></td></tr>
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<i><u>(Author's Note [several weeks after photo has been published]:</u></i><br />
<i>This is what happens when you attempt to blog when you're drunk. You post a photo you took of potatoes at a friends bbq. Let this be a lesson to you all.)</i>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-88321977845793687522011-08-03T17:25:00.001+01:002011-08-18T18:46:30.124+01:00Giggle Vid: Storm<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hcRlpYZf0CBro3EJnuxXKJdaXsho_tGRKwjqQdkV1wyaHzUuLceu1y88JZOXcDHOEXvrTTj9BkPYINQ-JlkWkB-odYVPzXOhgcgDiDfnZjksezTFBQNSVHpc4jqqkEMFLr5hho7sMbfK/s1600/Presentation1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hcRlpYZf0CBro3EJnuxXKJdaXsho_tGRKwjqQdkV1wyaHzUuLceu1y88JZOXcDHOEXvrTTj9BkPYINQ-JlkWkB-odYVPzXOhgcgDiDfnZjksezTFBQNSVHpc4jqqkEMFLr5hho7sMbfK/s200/Presentation1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Yes, it's another Tim Minchin.<br />
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And no, I don't care if you don't want to hear about his geniusness again (or about the mahoosive, drooly, "he-will-be-mine-oh-yes-he-will-be-mine" crush I have on him.)<br />
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Just sit back and enjoy the workings of an extraordinary mind.<br />
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<center><object style="height: 349px; width: 425px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HhGuXCuDb1U?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HhGuXCuDb1U?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="349"></object></center>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-7603225482907216792011-08-02T00:30:00.001+01:002011-08-03T17:26:29.774+01:00A Sweet Transvestite Changed My Life<div style="text-align: center;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Sidenote:</b></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I got 50 followers, I got 50 followers, I got 50 followers, I got 50 followers..."</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, imagine me singing that over and over AND doing the happy dance at the same time. True, it would become pretty annoying after about 3 seconds, but I'm chuffed to little meatballs! Seriously, I am Grinny McGrinny-gal here!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so to commemorate this momentous (?) occasion (not that I'm using this as an excuse to post something while I sort out my head and my life again), I have decided to repost one of my earliest blogs for those of you who have recently joined my little realm.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enjoy :)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thank you. Thank you for making me feel - well - a little more worthwhile.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">********</span></div><br />
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When I was 18, a couple of friends of mine invited me round their flat for the evening . We had a takeaway, a few drinks, and then they put on a film. Little did I know that it would change my life forever.<br />
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</tbody></table>I didn't know much about <i>"The Rocky Horror Picture Show"</i>. I knew the <i>"Time Warp"</i> and had seen the brief reference to it in the movie, <i>"Fame"</i>, but that was it. I wouldn't say that it was the greatest film I'd ever seen or even the greatest musical, but I was intrigued. Why is she singing with a newspaper on her head? Who is the geezer in the freezer? Is that <a href="http://cineclap.free.fr/the-rocky-horror-picture-show/christopher-biggins.jpeg">Christopher Biggins</a>? I went out a brought the video the next day (this was before the DVD age) and gradually my curiosity turned into pure, unadulterated love.<br />
<br />
For those of you who know little to nothing about Rocky Horror, allow me to give you a brief history lesson. It was created by the genius that is Richard O'Brien and started life as a musical in London's West End in 1973. It was turned into a movie in 1975, and stars Tim Curry, Susan Sarandon, Barry Bostwick and Richard O'Brien himself.<br />
<br />
The plot is simple. Newly engaged couple, Brad and Janet, find themselves lost and with a flat tire late one rainy night and go to find help at a nearby castle (as you do). What they actually find is a group of strange people who are holding an Annual Transylvanian Convention. They are soon swept into the world of Dr. Frank N. Furter, who claims to have discovered the "secret to life itself". (I don't want to give away too many spoilers, so I'll leave the synopsis at that.)<br />
<br />
My fascination wasn't just with the film itself, but also with the cult following it had received. This movie had come out almost twenty years before I'd seen it, and yet cinemas were still showing it on occasion and fans would flock to see it time and time, dressed as their favourite characters and carrying bags of props. Soon, just watching the film at home wasn't enough. I wanted more.<br />
<br />
Less than a year after my initial introduction to the film, a group of a dozen or so of us went to see the stage show at the cliff side theatre at Southend-on-Sea. As soon as we stepped foot in that place, the electrifying atmosphere hit me. There were people of all ages, from grandparents down to ten year old kids, dressed in wacky costumes and outlandish make-up (although it was kind of disturbing seeing pre-pubescent girls dressed as Magenta.) Everyone was happy. Strangers were talking to strangers as though they were their long lost family. People were dancing in the aisles, and this was before the show had even started. Even the theatre staff had a spring in their step, wearing their regulation theatre shirts with fishnet stockings and heels. When the show actually started, the place all but erupted. I don't remember a whole lot about that night as it was a long time ago, but I remember feeling very much at home.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicj7rXe5nBHq9hp_C5Wn-5-jI92UU57QFRu6v-Q7fVL-qH_5QpLlyILTIcVZ73NdgWn8NoMdUQsnRau5DJP9Enkzm-6UZkl5fOhfVfNaijJup2j9W4cTUolwOV2fLoEuJN5BFiguf-JmLx/s320/Columbia.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Over the next few years, Rocky Horror became my passion. I got a custom made Columbia costume which I would have worn every day of the year if I thought I could get away with it. I became an expert in sneaking in props (some theatres frown at the use of water pistols and cigarette lighters during a performance. Go figure.) and was fluent in audience participation.<br />
<br />
I should point out here that there is a huge difference between <b>"<i>Audience Participation</i>" </b>and <b>"<i>Heckling</i>"</b>.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Audience Participation:</b></i> It's kind of like a script which you learn by going to see the show numerous times. For example, when Frank says, "Even smiling makes my face ache", the audience may shout "And your make-up crack!" Or when Riff Raff refers to Magenta as his "most beautiful sister", it's not uncommon for the audience to yell out, "I'd hate to see the ugly one!" New call outs are added all the time, and if they're witty enough, they may be picked up and carried on.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Heckling:</b></i> Shouting out random comments, often fuelled by alcohol, usually vulgar and insulting. This is just irritating and can result in being mercilessly embarrassed by a cast member. (Example: Frank points at you and declares to the entire theatre, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is what happens when cousins f***!) (And no, this wasn't aimed at me.)<br />
<br />
Some of my fondest memories are from the experiences I had going to the show. For example, on one occasion, I was asked to organize my works do, so I arranged a grandiose Rocky Horror treat. We travelled down in a luxury coach (luxury being it had a T.V. and a toilet), had a meal in the theatre restaurant and then saw the show. I will never forget the look on my co-workers faces when they walked into the auditorium saw me waltzing with a seven foot tall transvestite who I'd never met before in my life. They never looked at the sweet innocent looking receptionist the same way again after that, only with confusion or admiration.<br />
<br />
Then there was the time we got lost on the way to the theatre in Norwich and forced a friend in the least embarrassing costume (it was his first time so he went as Brad) to go into the police station and get directions.<br />
And the time half a dozen of us travelled to the show by underground in full costume and make-up and people just stared at us, so we pulled faces at them.<br />
<br />
Or the time we stopped for a break on the way to Norwich (a different occasion), again in full costume, and some of us stood on the roundabout to have a smoke, and a couple of cars went round it twice because they could believe what they were seeing.<br />
<br />
Or the time I actually dislocated my knee whilst doing the “Time Warp” and ended up in a plaster cast for 2 months. Come to think of it, that memory isn’t such a fond one.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWoumKSEx-2xGXc_vC1eXBBY6hi84YSt1P9BUbZ3qG5J4Gggt7AP2mV4xHuOJrdVGkMy1ibFL5C-HFS0g-LkCK2rQVVNJom2y_Q-kEgsMSG4Ay0lfcRVlJdRcCSQozgXqnmncPPCyxlOUf/s200/rh+audience.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'd go to the stage show whenever I could (my current show count is 17, which may seem excessive until you meet people who've seen it hundreds of times) and saw the film at cinemas whenever the opportunity presented itself. Just as people watch their favourite films time and time again or re-read much loved books, I did pretty much the same. The main difference though was that it wasn't the same every time. Something different may happen on stage, from a different actor playing a role, to a practical joke or an ad-lib leading to the cast corpsing on stage. But the main reason I went back was because of the audience. In all my 17 visits to the show, I never heard an angry word, a bitchy remark or a heated argument. You were welcomed with open arms, enveloped in a feeling of love and acceptance. They didn't care if you were black, white, short, tall, fat, thin, gay or straight. While you were in that theatre you were one of the family, an equal to everybody else there. I miss that feeling more than anything else. The feeling of being yourself without worrying about what others thought of you.<br />
<br />
One of the songs in the show is called <i>"Don't Dream It - Be It"</i>, and (in my opinion anyway) that is the moral of the show's story. It's telling you that it's okay to be yourself, it's okay to be different and okay to be yourself. It doesn't just refer to your sexuality, although sexual awakening and sensuality are part of Rocky Horror's core. It also refers to your personality, your inner self. Don't be afraid to be who you really are.<br />
<br />
In the next few days, an episode of <i>"Glee"</i> entitled "The Rocky Horror Glee Show" will be aired in the States, all the music of which will be from Rocky Horror. Even if they make a complete mess of it, it will introduce the show to a whole new audience, a generation who may have never heard of the show before, so it can only be a good thing. I don't mind a bit of <i>"Glee"</i> myself, so I'm curious to see the show. Their version of the "Time Warp" is pretty good, but they've got a female character singing "Sweet Transvestite" which, although she has a fantastic voice and amazing stage presence, I'm not sure about. I'll try to remain open minded until I've seen it.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ5Pb6_UdOmLhWzK0RZy0K7_ifjGjUnajqvJ8__JsCW7Vb00x8HcFVLHHEi7wweIMxZaO3iKvZoDlbpgXAKta-5nY8y2UlkZaWiGeAEvwri05mOSY7lmAfo1Fu421_udMZ0YDyuvU-yF0y/s320/kurt.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>(NOTE: I have watched "The Rocky Horror Glee Show" since I first posted this, and on the whole I thought it was pretty good. Rocky Horror probably isn't the wisest choice of a show for a high school to put on (from the point of view of the parents, not the kids) and I think they dealt with that storyline really well, as they did with the issues about body image. I especially liked their version of "Touch-a Touch Me", and I take back what I said about a female playing Frank as it's done in the completely right context. I also loved Kurt's perfect Riff Raff, but wish we could have seen more of him. My only complaints are there was no "Eddie's Teddy", the appearances of Meatloaf and Barry Bostwick felt really forced, and I would have loved to have seen Sue perform a song from the show. But my final verdict is a positive one, I'd say a 7 and a half out of 10.)</i></div><br />
