Do the Pajama Shuffle, Then Look Embarrassed When It’s Not Just the Postman

Tra, la la. Shuffle about in your pajamas all morning, enjoying a Saturday of nothing. Switch on the ol’ PS2 for some good old-fashioned vintage gaming, because you’re a little bit nerdy like that. And finish off that huge bag of cheesy doritos, because it is Saturday, and you feel like stuffing your face. Mmm, crunchy.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. For a moment, you think, “Ahh to hell with it, I’m in my goddamn pajamas.”  Nothing on pterodactyl’s earth will move you from the insanely comfortable spot you’ve made in front of the TV. However, suddenly you remember Boyfriend specifically instructing you to answer the door, because his Mum has ordered something  for him on Amazon and you may need to sign for it since he’s working today. With a grudging sigh (and crunching as you remove yourself from a doritos-encrusted bed), you shuffle to the door.

Opening it, bleary-eyed (and crumb-faced), you expect to see the postman, or a similarly-occupied person with some kind of wee navy-blue jacket on, indicating their working position. Instead, a guy with grey hair and a dark suit is standing there, smiling. Then, his expression drops for a moment, faltering at the sight of you, a short woman with bed-hair (and possibly crumb-faced), swamped by a giant red hoodie and shuffling around in tartan pajama bottoms.

“H-Hello,” he begins awkwardly, clearly horrified by the sight before him. “Are you… alright?”

Sighing inwardly and then smiling politely, you nod and mumble something about having a late night, even though that’s a lie, and you’re actually just being a lazy bastard.

“Well,” he continues on, suddenly merry again. “I’m actually handing out free magazines…. I’m a Jehovah’s witness you see, and these magazines are about creationism.” He’s grinning all confidently now, or perhaps he’s just laughing at the sight of your spectacularly stupid hairstyle at the moment.  He thrusts a wee booklet entitled, Was Life Created? under your nose. Right now you’re thinking, “Yes, you moron, it was created over billions of years. Go buy the New Scientist or something if you are in doubt over fossils.”

Instead, however, since being rude isn’t really your schtick, you smile politely again. “Oh, really,” you interject, as he talks a little bit about what is in the magazine. You take it from him and stare dubiously at the cover, which is a picture of some palm-trees and then an under-the-ocean-view, both of which has been formed/been around for billions of years or whatever. Once you begin to wonder where the hell the postman has gone and think about telling this guy you’re not interested, suddenly a thought comes to mind. Jehovah’s Witnesses are all about suffering, so surely telling them to get lost at the door is just going to make them feel like they’ve achieved more godliness-points. Instead, you think, I’ll continue being polite so this guy can’t whine about stuff and feel all smug.

“Are you religious?” Mr Jehovah’s Witness asks all of a sudden. Yes, I’m a Satanist, now excuse me while I go sacrifice a possum, or whatever.

“Uh, my father’s a minister….so….” you mumble, vaguely explaining how you know both sides of the argument, and in an even quieter voice how you don’t really believe that stuff anyway. Either having not heard you, or, even more likely, ignoring you, he cheerfully concludes that you must have a bible in your flat.

“Atheists believe there was a big bang-” (he waves his hands around for suitable emphasis) “-and that all life was suddenly created over many years.” Before you can ask if it’s more  likely that everything suddenly just sprang to life, fully-formed, a few thousand years ago, he says, “the bible holds the truth.” then, he suddenly pauses, and grudgingly adds, “at least, that’s what I believe…”

“Imagine you have a tray, and you put eggs, raisins, flour, sugar… blah blah blah-” (you’ve actually started tuning out now, because you’re trying not laugh in his face) “- what could you make with that?”

Suddenly brought back from your own private joke with yourself, you stammer, “Uh, well pretty much anything you could bake involves-”

“RIGHT! A cake!” he says triumphantly, waving his hands around again. “But if you throw all those ingredients in the air, you WON’T suddenly get a cake, will you???”

Uh, well if you did it really slowly, and eventually added an oven to bake it with, then yes, you would get a cake, you retard. But obviously, this minor detail has been ignored when coming up with this analogy. Instead you shrug and say, “I guess,” because, yes, you certainly won’t get a cake by randomly throwing things towards the ceiling.

Mr Jehovah’s Witness goes on, “If you want to build a bike, you can’t just get all the parts, put them in a bath, get a wooden spoon and mix them around. THAT won’t give you a bike, will it?”