There's also been a lot of talk about a remake of the film in recent years, and again, I'm trying to remain open minded. At first I was straight up on the band wagon, cursing and swearing it shouldn't be done. Some of the remakes they've done over the years have just been downright horrendous and I wouldn't want the RHPS to be tarred with the same brush. But I guess it all depends on who's making it and who they'll cast. I heard a while ago that some of the "High School Musical" cast were tipped to be in it, and that almost made me gag. A few days ago I heard that Ryan Murphy, the creator of "Glee" was approached to make the re-make (read about it <a href="http://www.imdb.com/news/ni5001512/%20">here</a>), but when push comes to shove, you can't judge the movie until it actually happens. Even if you do strongly suspect that it'll be terrible.<br />
<br />
So, as you might have guessed, I recommend this show/film to everyone (unless you are close-minded, homophobic and/or a prude. In that case, don't go and see it. We wouldn't want you there anyway). One thing I can't stress enough though: if you've seen the film and like it, you have to see the stage show. I think it is far superior to the movie (at least it is in the UK) and I know many more agree with me.<br />
<br />
Sadly, I haven't seen the show for about a decade. Theatre ticket prices and travel costs are far beyond my means these days, having more or less doubled since I last went, but my lack of attendance has not quelled my adoration and my enthusiasm for this quirky, zany, sexy and occasionally homicidal gem of a show.<br />
And so I shall end this blog with a quote from the great man himself, who has brought joy and inspiration to hundreds, nay, thousands of admiring wide eyed fans.<br />
<blockquote><i>"When you do something like Rocky, which is undefinable somehow, it always becomes difficult to lose that. Not that I have any interest in saying goodbye to Rocky. I absolutely adore being involved and a part of something that is really a phenomenon. And I have no problems with that at all. If it overshadows anything else, I can understand completely why and again it doesn't worry me."</i> </blockquote>Mr. O'Brien, I thank you.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-77802220936122292172011-07-15T07:35:00.002+01:002011-07-30T12:26:06.423+01:00The Secret Life of the Manic DepressiveOn the whole I don't watch television (I don't see the point as nothing will ever, <b><u>ever</u></b> be as good as <i>"Buffy the Vampire Slayer"</i>), but once in a blue moon I see something that will completely blow my little mind.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/stephen-fry-the-secret-life-of-the-manic-depressive/">"The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive"</a></b> is an absolutely fascinating documentary, and I implore - no, I <b>beg</b> - anyone who has had any experience with the condition to take a couple of hours out of their lives to watch it. It is presented by <strike>god</strike> Stephen Fry, and is fascinating and totally compelling, and had me yelling out <i>"Oh Em Gee, that's me!"</i> on more than one occasion.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, you can watch the whole thing on the world wide weberverse, and because I'm lovely I've found the <a href="http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/stephen-fry-the-secret-life-of-the-manic-depressive/">link</a> for you.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1728264041"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUACCuVeswex5fO0y21Azo_Mpbowk0TH6fm8FWGHbbLjuZGLcDDcT84O-uECDlPn8K3HyS3TcyjU5H9_8iTFOKSvUK3fFk4owV2npfuaid58IyX3sx7er6NcSigWyxyHsOtUtib_g4jAA/s400/bipolar.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="332" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/stephen-fry-the-secret-life-of-the-manic-depressive/">Click here...</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Please let me know what you think of it. Am I the only one who can really relate to it?Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-71484710044537697772011-07-13T05:08:00.002+01:002011-07-15T07:37:30.487+01:00Giggle Vid: The Epic Battle of Epicness<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlfO0A0XAT15aq9-hLTN7GBn6hdjOmasJlcFbR7Jw3eRdlEPrWwgFP__n9b7iStR934zCNMCsMi7xRLpGt-OjimBAqA4LqSJeQTMhBfjUUtLeNXacN__jlSZx2GBG38Tv2B7dbIXiKejI/s200/Presentation1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What can I say? <br />
Apples are scary...<br />
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<center><a name='more'></a><br />
<object style="height: 349px; width: 425px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8-1F-CokXNU?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8-1F-CokXNU?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="349"></object></center>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-35824493203177771522011-07-05T04:20:00.005+01:002011-07-15T07:36:40.638+01:007 More Things About My So-Called Life.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBw_lsaQNP4uXylELS_AcDeTjGc0YT-J86dV8gWyw12rrL8M3204RUEdB-BgErSSbn6aiopxkZhQUX3kTcP3zA3SYcC-U2KwZSlcqXp7gAoAOJrQG9NHaJVcW82QM7CAPKoI0sSZxGKPsH/s1600/Hello-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-size: x-large;">Hello World!</span></b></div><br />
How have you been? Being good I trust? Or if you haven't been good, you've been good at being bad? Fantastico!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
So this is just a quick 3a.m. blog just to let you know I do still exist. Yes, I know I've been neglecting my blog lately. Bad A, naughty A, etcetra, etcetra. But I do have a bonefidy reason, a reason I quite can't believe myself...<br />
<br />
I... yes, <b>Me</b>, the person typing this... I have actually been very, <i>very</i> busy.<br />
<br />
<b>I know!</b> I'm stunned too!<br />
<br />
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Here is a little update of 7 things which have occurred since I last wrote.<br />
<br />
<b>1.</b><br />
I am seriously considering getting a paint brush surgically attached to my hand. This painting lark has gone completely bat s**t crazy, hence my rather long absence. I've had buyers from as faraway as Queensland, Australia and Hollywood, California, and while I'm not making a massive amount of money, certainly not enough to live on, I've been able to have a bit of cash in my pocket that isn't just for food, bills and electricity. And it's a lovely feeling. I don't think you've lived unless you've witnessed a grown woman getting over excited about a duvet cover. It was a truly sight to behold.<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9jXxP83OshDIUMXUXDEtiAUrpUt5xteiYUMfB90iP7W5h7ZPrVXp9hEKZ_unNMf264XqwAACg5vYFKi7Jo80BsQheTPgC7fxH_vgCIVPqm8CBtL59DhnywPACxOKcZcUld4PiwdaPYDJ/s200/Simpsons_CrazyCatLady.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="172" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was my birthday at the weekend. I am now officially in my late thirties, a thoroughly depressing notion that I am sure I'll shrug off in the next week or so. For the time being, I'm just wallowing in the fact that I have cobwebs growing in my womb, and that I should probably start investing in a few dozen felines if I am to achieve the status of Crazy Cat Woman by the time I'm 50. And that's all I have to say about that.<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b><br />
I have found something that is actually helping me sleep. And before you ask, no, I didn't resort to sticking my head in the tumble dryer as I have so often threatened.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbdx8rwu4hBjtRPgsghF8t1miQqYzPaKxoXPwLr8LGL08t3BV4FdFymigx9M2AE846Rq_ICxbTeWcbq1bMS1ILDwwsGqZsBmtgzNB0lZEVaUYtMnAKBX9ozyzg2DoBDVFyVW1x-qPAgBec/s200/%2524%2528KGrHqZ%252C%2521lwE2FneCBc9BNmFJy6Vow%257E%257E_35.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I brought myself a little jar of<i> </i>Avon's<i> Sleeptherapy Balm</i>, and it's wonderful. You dab it on your wrists and temples (I also put a tiny bit under my nose for good measure), and hey presto! Out like a light!<br />
<br />
Well, no, that's not true. But I'm definitely sleeping a lot better recently than I have done for quite a while. And that fact that I didn't have to resort to violence has to be a good thing.<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b><br />
I'm returning to the stage next week.<br />
<br />
(Good grief, that sounds a lot more glamorous than it actually is.)<br />
<br />
After an absence from the Am. Dram scene of about 7 months, I begin rehearsals for our autumn variety show on Wednesday. I'm really looking forward to it, especially as I saw some of my drama group friends at the weekend for the first time in ages and discovered they didn't hate me after all. Which was nice.<br />
<br />
(No idea what I'm talking about? <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/01/paranoid-pants-on-fire.html">Then read this.</a>)<br />
<br />
<b>5.</b><br />
I ate meatloaf for the first time yesterday. <br />
The food, not the rock star. <br />
It was very yum.<br />
<br />
<b>6.</b><br />
In follow up to my previous post entitled, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-used-to-believe-in-forever-proudly.html">"I Used To Believe in Forever..." proudly presents... The Worlds Shortest Blog"</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">, I should explain that this was partly based on my absence from this page, and partly based on a recent conversation I had with an acquaintance.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Picture the scene: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">You're walking down the street. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">It's a bright sunny day. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">The birds are singing. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">You see someone you know, not exactly a friend but far from a complete stranger. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">You say <i>"Hello"</i>. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">They look at you, their face a picture of confusion, then shock, then pleasantly surprised. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">They say, <i>"Hello! How are you? It's so nice to see you! Someone told me you were <b>dead</b>..."</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzcKVz0IgKfsdtIf_FtQyF4G-po9kJLxwomaBaA0x8UUWOIgP7p_xRMmdIftV3rS_7DlbOKco0rneaxWJROxjFUfBu723fafQOfP8uwu4OZsXE9Io4L-s8fA49I-q4zBNGVuRRLuyGl2R/s320/WTF.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Strangest. Conversation. Ever.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><b>7.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">I really, really, really miss writing to you guys, and I'm so glad you carried on following me on the off chance I'd make a reappearance. Those of you who have been with me for a long time will know just how therapeutic my <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-little-black-rain-cloud.html">Little Black Rain Cloud</a> finds blogging, and on more than one occasion you've made me feel so - what's the word? - so <i>un-</i>alone, that I've just wanted to reach through the computer screen like that creepy girl in <i>"The Ring"</i> and give you a great big sloppy kiss (no tongues) just to say thank you for caring. So please bare with me while I ride this tide of busyness. I promise (I hope) normal service will resume one of these days.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfTohtWpiXAnf2uDXYF1DO4IKu7FcVtZzI9x-kBjtqGYKutUEBXN3m1Jzf3ipoYRbFMqtUXt_Y9TDXivFxvKVBGkKRSWG095UKGXdXiyDixcsY04TbZow65qHfk1MAU4Kd0pPQMWRLDYLv/s400/The-Ring-3D.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Gimme a kiss..!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">But in the meantime, the birds have started to sing. Time for me to go to bed. With my new duvet cover.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">YAY!</span><br />
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<br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">♥</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Molengo; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-82881712869777362122011-06-21T23:38:00.001+01:002011-07-05T04:25:19.742+01:00"I Used To Believe in Forever..." proudly presents..................................... The Worlds Shortest Blog.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOVD7iA8kePDSvND0dXyisCG_LzsCGfQ0fexM9WF_xeUCZUmo-z-DCCMgR6hGJ2xgGbWE17H1KN_OtXDlSa3PuBeYovj4X1GqgMyBHDzYH2QlomYm3evj90Fl91XJDErLabCVTsM4IyIB/s400/cutezombie.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="371" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;"></span></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;"><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-size: x-large;">I assure you, I am still alive.</span></b></div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-11941190544257496642011-06-08T05:05:00.005+01:002011-06-21T23:39:46.056+01:00Why Let the Truth Get in the Way of a Good Story?<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b>Guess what?</b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b><br />