No, because the parts of a bike are man-made anyway, so this is another stupid analogy, and anyway, why a wooden spoon? And a bath? Who the fuck builds a bike in the bath?? Just as you are starting to worry you’re going to be stuck talking to this weirdo instead of enjoying videogames all day, he smiles satisfactorily and says, “right. It won’t make a bike. And even though it’s a little different from the world, it’s a comparison a lot of people can understand easier.” I assume he’s been trying to explain this to people who have just awoken from electric shock therapy, lobotomies or indeed having half their brains removed.

“It’s been nice talking to someone about this, normally people aren’t interested,” he says after like 10 minutes, genuinely looking grateful despite minimal words exchanged on your part. “Please read this magazine and perhaps you will learn something more.” he bids you farewell and you close the door, promptly starting to giggle to yourself because this guy was insane.

So, let’s look at this book, shall we?

“Will you trust the claims of those who say that there is no intelligent Creator and that the Bible is unreliable?” (yes.) ” Or will you examine what the Bible actually says?” (I have done that, actually.) “Which teachings are worthy of your trust, your faith: those of the Bible or those of evolutionists? (hebrews 11:1)” (um, evolutionists.) ‘Why not review the facts?” (I have, and the facts have led me to the fucking evolutionists, you stupid-head.)

Why not indeed??? Well, because it’s moronic. But whatever. Tune in soon for a hilarious analysis of the creationist magazine.

You Paint Them Toes The Reddest Colour

Black Cat, which is the littler of my two cats, seems to have a goal, and one goal only. Cue epic orchestral music.

Well, it changes, but she is pretty darn determined to achieve her little goal, whatever it may be. This week, for instance, her goal seems to be to sleep inside my piano while I am playing it. Why? Well, just for the sheer hell of it, of course. What more reason does a tiny black cat need to justify doing random things?

My goal, on the other hand, besides trying to thwart all napping-inside-the-piano attempts, is slightly more focused than usual. Basically, what I need to do is just get better at playing the piano. Not my pieces – I’ve pretty much got all the notes down. How you play a piano, in terms of technique, completely changes everything (I mentioned this on my music blog a couple of days ago if this seems at-all familiar). It’s this damn key-stroking business – with my tiny “cockney geezer” hands (as one of my college friends so fondly calls them), all gracefulness necessary for sufficient key-stroking/floating is really damn difficult. Pretty soon I will be weeping hysterically in a corner somewhere, no doubt.

I’ve been managing to dig up some old Tori Amos songs I haven’t had the chance to hear yet. I think I was prompted to do this after hearing the songs off of her newest album, Night of Hunters. Listening to old Tori Amos songs, for example the ones from her first three albums (Little Earthquakes, Under the Pink, Boys for Pele), beneath some of the quirky cryptic-isms she puts  (presumably to disguise feelings or people and referencing obscurities) are lots of messages that no one really understands. But despite that, whatever she sings can also apply to anyone, since her lyrics can be so unclear. Unfortunately, her new album is full of weird, whimsical Celtic-y things, cringe-worthy lyrics (sorry, Tori) that are transparent in meaning. So while I absolutely loved the music itself (classical and romantic influences from the likes of Chopin and Debussy), the singing sucks noodles. And seriously, I don’t care for her daughter’s voice either.  It sounds like a piano teacher is trying to encourage her student to make an album.

Ach, I’m being harsh. But Tori Amos has set these massively high standards for herself very early on and is now, unfortunately, failing to meet anywhere near them. This is because her first 5 or so albums were absolutely amazing.

Anyway. The point is, after not really feelin’ the new album that much as a whole (despite her obvious orchestral and piano genius) so I thought, “ahh, hell with it! Back to the old stuff! Download ALL the songs!”

So I went back and found songs like Siren (which I am now in love with), In the Springtime of His Voodoo (cut from the UK and re-released version of Boys for Pele)  and the original Talula and Sweet Dreams. Then there’s the unreleased ones like Walk to Dublin, Merman, Honey and Purple People, Upside down and Here, in My Head. Total genius right there. She could make scores of albums full of these amazing B-sides and unreleased songs. Oh well…. *sigh*

While we’re talking about Night of Hunters (well, alright, I’ve moved on from there but now I’m going back) I found a massive track-by-track explanation of her songs. I’ve put them up here, for your viewing pleasure. This isn’t mine, but from here . Enjoy. Or not, whatever.

“Night of Hunters is a song cycle that begins with a shattering of a relationship as the sun begins to slowly disappear and dusk moves in. Alone in an old Georgian House on the river Bandon on the outskirts of Kinsale Co Cork Ireland, tori begins to piece together what has just happened in Shattering Sea. The “him” in tori’s life we learn carries the force of tide and wave as she carries the force of fire.