</b></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b></b></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b>I'm a slut.</b></span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b>Wahey!</b></span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAnPLfG5rR2ZdjvcaNrXHGh1wl3HvXDajaeLrei4O03kqj08VxUu2DClr0EUMI-6_ktHbmqZY2odTxBAxiwp9svI6LMEuqIAxeuHuNuS_vmDbZXpUiQ4EozrCoZ621s1p8CmqAX66KTJyM/s320/julie-slut600.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b>I'd like to thank the academy for this prestigious honor, my friends for actively encouraging my wantonness, and, of course, my many, many sexual conquests, a majority of whom I didn't know even existed but without whom this accolade would not be mine...</b></span></i></div></td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Oh, and in case you haven't guessed, I'm being sarcastic.<br />
<br />
I'm not a slut. Nor am I a whore, a floozy, a hussy, or - my personal favourite - a trollop. I'm not saying I'm as pure as the driven snow, but I won't be buried in a Y-shaped coffin either. No, the whole "slut" thing is nothing more than a rumour.<br />
<br />
And what did I do to earn this dubious reputation? Well, this may shock you, so brace yourself...<br />
<br />
I had the audacity... the cheek... hell, even the goddamn nerve... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b><i>to</i></b></span> <b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">have friends of the opposite sex!</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Oh, the humanity!</i></b></span></div><br />
Before Boyf became Boyf (so I guess he was just Boy, not that he'd thank me for saying that), we used to drink in the same pub. We'd hang out and have a chat, and we became friends. I'll freely admit that I was attracted to him - very attracted - but it was well known that he had a girlfriend and I'm not the kind of person who plays with other peoples toys (if you get my meaning). So we were just friends. Good friends, but it was innocent.<br />
<br />
But you try telling that to the evil hags of Gossiptown. I was a single female, and he.. well... he was a man, so there must have been more to it than that, right? Right? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Wrong!</span> But why let the facts get in the way of an interesting rumour. Somehow meeting a male friend (along with our other friends I hasten to add) in a local pub and having a few drinks and a giggle was soon translated into us having a hot and heavy affair, resulting in us doing the do in the middle of the pub.<br />
<br />
Think I'm exaggerating? Not entirely...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7RcJ__xm-Y6IiYoNWu2oWzHQ-NL3Hj_KHs6zwQRDhnsP5KJthKXwrrYhvIQmAl2dbNCf0HApNHTct-0uV-BiiuudoK_f8-YE-FhZZID4I7vXf3B2ZWrjRKTyLu7PkT7gjQo1T6Thq_F-/s200/Bad-dancing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="165" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One night the pub had a D.J. We both had a few to drink, and he got up and started throwing out some mental moves<i> (translation: dancing like a complete lunatic who is convinced he's the king of disco when in truth it looked like he'd been electrocuted)</i>. I just stood on the sidelines and laughed at him, as everyone who knows me will testify I don't dance unless I have to on account that I have two left feet. Anyway, it was a fun night.<br />
<br />
Within a week, the more imaginative version was circulating. Me watching drunk Boy dance like a fool soon became me whipping my top off and joining drunk man for some very dirty dancing and dirtier snogging for all the world to see. I'm sorry, but... <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">WHAT??</span></b><br />
<br />
In a twisted logic sort of way, I almost wish it were true. I'd have to have a helluver lot of nerve to do something like that, and maybe if I had that amount of nerve, the aftermath wouldn't have effected me. I don't mean the random tattletale talk from people who don't even know me. I'm talking about the evil looks, the intimidation and verbal abuse. Having a complete <strike>bitch-troll-from-hell</strike> stranger screaming "<i>slut</i>", "<i>psycho</i>", and "<i>I'm gonna get you</i>" in your face while you stare at them, terrified like a rabbit trapped in the headlights isn't fun, let me tell you.<br />
<br />
This wasn't the first rumour circulated about me, and I know it won't be the last. The earliest rumour I can remember was the one that claimed I had an iron rod instead of a spine and that's the reason why I did so badly at school sports. Well, it's creative, I have to give them that.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTD7IgpxwM8PVlAFSI8thKGw_aJ2chyphenhyphenAoZ7oOwuPslziROvNmzrEc0plt5iAIxeU9_e7BMfVbi6gxkM3QhVcpU4JepNFiagSTGQAxtGk1i_PfKUvhdUaQwTzgcXkB7emdzj2qD9w-IOXRi/s1600/Coaster-So-Many-Men.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>And rumours have romantically linked me to so many different men in the past that I've lost count. It's not because I'm a complete goddess who has men falling at her feet (Ha! If only! Then they could clean my flat for me). It's because a lot of my friends are male and I am a very touchy/feely person (in a friendly way, not in a <i>I'm-going-to-ravish-you</i> way). I don't care if you're young or old, gay or straight, male or female, if you're my friend and I want to hug you, I'm going to hug you! (The chloroform is optional.)<br />
<br />
For the most part these rumours have been laughable and that's exactly how I handled them. But when the muck spreaders imply that you're responsible for a <i>divorce</i>, or that you were once actually romantically involved with your own <i>Godfather</i>, you have to wonder what the hell these people were <strike>smoking</strike> <strike>drinking</strike> thinking.<br />
<br />
Now, I don't want to come across holier than thou. I've heard rumours, believed them, and possibly, maybe told someone else. We hear something juicy that's much more interesting than the mundane stuff we hear everyday, and we can't help but speculate. It's human nature. But these days, I either give people the benefit of the doubt before I jump to conclusions, or pay no attention to it whatsoever. After all, it's none of my business.<br />
<br />
I truly believe that the world be a slightly nicer, happier, shinier place if everybody did that.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzVwh5ALhf4igyFzOnHGJhcBe8vGeUnteMGV3K7dUmhOBJEIxBZgoWicbnS3fXmx8LsDUh3Tm4bBW6hIicreK1swBjeO-fNUKAKUau-CMzpfMgzh-rn1aOadOhzxUud5w4oX4cQrr5d0V/s320/HappyWorld.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Still, at least my story has a happy ending.<br />
<br />
If it weren't for all the rumours being spread about myself and Boy, there's a chance he may never have become Boyf. His girlfriend was now his ex and we started seeing each other a bit more. It was while we were discussing the nonsense that was said about us that we became closer, developed feelings for each other and fell in love. So in a weird kind of way, I actually owe the s**t-stirrers a "<i>Thank you</i>".<br />
<br />
Oh, and by the way, the stranger who chose to scream abuse in my face? Her next victim wasn't quite so timid. She ended up spending the night in a prison cell for taking her verbal abuse too far.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfP2pAFequL0tOrHMef_XXVO5rHFge8U33XmlqaZKf00HW28-eNx3IksVKtkr2zBTuwtNqgtER-Qi0-kMf9kWuYfhUwHo7MMwukq2r-pT09SRgboGkuoxpUTzFhcHOVs9PdXb5zvjmsEy/s1600/comes-around-goes-around.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</tbody></table>Don't you just love karma...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-74584548134976834122011-05-24T13:05:00.001+01:002011-06-08T05:07:34.276+01:00Words of Wisdom from Her Wonkiness<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2_yawG26SqtEK-hpKxBDETW7y0pJCoPiTiBuck6rWz7vnRJI7Byg_s9jevTDKzlG5SK8Ri_OLzWmb_dez38TbeOmxn2uKZSSIr1TlQSMxRS9tfCF8O2cfvRZfUnffPmqw0olvi-mZXFq/s320/monkey-with-glasses.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.<br />
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The early worm gets eaten by the bird... so sleep late.<br />
<br />
Never buy a car you can’t push.<br />
<br />
Don't kick a man when he's down unless you're certain he won't get up.<br />
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If you think nobody cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of bill payments.<br />
<br />
There are very few personal problems that cannot be solved through a suitable application of high explosives.<br />
<br />
If you can stay calm while all around you is chaos, you probably haven't completely understood the seriousness of the situation.<br />
<br />
Accept that some days you’re the pigeon, and some days you’re the statue.<br />
<br />
Never argue with an idiot. They'll drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.<br />
<br />
Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig.<br />
<br />
Always remember you're unique...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jG5nJKHS7V4uhGrMOvgCmQnngRx5ivGr6GITbE-syl19WwBx2EpOQ17EFxFjrdkUWCegnkvvgN2wdZ_h04HWZ3gN1AVlx_IqFjGpNda3uUhXxqTWvTvHnMGWJQGGt2CZl1LyvXzRpPzz/s320/unique.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;">... just like everyone else.</div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-20238260645608671102011-05-17T13:05:00.001+01:002011-05-24T13:06:20.268+01:00Giggle Vid: Puss Cat Double Feature.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m8IR7WPObIKVZedlQdGVyb-YtL74GZcsbC90xaDPsc1lYXc4F19LxrclzAiR8i3mg_IVODR_pkI9d5TUuiaLK3mhSWDIalhyphenhyphenO9-muAqj-t5D8d5wmJ6F5r9HRlXYBrVEpxwOpx6iOni9/s1600/cat.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Only three words can sum up these videos...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-large;">Gee. Knee. Us.</span></i></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7ltcWcwnPfY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='425' height='349' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/pxNg7ZP6E5E?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-42786228817450593532011-05-17T02:07:00.003+01:002011-05-24T13:06:57.222+01:00Where I Live...Following my post about what my fellow bloggers from the U S of A thought about England. (which you can read by clicking <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/03/united-states-of-england-response.html">here</a>), I thought I'd give you a 5 minute tour of my neighbourhood, just to show that we don't all live in castles or in the dark ages.<br />
<div><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div>(Plus, I know I've been a bit on the lax side of things when it comes to the old blog lately, but this is only because I've had to have an operation to surgically attach a paintbrush to the palm of my hand.)</div><div><br />
</div><div>(Yes, that last bit is a complete and utter lie, but you have to admit it sounds a lot more interesting than just saying <i>"I've been very busy painting"</i>, doesn't it?)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Enjoy the pretty pictures... ♥</div><div><br />
</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ahAvLdrgeorRsbNN4_JnmIX9znN0JOhg-ScENeaW5vG9YxQcOGzqIDUZuk4lQzKERkPh4g9UHukKL2Ns2DMiLTA6xxVNwm7dj-eH4nLTOHxqwysYVOTrx826EL2ybpDv1mKGAAPabhhr/s400/DSCF1242.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from my rear window. Note the lack of rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetf8h0Nr2g1DCtUXfM9-iaxQUeNwn9cgVEG3CSDDFQD23-N8zN2cmz8_UWxBNVp3qwAvjgI_dltfMNq9BF-fwOvyx0zY8myTduCnIJryeFJ-Lhu_PC_w_LGLMCn2PeZoa8JlnpMVmcvtV/s400/DSCF1225.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My front door. Note the lack of a castle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nY7qn8Vs8jTt1yjCO0T4xfIET_F1ls2lb3EyEUnEw2PVwCE-QMAIg3vdujTQmM5i8oqe1JgYSRKDHfTfAcEUdiYaS59C_BteRBbktN35E0sdrzHMKTpC3bzgTqPTaQnCLcOGF5HTdf1-/s400/DSCF1226.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bottom of my road. You can see the pub in the distance.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69seGloY4ogyqo0A8nUR5NDLvscm7q8UcusbZ2t6FyloDn44UrqN9J100BOGjMK8MaKahbPPZnm6jDiCgG8FFxGKwgiG0vFj8dnGqp14WLnYm5oWwpJGEy9GRXQ9EGpZwxeMMjxGgYYuY/s400/DSCF1227.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The railway line with the gates up. It won't last very long<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3DiuoAsFKXatcZ63DpYR1VnwAgPeAOjs8uD0GHiCVpt6x8CZKsw99yYMC4Ngupb7rhYcmHdsBQFMd-N7yis7aTIRKtYUPnckIvfC-xWBRAj2QvbtKpgetcDzkILIu4cD7QPdiIHsTzKQ/s400/DSCF1228.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See what I mean?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg438rICipppVm388AcDcGurDy15jNaOFrk-dMt1OYyMM00Nr3j6LUv5HwSKVF68VTdLGlL5tNsEtvj5aiMEyhB_YY0JxuxyOWp4kss6j9yfFmn4oUCb6AwcYtGAQGP2vO2K66b41_O-pb/s400/DSCF1237.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A train. And another pub.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytUQPuoad1gJWbYym7_y-QZYatjdwpeCnxH-iyvez4qDAETziGoyV4U__0njsH2O221ErHwRNHF1gcJh7T3_G4my30H2kooeJGNDopasMD9vOoQFUSDmmE27LxP54fqJKSrVZ2f7A9vVH/s400/DSCF1231.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cattle market - I mean - the night club.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7zAh9-v3zBy8xJjesShYX2UPFaH1JQ3N-UwoCapNsaK5ktRGXpQbpBq5lMALpGiaxViiYKo4RuU33p7Ivzsgdy6UOsGuX-QTD0t7VXjOrCUu0RRlSRBJEFnzMSo6OPM9b3blLscSw8J4/s400/DSCF1233.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The River Lea</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbCEpjFTYi_CiuUdc48qk1WefeqKWwtbwl92EeNrEEsG1U6KH_CiGhtvY05uiUyrgSzykQbUBc_B2xW7eiQcuw2mIDKxxGylxYkbEF0P3GZfD7eiJvOSQ5h3i-NlnDvhKEMtc5aeKENyU/s400/DSCF1844.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another pub. But we actually drink in this one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVL5YZhiOEtaWLtUmypsk5uVAy9TLRhjhHN-5dTV5IT-FK4E4H4_qy5LiWUqfR86hlJUVumebZgYH-IRUb7x-drxtSNEzfx6QD6K1WZdgn0hDqsR1SWpQ968m8hh0-N0bXe7FWAJgMlII/s400/DSCF1853.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty flowers. Next to the pub. They've probably been peed on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw92A_r5P7Gi6n5Bc8E5oU3kPZsYk2hYSHAdv2tv1QGaXjwH4fovXEIqYpPEJaQyO2ekjy3Fxgti-ocE4ZL3L4DhhRFxu8QP0tx_IldH3UkMyrB1Pd90jUcMm6Ur3Janx-DfVooH7aUAi6/s400/DSCF1852.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Mary's</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb5Vx2wAdtWRsyZhCOnEGanuxDXXL6wgJo1VvCH9ZknhGBnS8KS6Nxv69tk29wusSXYUZ638Q79HpyWXrk3kaK7zjyh8ex5EXFmECvT2c4D7zONgq-Tv86SAS71_wZ_ik_eoE4_iKYga-/s400/DSCF1236.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And finally, some more local art. Nice...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<i>(P.S. Sorry for the slight but very obvious lameness of this blog. When I eventually managed to extract the paintbrush from my hand, I will write something decent. Pinky swear!)</i>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-23088052084797772772011-05-06T17:57:00.006+01:002011-05-17T02:13:19.264+01:00Once Upon a Time...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PfHhtB3UcGdxtM-m3BbyOJcROK8pi_iDSEEMZvL118EbzfpNk4PZzYijGwUIFaa53RkjWBZU8TBo6iI6cohTvsq163SqICAkqds2Mne5jTtknJZm3EQl_oEcFA7J_EwKV1DbhQoFGmIO/s1600/unconditional_love_givingtr.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>...there was a man.</b><br />
<br />
For the longest time, he was the most important man in my life. I adored him. I worshiped him. And I would have moved heaven and earth to make him happy.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
As time went by, things became weird and the weirdness was uncomfortable. With hindsight, I know it was because he was from a predominantly male background and there were some aspects in my life that he didn't know how to relate to. We struggled along together and eventually we understood each other. Or so I thought.<br />
<br />
When a tragedy struck, we clung on to each other. We didn't know how we'd get through the pain. But we did. We had each other. We'd be okay.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div>Then he was told he had to choose between the Old and the New. After considering his options (for all of five minutes), he choose the New. I was pushed away. Forgotten. Even so, I clung to the tiniest piece of hope that one day he'd let me back in again. The same way we once clung to each other for strength.<br />
<br />
I'd never felt so alone before, and I didn't understand why this was happening. What did I do that was so wrong? Why was I so easily forgettable?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>At first I convinced myself it was because I was a bad person. Why else would the man who I considered the be all and end all throw me aside? Why else wouldn't he accept me for who I was? For what other reason would he cleverly convince me I wasn't good enough without actually saying it out loud?<br />
<br />
After a long time, my way of thinking altered. I knew I wasn't perfect, but I never claimed to be. If he had a problem with how I was, that's exactly what it was; <i>his</i> problem, <i>not</i> mine. I was now on the outside looking in. I'd allowed him to make me feel inferior for so long, that not only did I think it was the norm, I thought it was true. How could I have been so blind for so long?<br />
<br />
I continued a relationship with him of sorts (whenever he decided he had time for me), but things were different now. My eyes were open. I didn't have to deal with his negativity anymore. I began biting back. He didn't like that.<br />
<br />
A very dear friend of mine died after a long illness. My heart felt as though it was breaking, so I turned to him, the one person who mattered the most to me. I phoned him and told him the news as I sobbed. I'll remember his exact words for the rest of my life...<br />
<div style="color: #a64d79;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #c27ba0;"><div style="color: #a64d79;"><i>"Oh, that's sad... By the way, the birthday present you sent me got here two days too late because you put the wrong postage on it." </i><br />
<br />
</div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvgib5VA_FhAYAIsYZfXp6CbHhUtjMgBmudSVltCFa2cqKwD4jNp2mETJJGyVvt1jQ54EwTfcOcnaVX8nXkS9SpFwnZ-YiVqu9i2SDwfBe2EB3-5bkpxHoWQhVspMp2-u3bV561CyeNtR/s200/Heartbreak_Cookie.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>That was about six years ago.<br />
<br />
I haven't spoken to him since.<br />
<br />
I get Christmas cards and birthday cards, and I send the same to him. He doesn't understand why I've distanced myself from him and I don't think he ever will. I have since learned that he sees it as my fault, as though I've thrown a tantrum and my stubbornness won't allow me to back down. Maybe there is an element of truth in that. But for the most part it's self-defence. I wouldn't want to have a friend that always makes me feel crap about myself, so why should it be any different with him? <br />
<br />
Does he like me? No. Does he love me? Maybe.<br />
<br />
Do I like him? No. Do I love him? Definitely.<br />
<br />
And I do miss him. But not enough to risk letting him making me feel wrong, useless, and forgettable all over again. It's a chance my heart can't afford to take.<br />
<br />
It just goes to prove the old saying...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiME86WUBp0bIpAY_S5EGqXliDFDSvCCpvDe131RBZn1bKIoeWlPeR77NdbsttsEm2yHwDYSb5RK_821nMx_EQDScTg60mcjXTCsre6UIQ0gHzmS1OMGs87l40GcIpEfSOCbBKAR8UtyYZJ/s1600/father-daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiME86WUBp0bIpAY_S5EGqXliDFDSvCCpvDe131RBZn1bKIoeWlPeR77NdbsttsEm2yHwDYSb5RK_821nMx_EQDScTg60mcjXTCsre6UIQ0gHzmS1OMGs87l40GcIpEfSOCbBKAR8UtyYZJ/s200/father-daughter.jpg" width="200" /></a>Any man can be a <i style="color: #a64d79;">Father</i>.<br />
Not every man can be a <i style="color: #a64d79;">Dad</i>.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-67666179901386501772011-05-02T15:06:00.001+01:002011-05-06T18:04:19.240+01:007 Things About My So-Called Life<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdGuwVrvq_-NEO7WLhLtIJH3pKYkdnWpRuPvFZnn4CtyBZIq94gFYtnMYegyfxpVni6cj36J7KTznQuT6tCip6589GYVLVnSmU4Kngxf8bqj40talR_hbbyGuN2NXxVGdjJJZompKaIB3/s320/hello_085.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>How are you?<br />
<br />
I'm okay, thanks for asking.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
This is a quickie blog just to let you all know I'm still alive and kicking, and to fill you in on 7 unimportant, random things I've been up to and feeling since I last wrote. Yes, it's a <i>Blog-For-Blogs-Sake</i> Blog. But only because I ♥ u :)<br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hpuZR5vlX7L-tfY_sYhBLVazv-U3VYjvNx_abcXyH1cl7A57H9ipgnyOWzYNar641I5G3-HmD-MlMrVOAi1NL9PdxkfqW3GEaQljKrRztbiUllRwZhOf-E6P3KnNAtQ2zOG1vit1Aepf/s200/Hunchback+-+Laughton.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="163" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm starting to resemble the Hunchback of Notre Dame as I'm constantly leaning over a canvas with a paintbrush in hand. Creations of late have included <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/p/show-off-page.html">Team Rocket</a> from Pokemon, a <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/p/show-off-page.html">Gremlin</a> eating popcorn and the <strike>damn</strike> <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/p/show-off-page.html">Firebird</a> from Fantasia 2000 (which was extremely difficult and I will not be painting again unless it's for a gazillion pounds). I can't explain the feeling of satisfaction I'm experiencing at the moment. I'm doing something I enjoy <b>and</b> people think I'm good at it! It's the greatest feeling ever, ever, ever!<br />
<br />
And as a result, I was able to buy... (drumroll please)... NEW PYJAMAS! YAY!<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b><br />
I woke up today to discover Osama Bin Laden is dead.<br />
<br />
Good.<br />
<br />
And that's all I have to say about that.<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b><br />
I didn't watch any of the royal wedding. I saw some photos after the fact, and they did get my heckles up a bit. I've wanted a wedding dress like that ever since I first paraded around my bedroom with a pillow case on my head humming <i>Here Comes The Bride</i>.<br />
<br />
(Don't look at me like that. Every little girl has done it. <strike>I just happened to do it last year.</strike>)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYeBQO7J_yLvxUSTnO6HPTIYupKGVGfNSemAIyL67_csf4b81OzDy9URJ-0qwnJ2T4-wqemjJhFxcUS7bfRQ9IvTRq0tbRKL8AzHLz0JaEVwjNTNIcxZMqx1RXMjDaFsOFUF3E4_HhLyGF/s320/Kate_Middleton_Wedding_Dress_April29newsnea.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now if I ever get married (which according to a reliable source will be "<i>the day after hell freezes over</i>", everyone will think I'm copying her. She was copying me! Well, copying my imagination anyway.<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b><br />
I've been watching a lot of Twin Peaks. Bloody love that show.<br />
<br />
<b>5.</b><br />
I'm rapidly going off <a href="http://twitter.com/intent/user?screen_name=used2believe">Twitter</a>. I think there must be something I'm missing because I really don't see what the big deal is. I've had a few random chats with some fellow bloggers which have been lovely (even if I was on the vodka at the time), but other than that I'm not really getting much out of it.<br />
<br />
<b>6.</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFRCTxGrKpZEpae8V0tDgp1gIMoxDlDhoJOkk5JrEAEA1yuf_vhmiDCeYzOlGx04e4Vvm7NZQeCE-k2jTuP1-89iURSvvdqWU1i6UeqEqULY_lX6Dm3m8oyyXAzKPyC99fmNrQP13Bs5I/s200/ill.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm still living with the after effects of my <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/01/lambada-lungs-update.html">Lambada Lungs</a>, not so much physically but kind of emotionally, as some people still haven't forgiven me for being ill.<br />
<br />
I remember the days when "<i>I'm not talking to her anymore</i>" was reserved for the school playground... Happy days...<br />
<br />
So. Whatever. I was really upset about it. Tears were shed. Then I was really angry. Swears were shouted. And now... Now I'm spent. If "<i>friends</i>" want to think so little of me, so be it. My conscience is clear. I know I'm not a bad person.<br />
<br />
(And if you have no idea what I'm blabbering about, go <a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/01/paranoid-pants-on-fire.html">here</a> to be enlightened.) <br />
<br />
<b>7.</b><br />
I still haven't heard a Justin Beiber song.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All in all, things aren't bad at the moment. Actually, they're kind of good.<br />
<br />
It kind of worries me.<br />
<br />
After all, it's when things are going good that something is bound to go bad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strike>Shite</strike>.<b><br />
</b>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-61313008802552550942011-04-25T03:22:00.002+01:002011-07-05T04:33:42.079+01:00A Song for Song's Sake<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrRSmA_ObWLv_Ms2H4fnG0DVaXvPWPUACuBkz4TjDPfFFC4tpvGzbH_Np5FRpxy5Iksru6Hx7YMejWICUI3VsoOW7AtlqNEkxebhZKV_PVJ6kYyviIqaQByG7YMSs4yMyodM5__GQ4ndH/s200/Portal2-Atlas%252BP-body.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This song is from the end of the video game, <i>Portal 2</i>. <br />
<br />
I don't have a good reason for posting it<br />
<br />
I just like it a lot:)<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object style="height: 349px; width: 425px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FHBAaKjopb0?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FHBAaKjopb0?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="349"></object></div>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-19627437059618357072011-04-25T02:04:00.002+01:002011-05-02T15:07:50.354+01:00Sunday Stealing: The "It's All About 4 Freakin' Things" Meme<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNK_1PhwoOCkeL3NSByYbufoG37lA6XaFbAOqxJbDr3IATEuzm_psrxomglhIIGQR-8XhRKy1KpHeh68w-NbQnKqt9IujhI-s-skbULRArMyheY0dXnwNsJNss1SzvJvzFQDqSaNSeF4OZ/s1600/toadily-insane%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNK_1PhwoOCkeL3NSByYbufoG37lA6XaFbAOqxJbDr3IATEuzm_psrxomglhIIGQR-8XhRKy1KpHeh68w-NbQnKqt9IujhI-s-skbULRArMyheY0dXnwNsJNss1SzvJvzFQDqSaNSeF4OZ/s200/toadily-insane%255B1%255D.jpg" width="176" /></a><i>Four Places I go:</i><br />
<ol><li>To the 7/11</li>
<li>To bed</li>
<li>My imagination</li>
<li>Slowly insane</li>
</ol><ol></ol><br />
<a name='more'></a> <i>Four Crushes I Have:</i><br />
<ol><li>Tim Minchin</li>
<li>James Marsters</li>
<li>Corey Feldman (as he was 20 years ago)</li>
<li>Joey Russo from "Blossom" (whenever I watch reruns, I regress to a 16 year old)</li>
</ol><i>Four Smells that I Love:</i><br />
<ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LRs2N_k3Nc-2uvI2TlhnVhLif73lxFkB658febN6-BMlfIcsO6RTJi1EGBzytqpZ0XS0nIKmPAEEcvvV5m1kXkBaEHyORzHq_JPSseA234kAMBi4nY2geWdDV8Sa-ZUNAbuRUkiLH-Nm/s1600/coffee-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LRs2N_k3Nc-2uvI2TlhnVhLif73lxFkB658febN6-BMlfIcsO6RTJi1EGBzytqpZ0XS0nIKmPAEEcvvV5m1kXkBaEHyORzHq_JPSseA234kAMBi4nY2geWdDV8Sa-ZUNAbuRUkiLH-Nm/s200/coffee-poster.jpg" width="135" /></a>
<li>Lavender.</li>
<li>Clean linen</li>
<li>Dew</li>
<li>Fresh coffee</li>
</ol><i>Four Favorite TV Shows:</i><br />
<ol><li>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</li>
<li>Daria</li>
<li>Law and Order S.V.U.</li>
<li>Monkey Dust...</li>
</ol><div style="text-align: center;"><object style="height: 349px; width: 425px;"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GrIG-Go9H8o?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GrIG-Go9H8o?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="349"></object></div><ol></ol><i>Four Favorite Movies:</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG2_x6VsQbf3UIO79oSbQY9XilFDac4Sd2OyuVOTN_SHXlALX6AEhIFC5ugL3ul6qbsJBy3LnOxODSAUTVb1pYmSKvh7G8UuYbW8H3gS9mqm8q76fSwVxaJYgnm1jqvTPHol2CQDCWzhU/s1600/My-Neighbour-Totoro-1-WFA809HWL4-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG2_x6VsQbf3UIO79oSbQY9XilFDac4Sd2OyuVOTN_SHXlALX6AEhIFC5ugL3ul6qbsJBy3LnOxODSAUTVb1pYmSKvh7G8UuYbW8H3gS9mqm8q76fSwVxaJYgnm1jqvTPHol2CQDCWzhU/s200/My-Neighbour-Totoro-1-WFA809HWL4-1024x768.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><ol><li>My Neighbour Totoro</li>
<li>Gone With The Wind</li>
<li>Scott Pilgrim versus The World</li>
<li>Despicable Me</li>
</ol><i>Four Recommendations:</i><br />
<ol><li><a href="http://thatguywiththeglasses.com/">TGWTG</a></li>
<li><a href="http://failbook.failblog.org/">Failbook </a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/RayWilliamJohnson">=3</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/extra-credits">Extra Credits</a></li>
</ol><i>Four People that I'd love to read their Fours:</i><br />
<ol><li> <a href="http://pamoblog.blogspot.com/">Pamo</a></li>
<li><a href="http://yeahgoodtimes.blogspot.com/">Jillsmo</a></li>
<li><a href="http://maunderingmutterer.blogspot.com/">Maundering Mutterer</a></li>
<li><a href="http://weareone-ruth.blogspot.com/">Ruth @ We Are One</a></li>
</ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdDuORorKtG4FeAJbaz4DPLz0ZC4tCy5LESqLkcQIsk-dOt8rh5Y1ZufEel8iFYUszNf753g3MTTB8rj8gECOGpod4rfBHanGdwHkAAdkICstQQsgqi0TnUrNeu_xYFlwrFzLXNDrvHrG/s1600/babyElephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdDuORorKtG4FeAJbaz4DPLz0ZC4tCy5LESqLkcQIsk-dOt8rh5Y1ZufEel8iFYUszNf753g3MTTB8rj8gECOGpod4rfBHanGdwHkAAdkICstQQsgqi0TnUrNeu_xYFlwrFzLXNDrvHrG/s200/babyElephant.jpg" width="156" /></a><i>Four Things about me that you don't know:</i><br />
<ol><li>I used to be a majorette. </li>
<li>I have <a href="http://www.drfoot.co.uk/Grierson-Gopalan_Syndrome.htm">Grierson-Gopalan Syndrome</a>. </li>
<li>I have never knowingly heard a Justin Beiber song.</li>
<li>When I grew, I wanted to be a baby elephant.</li>
</ol><i>Four bands that I love:</i><br />
<ol><li>Def Leppard.</li>
<li>Aerosmith</li>
<li>Cher (I know, not a band, but I couldn't think of anyone else I worshiped liked as much.)</li>
<li>My black rose hair band. It's very pwetty :) </li>
</ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzxJz9-RUNHWlCBnVIg99YUA2U05mwt0G29PkKgC9y_MG2q6prkOqdszvm2HYnr_a72FOyxTcp7_A1-w1NmAh-JD3zR_TSULOfYHh1yro8JfHNKJjClZrUIgZVHTUeXcNo_Gg055Jh9I4/s1600/band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzxJz9-RUNHWlCBnVIg99YUA2U05mwt0G29PkKgC9y_MG2q6prkOqdszvm2HYnr_a72FOyxTcp7_A1-w1NmAh-JD3zR_TSULOfYHh1yro8JfHNKJjClZrUIgZVHTUeXcNo_Gg055Jh9I4/s320/band.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<ol></ol><ol></ol>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-16191822223352559972011-04-22T01:39:00.002+01:002011-07-05T04:35:14.058+01:00Is This Real Life?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVHm2AYxVMlVgFb_Pw70KDvyfwx9mIhfYvelttRKn35oQX_WLRU9aJmlR25gYtXTtoX3hHsdUxzsvh9t6jDzIzB_Anoxq9ZbM4mWjFvsGuwGtaBE1h1-wEmfeFjUj8ExtaoAdqh2-mL8a/s200/insomnia1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The time is 1:35 a.m.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
I have now been awake for about 38 hours.<br />
<br />
I feel like hell on a stick.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I really wanted to blog today, but I think my brains have turned to cottage cheese.<br />
<br />
At this exact moment, I am close to hating Boyf. He's in bed. Asleep. Why isn't he suffering like me? Bastard.<br />
You know that feeling you get when you're so sleepy you're not quite sure if what's happening is actually happening or if you're dreaming it?<br />
<br />
Or is that just me?<br />
<br />
So, if you happen to spot the Sleepy-Time-Fairy in the not too distant future, would you mind telling her on my behalf that there's been a clerical error at head office and they've misplaced my address? Thanks.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcq0sJvMahyelowBMNZdh6_o0X8cOOQ_7VXEA39CxIOHloO8JTGzL723Xk0XKQ_KciFRFy7anjLFSTK2sEwNNa9mhJvdIXkNyqovb5EA4eLCa7ndUcIpBx08tGap9E2Vt0237FfkGPLjc/s1600/f.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In case you haven't guessed yet, I am not a happy <i><b>A</b></i> today.<br />
<br />
*Sulk*Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-82863020463216265492011-04-18T01:57:00.000+01:002011-04-18T01:57:08.864+01:00It's Art, Innit?!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFjuWxECmeEfdYtdHOYgTLkTE1k7ZD0-HMygag-1O8ZqRxHNSLPAB8pzh3nBFS21-Q5CMuVDJM_k69MsUDGhsTjsI0PWB4TbFfFI-oLHmE44QopHYLN8CutBImKl1do7UWjMeJV9mrGlG/s640/DSCF1232.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gotta love the artistic integrity of my home town...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-64751986718810179682011-04-16T23:11:00.002+01:002011-04-18T01:57:43.843+01:00Sunday Stealing: The 65 Questions Meme<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Just a quick (?) <a href="http://sundaystealing.blogspot.com/">Sunday Stealing</a> while I'm waiting for the paint to dry...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<i>1. Tell us who the last person that you took a shower with.</i><br />
I haven't had a shower in ages (I don't have one so I bathe) so I couldn't tell you.<br />
<br />
<i>2. Tell us about your favorite tee-shirt. Extra points if you show a pic. (We know. What can you do with freakin' extra points?)</i><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29lDJHwJp-IJjd2liIYjFrra15VPQ0F10ysE2E5x_neGAIkxtQ-TH_apZwCuVTUOd_JgYIXGgL_sJPm0CJK-jWeMXMFQGRamPXFebhNKSmpeeQ6VxJ7dGwuIP79Lf9TA6dRrRu2EnQkQZ/s400/1494p_0c_1b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You didn't say it had to be MY t-shirt...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>3. Has anyone ever hit on you even though they knew you were taken?</i><br />
Yes. I laughed at them.<br />
<br />
<i>4. Do you plan what to wear the next day?</i><br />
Not if I can avoid it.<br />
<br />
<i>5. How are you feeling RIGHT now? Why?</i><br />
P.O'd. Some people need to get their facts straight before criticizing.<br />
<br />
<i>6. What's the closest thing to you that's black?</i><br />
My pupils.<br />
<br />
<i>7. Tell me about an interesting dream you remember having.</i><br />
I won a beauty pageant but was arrested on stage when the dead bodies of Meatloaf and Antoine Dobson were discovered in refrigerators underneath my wardrobe.<br />
<br />
<i>8. Did you or might you meet anybody new today?</i><br />
Unlikely. It's 10 p.m. and I'm at home.<br />
<br />
<i>9. If you could be doing anything right now (or perhaps after you finish this ridiculous meme) what would it be?</i><br />
Nomming on a huge pizza.<br />
<br />
<i>10. Can you think of a meme question that's never been asked?</i><br />
If you undo your bellybutton, does your bum fall off?<br />
<br />
<i>11. What comes to mind when I say China?</i><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4mzkMehiXK5tQ0remiqtcQ3BSmdgqtLdV8sDAazbAtSRA_PSw4JsMk8gbEvzPa5-A_4rXoGIVVJqDXXnB4cJabIVKLR7iFSyymgusgipuumvPBZr_bGGFKnhVsgJtZl3Yp48yp5BnRxS/s320/chyna2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>12. Are you overly emotional?</i><br />
Yes, dammit!<br />
<br />
<i>13. If you could listen to just one rock album (CD, vinyl or mp3) which one would you pick?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxgXUZegEgq3Kln0vlF8FkcSTNe61UVtvtbrIm3Nd7IB4a0ztXFZKA0cBvYWzrBdL2TOeRKo-7r1YYV9gjbeTBZ5szno415ciL6Ta4OXV1SA1ZfOLbxQLdTpnuewvGDG58Bp5L0Ie5bfN2/s320/album-hey-stoopid.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?</i><br />
Lickety-lick.<br />
<br />
<i>15. Do you like your car?</i><br />
I might do if I had one.<br />
<br />
<i>16. Do you like yourself?</i><br />
Pass.<br />
<br />
<i>17. Would you go out to eat with Charlie Sheen?</i><br />
If he was paying. And gagged.<br />
<br />
<i>18. What was the last song that you listened to?</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N98kiptZTa8">Cher and Peter Cetera - "After All"</a><br />
<i><br />
19. Are (or were) your parents strict?</i><br />
Strict enough but no more than that.<br />
<br />
<i>20. Have you ever wondered what attending a wild orgy (if only to watch or...) would be like?</i><br />
Yes. Next question.<br />
<br />
<i>21. I say cottage cheese. You say:</i><br />
"The only food guaranteed to please..."<br />
<br />
<i>22. Have you ever met a celebrity?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDDqRFFT_njKWaiTPepqTVFSzqQbhDqQCbVmgBRBnjgohd2-hP9ncLI35XhTyl-1tMQNhgc0FDKAJrL7cJcwX7Bzl5jJSUGKE_Qv4KZ5UmRB0Ny99rOrE7XvpDxS4uSz0lsytBvDuCPBA/s320/504x_tom-baker1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom Baker, a.k.a. Doctor Who. He was mental.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<i>23. What was the last movie that you watched at home?</i><br />
Friday 13th III. Not great.<br />
<br />
<i>24. Is there anything sparkly in the room you're in?</i><br />
My wind chime. Sparkly AND pink. YAY!<br />
<br />
<i>25. What countries have you visited?</i><br />
Corfu and France. Corfu gave me heatstroke. France was closed.<br />
<br />
<i>26. Have you ever made a phone call while you were drunk that you've regretted? If yes, do tell.</i><br />
Thankfully not. However, texting...<br />
<i><br />
27. Where were you going the last time that you were on a train?</i><br />
London.<br />
<br />
<i>28. Bacon or sausage?</i><b></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXp8yTUZqFitYwyVByLcQF4XIcSBu2ADMxjHFbDyeaDSCwgvwpKx3YxoWCxyJlC2YeIlZF2_n9YuFA7ufsn0FhFtu-PfKWBaut2iBS9vTDB7XQu5icCN0CUwTZFABZxkaEkQLzNrNhTRs/s200/iheartbacon_panty1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>29. How long have you had a cell-phone?</i>About 12 years.<br />
<br />
<i>30. What other memes do you do regularly?</i><br />
None. Looking for recommendations though...<br />
<br />
<i>31. Who is the craziest meme host?</i><br />
Does <a href="http://memebase.com/">Memebase</a> count?<br />
<br />
32. Who invented chop sticks?<br />
Mr Chop?<br />
<br />
<i>33. Who are you going to be with tonight?</i><br />
Do I really need to answer that? Boyf, of course.<br />
<br />
<i>34. Are you too forgiving?</i><br />
Yes, yes, a thousand times <b>Yes</b>.<br />
<i><br />
35. When was the last time that you were in love?</i><br />
Right now. Smiley face.<br />
<br />
<i>36. Tell us about your best friend.</i><br />
See the above answer. Smiley face.<br />
<i><br />
37. What was the stupidest thing you learned in high school?</i><br />
If you call the teacher a <i>See You Next Tuesday</i>, you'll be expelled.<br />
<br />
<i>38. What was the last thing that you cried about?</i><br />
Loneliness. Sad face.<br />
<i><br />
39. What was the last question you asked?</i><br />
"Can I have a cuppa tea, please?"<br />
<i><br />
40. Favorite thing to do this time of the year?</i><br />
Feeding the birdies on my balcony.<br />
<br />
41. If you had to get a (or another) tattoo, what would it be?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFqG4lideaWyK0ljnWCxvlHN3_3LTcBvpgvkAn9-gGSO5sXnWH4wlz0VfQjJCFb9CmUgPoBDzolKeijGtTjpVwvc4RSRdXx9jGmso1_AIvNVeqCB7958jtdOKBTMQ67mpDHq5M0MtN6PaL/s400/Heart_Tatt_by_AcidUnicorn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>42. How would your best friend describe you?</i><br />
"Different"<br />
<br />
<i>43. Have you ever seen all three Twilight films?</i><br />
No. Because I'm not 12.<br />
<br />
<i>44. Ever walked into a glass door?</i><br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
<i>45. Favorite color on that person that you are attracted to?</i><br />
White or grey. Brings out his eyes.<br />
<br />
<i>46. Have you ever slapped someone?</i><br />
Yes, and they all deserved it.<br />
<br />
<i>47. What hair style (for you) would you like to see return?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadTdDB5ZZqyUNCAg0FRTGE4DhiND8KCm-kjw92U5J0DU_HiC-Wfx8Z2zww30ZTIdUlbzRJ1qSXg7RbwDEufTk6JeOdKwSKeohflOteizjer_8bO7rC8gdZfZPKoiEng7Nj3m1OIwksMwk/s1600/hair.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>48. What was the last CD you bought?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GvvScDm1tD6jLfLWNoEJ-pd6VDxTHf2YJC5zF-K0e0hd9IOkANRE_5_s_1Opf59qbdqcKH_ug8Y62J2evUG8hEKsXsKnPv2NossiaHR4Wv-idvqECsfiRF8SgxA1GnSuVd2-22aAakJs/s320/avril_lavigne_the_best_damn_thing_album_cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>49. Do looks matter to you?</i>Hell no! It's all about the heart.<br />
<br />
<i>50. Could you ever forgive a liar?</i><br />
Depends on the lie.<br />
<br />
<i>51. What's the hardest bill to pay every month?</i><br />
I don't have a monthly bill, but the phone bill every quarter is always icky.<br />
<br />
<i>52. Do you like your life right now?</i><br />
Could be better, could be worse.<br />
<br />
<i>53. Do you sleep with the TV on?</i><br />
No, but I can if I'm very tired.<br />
<br />
<i>54. Can you handle the truth?</i><br />
Yes. I am not Tom Cruise.<br />
<br />
<i>55. Do you have good vision?</i><br />
I have perfect vision - with my contacts in.<br />
<br />
<i>56. Do you hate or dislike more than 3 people?</i><br />
Yes, but I'm not naming names. They know who they are.<br />
<br />
<i>57. How often do you talk on the phone?</i><br />
Whenever someone calls, so rarely.<br />
<br />
<i>58. What celeb would you like to come home to?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZewHb6_PgEEJWYJ1lxHfhQlARULbEUhfgNHQoJpqmZav6Uq4JKPvy7n7z9wtedVDAPcNGVuzAhq8FoKLPLPtUe3nGvxmrlQO7CVbA8BNu3Z8KYB6E8YRrfTsa18pPLasHh_urMpzPulZo/s320/Tim%252BMinchin.jpg" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim Minchin. Tiger Growl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>59. What are you wearing?</i><br />
P.J's! I love my P.J's!<br />
<br />
<i>60. What is your favorite wild animal?</i><br />
Red panda.<br />
<i><br />
61. Where was your facebook picture taken?</i><br />
In the pub. Surprise, surprise!<br />
<i><br />
62. Can you waltz?</i><br />
No, but I can tap.<br />
<br />
<i>63. Do you have a job?</i><br />
No, and you know why.<br />
<br />
<i>64. What was the most recent thing you stole?</i><br />
Boyf's heart.<br />
<i>(Pass the sick bucket...)</i><br />
<br />
<i>65. Have you ever crawled through a window?</i><br />
Only when I was locked out, never to pillage.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-23430418065830424662011-04-16T15:03:00.003+01:002011-08-02T00:01:13.981+01:00Gamer Girl<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xkbOAuxK3ScY-mHhu8aOkdnq2k4eq0LcM6hXwyq1slPlbwUTP3olOMsU_6bY57jJ2UommTbEPZjA9oJOJFIBAfQHedI0YJGRdtv5CIpK8eZb4qpmcZfaZVK6lMwx3mAJiDb_eyMxTiLe/s200/gg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><i>*This is a re-post of my first ever Blog. Now I actually have some <strike>stalkers</strike> followers, it may even be read. Enjoy!*</i><br />
<br />
I was about eight years old when my <i>parental unit </i>brought his first P.C. It was a monster of a machine, as they all were in the mid-eighties, and as a curious child my first question was, <i>"Can I play games on it?"</i> I was told I could. The only thing bigger than the excitement I felt was the disappointment that was soon to follow.<br />
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There seemed to be two types of games available for this machine: educational ones (please, who wants to do math for fun?), and games that were little more than glorified choose-your-own-adventure books. The only game that came close to being fun was "<i>Solitaire</i>." Anyway, years went by and eventually we entered the C.D. age (up until then, the games came on cassette tapes or floppy discs), but there were still very few games that would work on our computer. (I should point out that our computer was D.O.S. based. My dad fought changing to Windows for as long as humanly possible.) What I really wanted was a console, a N.E.S. or a Sega Mega Drive, but although I begged for one at Christmas, my request was denied on the grounds that 1) we had a perfectly good computer already, and 2) consoles were "<i>toys for boys</i>".<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirU7pXbCi7kC7de_4a360DjO6pE2gpX1dW0x_6bt_JrF2sztUT6zY-dGmESrpRnLWaU380CY2T-HHjVAJv3GCRqZ4fRDxpoxuTa7L81XXY-r_xMlSsttoFWFjefToBWLSic1fDNGUZCMYm/s320/abe.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>So, I grew up, got a job and brought my first console, the original Playstation. I was hooked. I loved playing platformers like "<i>Oddworld: Abe's Oddysee</i>" and "<i>Spyro the Dragon</i>", but my passion was for role playing games like the "<i>Final Fantasy</i>" games (9 still being one of my all time favourite games)". When I eventually started playing on the PS2, I fell in love with the horror genre, games like "<i>Resident Evil 4</i>" and "Silent Hill 2", but that was just the start of things to come.<br />
<br />
While I was happily hammering away on my control pad, Boyf would be playing games on his P.C. and it's thanks to him that I have the love of gaming I have today. At first, using a keyboard as a control pad just seemed too complicated, with so many different buttons to remember and it did take me a while to get to grips with it. Now there's no looking back. The consoles sit covered in dust in a corner, while the W, A, S and D keys on the computer keyboard are silky smooth to the touch having been used so much. Being the computer genius that he is, Boyf managed to build a second P.C. out of mostly second hand parts, and it's not unusual for find us whiling away the midnight hours playing different games and having a whale of a time.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">But I am in a minority. I know very few females who enjoy playing games as much as I do, and even fewer who actually play their games on a P.C. If you were to ask me why there are so few girl gamers in comparison to the boys, I couldn't tell you. Like with most hobbies and passions, it's difficult to understand why someone wouldn't like something you love so much. Maybe it's because so few games are actually marketed towards a female audience and they're put off by the images of gratuitous violence and muscle ridden brutes with machine guns. Maybe they consider it a boys world and they've no interest in investigating it. Maybe it's as simple as they have different interests and hobbies and it's never occurred to them to play a video game. I've tried to talk about my passion for gaming to my female friends in the past, but after a few minutes it's apparent they don't have the slightest bit of interest or a single clue about what I'm saying, and the conversation returns to that of kittens, children and tampons.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgUinJk7OIvn4VyHjtke8f8WRp3cwXU9YWwWMT7dVX2B-sXHTqwPVREGuTRUToDk9J03nrK1fOafpaSPZqyc5QCCNosWcthTJKcNrO9LJ0iH3RhXsC4eOp-fLY6cSHv6dwWt84LkMV4u9/s400/sex.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Over sexualized female characters in games don't help to encourage women to pick up a joypad. Your average woman in the real world is not going to have the appearance of Lara Croft or Bayonetta, and women are quite often exploited as sexual objects in many games. It would help if there were more female role model characters in games, ones that look like real women instead of the over the top sex kittens that are so often present.<br />
<br />
Then there are games like "<i>S.T.A.L.K.E.R</i>." which goes in completely the opposite direction. The good thing is it doesn't objectify women. The bad news is this is because there are no women in the game whatsoever.<br />
<br />
I think it would also help if games weren't promoted for their violence alone. There are games that have amazingly compelling story lines, and others that make you sit back and consider what the outcome of your actions will be. It's not just a case of wandering around and killing everything that moves. You actually have to think about what you're going to do. If these elements were promoted instead of or as well as the violent side of the games, it could well get the attention and interest of more potential female gamers.<br />
<br />
In conclusion, I don't have the answers. The video game world is very much a male dominated culture, with a majority of people who play and design games being of the testosterone persuasion. It has been a boys club for so long and the games that are released some what reflect that. It's a shame there aren't more female gamers, particularly for a female gamer such as myself. It would be nice to connect with someone of my gender who knows how I feel, who knows the thrill of shooting down a Deathclaw, or understands the emotional trauma you go through when your N.P.C. boyfriend dumps you to become king.<br />
<br />
And to you non-gamer girls out there, I have this advice; the next time your partner plays a video game a little too long for your liking, don’t immediately spit the dummy and have a go at them. Why not pick up a joypad and join in? You never know, you might enjoy it.<br />
<br />
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find a platinum chip in New Vegas...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7oWfX-IJolZW3dNtaDsg0gBwXPuB3BX2HBsOh6HWR3VxalPT_Dg7S5QYz98oXK5Sf0qgEHE6G94FW-eL2_6YlXCm63lRDvffk72XLKhvqmnSusR1BjykJNOanUjk8HunY1e7z96cas2vb/s400/fnv.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-1497231960059583262011-04-16T02:17:00.005+01:002011-04-16T15:39:41.954+01:00I Feel Dirty...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VVwIazzUVd61XgMeZ7mH40lCt34QatuzA00CvW3x2fPgOplncsm6AW8mzDnNuWMsdLI4NSLLkwIQxp6y2KnNnqDXnKNNMXbcRWYzlRYM5sL38CMuvjt6RO-cy_aU4QT7zpgdWM2yutiJ/s200/twitter-backgrounds-images-themes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Well, I've been and gone and done it now.<br />
<br />
I've done the one thing that I swore I'd never do. The one thing that makes me want to have a very hot bath. But <b>DAMMIT!</b> They don't make hot water hot enough!<br />
<br />
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<br />
I have succumbed to peer pressure.<br />
<br />
I am now... <i>*sigh*</i>... on Twitter.<br />
<br />
I've never had much interest in it before, and truth be told, I not entirely sure how much interest I have in it now. I already have a Facebook profile to keep in touch with my friends, but apparently FB is "<i>soooo 2007</i>" and "<i>you have to have a Twitter account these days because, like, everybody who is anybody has one</i>". Whatever...<br />
<br />
But what the hell. I'll give it a go. It could be fun, and it's not like it costs me anything. And, hey, it's just another kind of blogging, right? <b>Right?</b><br />
<br />
So, if you're reading this and you're on Twitter, pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top follow me, because right now I'm a proper Billy-No-Mates. (The link is in the sidebar.)<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I am up to my ears in paint. Boyf and I have eight orders for canvasses to complete over the next ten days, so my next proper <strike>rant</strike> blog may not appear for a little while. Then again, I may be hit by the inspiration train tomorrow and need to blog to get all the crazy voices in my brain to shut the hell up.<br />
<br />
I wonder if tweeting would keep them quiet? <br />
<br />
Am I the only one who thinks that blue bird looks as creepy as hell? I think it can see my soul...Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-89610984903813425162011-04-12T11:07:00.001+01:002011-04-16T02:18:30.323+01:00Giggle Vid: ♥ (part two)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5puevi60eP4QIKygWGZKyGCJhkdg3xzPSnvc0MW_3VhyopNaSHLJiNJu9pxhlqicb2QO9Te8901VORM5v7SrMFe5F4qPG-ZLgA11bZ5O_MDOmo5BVQPBV6weOcBRwxiIsnbJxLVnp1Q7/s1600/Presentation1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>As sweet as this is, I can't help wondering what their children would look like... <br />
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<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rynvewVe21Y?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></center>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-4292055197905573212011-04-07T03:52:00.006+01:002011-08-02T01:07:30.464+01:00Fat Like MeI have a confession to make...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #a64d79;">I am not perfect.</b></span><br />
<br />
I'll give you a moment to digest that fact...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPrzprcdNe0jJ7XwmEtqAHKiRiLN2YhP_4mjPif2yv-voQgzPKNBhT33X_gL8DUcgIuEniMjU0SJDykq_9a_-lFLkRS1D5Om0SgP4hRDygFwC5NRfeHpM6DTOe1ZQMBomS4PZeeBgR0x3/s320/pobodys_nerfect_bag-p1499097739524448032wlr7_152.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><a name='more'></a>I'm not just talking about the mess which is my brain and the bipolar/anxiety disorder/borderline agoraphobia that is attached to it. I'm talking about the physical side. My body isn't a temple, it's more like a shed. A big shed.<br />
<ul><li>I hate my upper arms and thighs. They wobble too much.</li>
<li>I hate my boobs. They're too big for my frame. My bra size is actually 34 O.M.G.</li>
<li>I hate my jelly belly. You can definitely pinch at least an inch of it.</li>
<li>I hate my bum. It looks like two piglets fighting under a blanket.</li>
</ul>I think everybody goes through stages of thinking they're fat. I feel that way at least once a week. But to some people, body image is everything. It's the most important thing in their lives. In fact, it's more important than they're lives.<br />
<br />
I was prompted to write this post by something I read last week that really got to me. It was written by a blogger who is very obviously haunted by a lot of emotional demons. In her post, she wrote that her boyfriend was trying to make her get help for her bulimia, but she didn't want help. She'd recently lost a lot of weight and wanted to lose even more. This upset me and I really felt for her. Then I read the first comment, and it affected me to the point that I had to walk away from the computer and give myself a time out. Instead of pleading for the blogger to get help or telling her that making herself vomit was bad for her, the commenter <b>congratulated</b> her on her weight loss and <b>encouraged</b> her to lose more.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRnaHGUc0mNPSwGdgWlO_Ie5wrsXEfY3dHlECPYqGMtGKaluB9r_UdvM8jURiQX-L0S6SnNgNk7mYkkTRZ-LQoBPchTRDbymcI1TLl1EI99Zao16CB-8xHe9bVbTScJNQ1My0ubW_KSZw/s320/control.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>I have never officially had an eating disorder. I have never eaten a huge amount and then made myself sick, but I have starved myself on more than one occasion. The longest I have gone without eating anything at all is about three weeks. The longest I have gone eating as little as possible (no more than an apple a day) is more like three months. For me, it was mostly about control and little to do with my figure. I had no control over what was going on in my life, but I could control <i>what</i> I ate, <i>when</i> I ate, <i>if</i> I ate. I didn't have anyone to turn to and nobody saw what I was doing to myself. I was in a catch 22 situation; I didn't want to draw attention to myself, but at the same time I wanted somebody to care. If they did, maybe it wouldn't have gone on for as long as it did, and maybe it never would have happened again.<br />
<br />
Anyway, cut back to the present day. I am now what's known as <i>A Big Girl</i>. I am borderline medium, borderline fat. I don't eat too much, but I do eat too much of the wrong kind of food, purely because it's cheaper and I'm on a budget so tight it's practically strangling me. Also, the meds I'm on for my old friend bipolar are notorious for weight gain. I could probably eat the same as a sparrow and still gain weight. And I know I don't do enough exercise, because... because... well, because of lots of reasons which I'm not going to into because they sound like excuses. They even sound like excuses to me and I know they're genuine reasons...<br />
<br />
<i>... Damn. It's got to be a bad sign when you don't believe your own honesty...</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, anyway, <i>anyway</i>... I am bigger than 98% of my female friends (which could be why a majority of my friends are male). I have curves in all the right places and several in the wrong places. I know I'm overweight even though I haven't weighed myself in years. I won't allow scales in my flat because of my self-starvation experience.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxILKLCWF-LWNdZwU5sPgImZueGFTHFhm01E32YN3sPYCLm5Kx9Fmd_FWup2p8763J-HghHOVaENeoaWKX3UcO9XRm3K-HjA6vTl544b2WInoTkqPU_czT1C1vE5u8ilakxw-1KRdvxagy/s200/rubens_venus_at_a_mirror_c1615.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="158" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Back in ye olden days, big women were considered to be sex symbols. Curves and rolls of fat implied that the women were not only fertile, but also wealthy. The bigger the girl, the bigger their meals, and therefore they must have more money. Skinny girl didn't get a second look by the eligible bachelors of society because they were considered to be unhealthy and poor. Oh, how times have changed...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Nowadays being big is considered anything but sexy...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe6TH0y5VediYzw7OBJNyb8DZwMcNrusOosUpzklr9xP8jcOdgozLY00aFvDk9reL3wMGEaBLGgyzSoBuYog1cx0VPrJ7RzOXB3ML1qUHer_wmpmSMdEwnAvJcNwJZnngnk0jjnwN3Xys/s1600/dawn_french.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoe6TH0y5VediYzw7OBJNyb8DZwMcNrusOosUpzklr9xP8jcOdgozLY00aFvDk9reL3wMGEaBLGgyzSoBuYog1cx0VPrJ7RzOXB3ML1qUHer_wmpmSMdEwnAvJcNwJZnngnk0jjnwN3Xys/s320/dawn_french.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn French</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNslCn5d24Tz93F88fPJzoxgwyfaFLHZicnCBXnSm4KMd9kx_-V3RFUhq2cISBDNItGW8rSk9gdJBtRVeHmuz3I4_rw8DLoKI904_Pn0XR8AeUi3cRHyCX8nGfpYfQMbFWZnQTCYpqieS/s320/amber-riley.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amber Riley</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOxzpcTiKWyg4oBHARQ-N1Imyf41ejuOi8pbtN_Ym9TJGgUj9Lfu7Uq5k2XsXFivxe6GVwgj2HtyN4Sc3wj6FpfX-eaVmJhUL4J46kpGSMHH0rpDX9-6phaBhpuz9ghAv-5qtqipF86Cs-/s320/tara_lynn.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tara Lynn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>... but I beg to differ.<br />
<br />
23% of British citizens (and 31% of Americans) are obese. With fast food restaurants with huge portions on every high street and the price of healthy food forever increasing, it's hardly surprising. For example, I could buy two of these...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_zd-aZk8skgPKzMuE-0FRGnmfO9re_QoyvumuVg-qKL9ACfVYgVvB7UDj12E2MRyQjNhmQo7p4nAKWGhyWAMmvypjFJlBNAWz5mygYmWDtie0tgrd8DNHpiB1hPj0XHiJ_7GZlBud5XHZ/s200/cola.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="160" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 litres of Cola</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For the price of one of these...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtuOy2M5FzTTsE-QAXw-B_Er5IkbpBeSZNd8e2epDykFn6HQOp85mtLHdTsOqy-tKolD3vtNciRU43QXXTw5BeDw3Mhd0G_ZnHDOztVPB7vAoCbYuL6zbessduF6oCviX10iRBpXDyg3J/s200/007709.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="93" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 litre of cranberry juice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And that's just one example. If you want people to eat healthier, then make healthy food cheaper! <i>It's simple math!</i><br />
<br />
If magazines and television are anything to go by, to achieve true happiness, you must have the perfect figure. Apparently skinny = happy. I'm not sure the 70 million people worldwide suffering from anorexia or bulimia would agree. Neither would the 50,000 who will die as a result of their desperation to be skinny.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcl2U9Q_a12jCiOLoj4j-kePWlV2WK3Nj-Q48Rv9imax66xdCUFSkFG9IjXLW4qhJNhBRF_ffdriz7XNmaiQT_fQ86s7AOQw9iCDCNZuumtoGul-_8rf5hhxhByxW9u_qtANs8i1_D8BfF/s200/mirror.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm not saying that all eating disorders are only about being thin. There's obviously a lot more psychology involved than the sufferer just wanting to have what they perceive to be their ideal figure. But the media bombarding us with images of so-called perfect people with so-called perfect figures and perfect lives can't help the situation.<br />
<br />
I also believe that air brushing should be outlawed. Let's see what these perfect women truly look like.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLqTf3khv-IkntDem-YCW1xM89XJf7x_rf7-b0FI_HrKsVpxTv5U7PPKVM8edpWGO9o_QOyTL_RxoO0R0UdBz3TbhVABBZTohazoK_GdX3DESKgaun9c20viihDe8VP_hZOcWBQ4hnwZ8/s1600/britney-spears-no-photoshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLqTf3khv-IkntDem-YCW1xM89XJf7x_rf7-b0FI_HrKsVpxTv5U7PPKVM8edpWGO9o_QOyTL_RxoO0R0UdBz3TbhVABBZTohazoK_GdX3DESKgaun9c20viihDe8VP_hZOcWBQ4hnwZ8/s400/britney-spears-no-photoshop.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I think the only solution is moderation. If you're hungry, eat something. If you want a cookie, have a damn cookie - just not too many If you eat too much and exercise too little, don't be surprised if you put on weight. If you want to lose weight, do it sensibly with a healthy diet and exercise. If someone tells you they're worried about how much weight you're losing, take the time to consider what they're saying. They might just have a point.<br />
<br />
Okay, rant over. All this blogging is making my hungry, so I'm going have a slice of pizza. Or two.<br />
<br />
I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable. And hungry.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-2607678743249834662011-04-03T15:49:00.004+01:002011-05-06T18:05:08.831+01:00Mum<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNx7PIetgf599EE9biwZt3DWuLh_U50L98NpiR1gSq0p4nujNP5slogwV-5nx5avnx3xT7SR5hAjikPyyGa5jCeL7VP5IO1YY8CmoxDXRt_VfyqoXmIvVeYQV65xorwIjTEHmbAxaxF6J/s400/100_1813.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mum, circa 1952</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<a name='more'></a>Today is Mothers Day.<br />
<br />
My mum died of ovarian cancer when I was 17.<br />
<br />
Although the pain gets easier to deal with, it never completely goes away. Neither does the loneliness. Not completely.<br />
<br />
I'm so jealous of people who got to buy cards and gifts for their mothers, that I went out earlier today and brought a pot of daffodil bulbs. I daresay they'll be dead by the end of the week.<br />
<br />
I was so close to my mum. I know that I will never be that close to another person ever. I can't tell you how that makes me feel.<br />
<br />
But this isn't a <i>woe-is-me</i> rant. This post is purely for my benefit. I just needed to clear my head.<br />
<br />
This was her favourite song.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/XXvjVhETNU4?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></center>Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-997972024930126935.post-39655735426796081892011-03-29T03:51:00.012+01:002011-08-02T01:10:48.815+01:00United States of England: Response<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div><span id="goog_472260856"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYiSF0yKrwCNtSwBQb-U1j1HyRlzFivZC92rnGt27ezhj6rmx9-20cP2Xq1p_k82CC5qZj9OtIxC6MWYBkqe0R3ic_2wFNWdjYc4O0aTA6Sn_t-MUZGdNIWlIrz8lRuQNt10154yq9Z47/s400/uj.jpg" width="400" /> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://usedtobelieveinforever.blogspot.com/2011/03/united-states-of-england.html">Click here for Part 1</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span id="goog_472260857"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a>Okay. So, as <strike>threatened</strike> promised, this is a follow up post to my last blog. I wanted to know how Americans perceived the English and England, and hundreds of bloggers responded... Well... 4. So, thank for your thoughts and giving me plenty of giggles, and here are <i>my</i> responses to<i> your</i> responses.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #a64d79;"><b>1. What are the most common stereotypes of the English?</b></div><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Bad teeth..."</span><br />
Dental care over here is ridiculously expensive and a lot of dental surgeries have been closed in recent years due to lack of funding. There were reports on the news of people pulling out teeth with pliers because they can't afford to go to the dentist and of others trying to fix a broken tooth with superglue because there wasn't a local dentist to go too. But those cases are the minority. On the whole, no, the English don't have bad teeth.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Drink too much..."</span><br />
Compared to a lot of countries in Europe, we're practically tee-total! I think we probably drink more than Americans, but we're far from being a nation of alcoholics.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Snobbish..."</span><br />
Totally not true for 99% of us. The snobs tend to be rich and look down on everyone who doesn't have as much money as them, no matter what nationality they are.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Chip on their shoulder about Americans..."</span><br />
I've never met anyone who has a problem with Americans. If anything they have a strange attitude towards the Polish (not me included I hasten to add).<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Stiff upper lip..."</span><br />
Oh, yes. The good old English stiff upper lip. Forty years ago maybe, but not so much now.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Frumpy..."</span><br />
Three examples of how frumpy we are...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiatAC9kX6iKCMNaynxBx_he5noutM-2_bIPm6OS0y34SaRrJr15v1_DZ6OmNx1H8-MoFwPSt5PjiEXuh2NlOeupsY85WAL2J8Y1p7yvJniyATbpV4B54S_peYpD8pIjSdoiaimk0uZChR/s200/keira-knightley-quits-acting.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="161" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keira Knightly</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnem4ea-COlXGDc5ycOs9mavayg8qKJbC228hVeCbTqu1kPTHA8vuZczwNB-h4osVPlMGvO8FXY1TEceRHDg-8kZ1CvG8yj832-ApS1HsPtzfXpX3Wkmw0ymdxD7gJSAPwEc-8zOglu5N/s200/kate-winslet-cover-glamour-aprile-2011-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Winslett</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflaliCAJVXVZ6MpfkTiLiTSgufmwQ-Efq3R_L7Hx4Dax-zdM_fI6yx7IkKjDrGEgERkbnD_BRqhKV4_M2fhWGsvSeB3H9idIrTtWD8KYtmr52EKlL38V21CYdKAzY-moifZnJNgfvn9b7/s200/rachel-weisz-sexy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="163" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rachel Weisz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>See? We're a nation of beauty queens!<br />
<br />
Well, maybe not, but we're no frumpier than America.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Talk funny..."</span><br />
I guess we do if you're not used to the accent, but I think that's true of everywhere. (And no, we don't all sound like Stewie Griffin or Dick Van Dyke in <i>"Mary Poppins"</i>.)<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #674ea7;">"Generally well educated..."</div>I guess that's sort of true, but I should point out that most of us weren't educated in posh boarding schools as depicted in a lot of movies. I think our senior schools are pretty similar to your high schools, except you have more subjects and we have to wear uniforms.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Very socially rigid..."</span><br />
This response made me laugh because it's so not true. We're a lot less inhibited than you think we are.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #674ea7;">"Somewhat prudish about sex..."</div>See the above answer :)<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"GREAT humor in TV shows and commercials"</span><br />
Very true.<br />
Personally, I worship at the shrine of Eddie Izzard, but to truly appreciate the bizarrness of English humour, you have to see the wonder that is Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cYyMN4o5MDs?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></center><br />
<div style="color: #a64d79;"><br />
<b>2. What have you heard or do you believe about England as a country?</b></div><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Great Health Care"</span><br />
True, if somewhat underfunded.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Small!! compared to US"</span><br />
True.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"I've always imagined England as being formal, beautiful, proper. I imagine lush green fields and small, poorly paved lanes. Quaint." </span><br />
Some smaller towns and villages still look like this...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYDNJNRyrdtxsmoqLWmw_Rn7-JY_4EdLZe7YYkB07j7V-5prwD5VbSHW-_WWn3xaLigk7OTxmVP6ShnJDJzRWRNcFb9zuCVAwqfAo4PIblnIQeTKM7W1Dy5GSxUWY8tqczt4a3rDtgvpK/s320/wareside1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wareside. 3 miles from where I live.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But most towns look like this...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqoPDT98CxpiRnLnxuOoV-vA2WSKAKt-RtOCcZy5jNmGJR0UXQ-QxBAqR_0QbidH3BtqFrDWF3092jw14lRvS8AC6WukmgYUUp9lOjHD1GUhxp7N8vDedJxHfNEZDWXk151m-DNEwLtG3/s320/hoddesdon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hoddesdon. The town I grew up in, 5 miles away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's kind of sad, but at least there are still some scenes like this...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhly3zHvGiHiC9a47nPcCM8bPmAPCcB4tpiv2JGCh6P7accitD71ST6NTD3JXBM1LbWV4eBC2T9_uYCqKNYOOBI7HKaXIiu5Ax2_rhl6Kg8_F2VFBzGlpcN4p_BJ6V7vSirxJw9VQVOgro_/s320/l_5bb1d5c26c27fef55cf9844d88720072.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 minutes down the road.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<b><span style="color: #a64d79;">What do you think about our royal family?</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Don't care a hoot..."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Americans are obsessed with the Royal family. Not all of us are obsessed- but we hear about them often. Lady Diana is up there with Elvis (almost). I still remember hearing about her death- it was shocking."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">"As little as possible. I see tabloid headlines and feel thankful that nobody watches me so closely. "</span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: black;">If you ask most English people what they think about our royal family, the overall response would be... "Meh, whatever..."</div><br />
Everyone was shocked when Diana died and the conspiracy theories connected to her death are still flying around to this day. I neither loved her or hated her, but there's no denying that she was more in touch with the <i>"common people"</i> than any other member of the royal family. I only hope her sons follow in her emotional and free thinking footsteps. I think William will be a great king, but I can't help thinking Harry would be better. He'd be the party king!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiK_SzGZMjL_1yb1SsoPgkHd6go0cDQ2RFeNMQ8jMAuc2pvEdJHG8mlJb3aPE9tM_nCPMqhHRkOW4C6uq4yOk-SkuHy26PKt2LQR466pWvBt2GKKObUwWzRqW7T58j1-CpEIJLNQqA-fj5/s200/queen.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="195" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe she is human...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I don't think William or Charles will ever get to be King though.<br />
<br />
The Queen will never give up her crown.<br />
<br />
And she'll never die.<br />
<br />
Because she's a robot.<br />
<br />
That never pee's.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #a64d79;">Without Googling it, do you know who our Prime Minister is?</span></b><br />
<br />
Yes, it's David Cameron, and no, most people don't care. We have very little faith in our government, not matter what party it is.<br />
<b><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Who is your favourite English (or British) band/singer?</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.</span><br />
No great surprise there then.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #a64d79;">Have you heard of any of these people?</b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div><br />
I'm so glad that most people know who Stephen Fry is. I adore him. He's a big, fluffy teddy bear stuffed with intellect and wit. As for the others...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLJGu_9bW_TUTSOFBwlYDQhAHSos3BZhUNA6eO2RVExPwnMmoqUozUJ4fdVKA93mfZ5WOiDe38dMdh6lEv1xZ-Y-2GwT79zSpCGiaKWcBIU9qenTaOnbVYhghOgZIBsgURy6Uq8zNwKsX/s200/Jordan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jordan/Katie Price</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Jordan</b> is a millionaire/former glamour model who sells every aspect of her life and her three childrens life to everyone and anyone who wants it. She's the kind of celebrity I despise: She tells the tabloids all about her sex life and then complains about her lack of privacy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCL4Oc4O2K6FDlqM_a75CZtot2PFol_dDsHIZm8xI6Y7ABUNSIsGGnOzARVdIFPls0vL2QV1Lm920gMDpMoNqOPCq7MNGtrVfbHvyYMiqK4GqCorcr1Yy5dHukL90Q2gpqbD4yghSoJy-/s200/11128248.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kerry Katona</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b><br />
</b><br />
<b>Kerry Katona</b> is pretty much the same. A former member of all girl pop group <i>Atomic Kitten</i>, twice divorced with four children, former drug addict, bipolar sufferer and constantly selling exclusives to <i>Hello</i> magazine<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4_ePb7sRIpCGXVnOSf9k_-Pr0rn3HsW31I4kTuvzJawou4TaI3X48TruLzTTY2FWPa1wsKl2fvFvHICC9Z26B9ZmuaGnQqKq6kKlWOHrl6s9SVxKdGWbdcBe-vbg6ObmirpQ0Bfqlz9u/s200/cc.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="166" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheryl Cole</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Cheryl Cole</b>, member of girl group <i>Girls Allowed</i>, has been named sexiest woman in the world two years running (according to some lad's magazine). She was married to a high profiled football player, but finally divorced him after the press published details about his sixth affair. Like the previous two, she is <i>everywhere</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjes5FSrrkpXlDdVixsxaooYF0Kesh6kJBx2srzMbEyckA0GlY6-cGBg0darLLiosBoOsY99v3Wo_A4L7xtv2vRyoKN8NlLKszVISomshKLRP0ol8BUhEqcozSMLzTo2vnxg47R04tGBLkv/s200/jg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jade Goody</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Jade Goody</b> was constantly in the tabloids for several years. She came third in the 2002 series of the reality show Big Brother and then the Jade phenomenon exploded. Thick as two short planks (uttering memorable quotes like <i>"Sherlock Holmes invented toilets"</i> and<i> "Rio de Janeiro; ain't that a person?"</i>) but lovable with it, she became the nations (very rich) darling until she showed her true nature of not only being stupid, but also racist. <i>On live television.</i> She tried to make amends by going on the Indian version of Big Brother in 2008, but two days into the show she was told she had cervical cancer. <i> On live television.</i> She died on Mothers Day 2009, still in the media spotlight.<br />
<br />
Watch this clip...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/asas49ZLa98?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe></center><br />
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, that blonde muppet is <b>Boris Johnson</b>...<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<b>...<i>the Lord Mayor of London</i>.</b></div><br />
No, I am not kidding.<br />
<br />
<b>Jedward</b><i> </i>(John and Edward - get it?) are an absolutely terrible pop duo who were discovered on <i>The X Factor</i> (the English and original version of American Idol.) They've had one hit single since then - a duet with Vanilla Ice. Classy.<br />
<br />
These guys make Justin Beiber and Rebecca Black look like music maestros.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;"><b>(Warning: If you choose to watch this clip, I do not take responsibility if your eardrums start to bleed.) </b></div><br />
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<b><span style="color: #a64d79;">Do you have a favourite word or phrase that you've only heard used by an English person? And are you sure you know what it means?</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Mind if we pop round.. It means to stop by for a visit"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Shag... to screw"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">"Jolly Good... It sounds like such a happy way to agree."</span><br />
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Correct, correct and correct (although if someone uses the term "Jolly good" these days, they're usually being sarcastic because nobody speaks like that anymore).<br />
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Other Englishisms you may enjoy include <i>"Minger"</i> (meaning unattractive), <i>"Argy-bargy"</i> (an argument or fight), <i>"Lug-hole"</i> (an ear) and <i>"Wanker"</i> (a derogatory for someone, implying that they masturbate a lot).<br />
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<b style="color: #a64d79;">Would you like to visit England? If so, where and why?</b><br />
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London was a popular choice, which isn't a surprise. Big Ben, Tower of London, Buckingham Palace and a lot more besides. I love visiting London and I only live an hour away by train. My favourite places to visit are Camden Market (it's very retro), Piccadilly Circus (lots of shops, street entertainers and theatres) and the Tower of London (where lots of peoples heads fell off). It's a wonderful place to visit.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwHqvMho4Jsq-cBCOw2naV6pCqMDmEWVkdUEDwd96jG2zPj4SV9fuDxKT2SEL4iFtGQXDm2amv9_sC75BRZT_Zs77kXm0AaOiT9PqO6bwc7MJfzU3ThQ54vlEsTSZNpW-cokp6VFKPJ67/s400/Piccadilly+Circus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piccadilly Circus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And there you have it (and I swear I'm not working for the English tourist board). I just wanted to give you an insight into my little England, the country in which I was born. The country that is obsessed with celebrities, where few people care about their government and care less about their royal family. A country where we talk funny, aren't frumpy and drink quite a bit. And the country that boasts the highest teenage pregnancy, highest number of jobless families, highest H.I.V rate and highest cocaine use in Europe.<br />
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It's not much. But it's home.Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16138514584593397186noreply@blogger.com5