She soon meets a shapeshifting creature named Anabelle who appears firstly to tori as a fox and explains to her that only with the night and darkness can we truly begin to see with our inner eyes. Anabelle suggests that a missing fragment in the couple’s story lies back in ancient Ireland. She encourages tori to allow herself to cross time and space and go back in time mentally to where this couple walked these same hills but in Ireland’s mythic past.

With Anabelle’s ability to see the past tori reclaims a key fragment of her past with “him” in Battle of Trees. This epic battle took place possibly around 3,000 years ago. The battle was not only for those with physical weapons but always included poets on both sides who used the ancient tree alphabet The Beth-Luis-Nion (Birch-Rowan-Ash) to fight each other. The power of the poet in ancient Ireland was unlike anything in our modern world. But a poet’s wrath, if skillfully turned on a ruler of an opposing army, could shame them to such an extent that a psychological advantage could be achieved for the poet’s army.

Eventually in ancient Ireland, as invasions grew steadily on the island, the respect for the White Goddess was supplanted by those who worshipped the Thunder God in all his many forms. Our couple fought on the same side as poets against these invaders. We all know that the goddess worshipping culture was subjecated by the Thunder God and then Christianity suppressed any inkling of the goddess culture even further.

In Fearlessness, tori collects another memory of her recent past with “him”. Doubt and Blame seem to have come between the couple. Here their life on the sea comes to life. On their recent Atlantic Crossing on his sailboat from the new world to the old world Outside Forces begin to pull them apart so that by the end of the song we hear: “Then that was when the Blame began, what were once two forces joined in Fearlessness.”

Anabelle then shares her view of the couple and makes tori aware that “Every couple has a version of what they call the truth.” Anabelle tells tori to call all that lies beneath both stories back to her own fire and to embrace the truth of what she finds. Anabelle has turned into her goose shape. Anabelle offers tori an elixir of cactus to open up tori’s vision and her heart so that she can actually claim her part in this shattering separation from “Him”. As with any elixir, it’s job is to take the participant to a depth of feeling and understanding that they have not been able to achieve in the cold light of day.

Star Whisperer is where tori begins to sing directly to his soul. She refers to “him” as you for the first time in our song cycle. “He” begins to have a voice and perspective as he speaks to her through different instruments. The elixir Anabelle has given tori has taken her into the dimension of Star Whisperer which is over 9 minutes in length and becomes an emotional discovery whereby tori realizes that, “you saw a me I didn’t want to see” as well as, ” I saw a you I didn’t want to see”.

Next, Anabelle, as fox, asks tori about the day she abandoned her force of fire. She also warns us that “There is a grid of disempowerment” and that, ” All forces are being called to dismantle this”. As the constellation Job’s Coffin looks down on Earth, we learn that Anabelle is here to call all forces, “back on line”. She explains that looming in our present reality, “There exists a power of old who wanted Earth to be controlled”.

In Nautical Twilight, tori reveals when she turned her back on her own force of fire – “I abandoned it rupturing a delicate balance when I left my world for his”. She now sees what this has done to imbalance their relationship. She expands on the idea Anabelle planted in Job’s Coffin about ” a power of old who wanted earth to be controlled”. The consequence of any force turning their back on their own power is no different than using it for destructive purposes. tori realizes she must make the choice to reactivate her inner life force.

Your Ghost is tori singing to “him” after having met his ghost. “Your Ghost has shown me our primroses could survive the frost if a gentle rivulet of flame is sustained tenderly.” She acknowledges she created a forest of glass and that she understands now that he was also wounded in the shattering of their relationship. She also tells him that both of their forces have the power to “heal what was cut and bruised”.

Edge of the Moon reveals a vow that “he” made to tori. She begins to remember what their relationship was like before the two of them allowed outside forces to pull them apart. In both Your Ghost and Edge of the Moon, we hear that there is a depth of feeling that still exists between the couple. The blame and the anger each had towards the other is transmuting itself into a place where the depth of their love for each other is stronger than the damage that was done to their relationship.

With that understanding of how she really feels, during The Chase, Anabelle announces she must go and leaves tori with the Fire Muse. The Fire Muse reveals herself through an actual flaming life-size fire that Anabelle dances around getting tori to show the Fire Muse the riddle she has been taught. Anabelle explains that she, in her fox/goose form, is the hunter and the hunted which carries the force of duality and neutrality. Although a different kind of hunter/predator force seems to be closing in around them, Anabelle must continue on her mission of calling all forces to wake and to use their powers to out-create the forces who have chosen to use their power for destructive purposes. The riddle Anabelle has taught tori is old magic and is teaching her the skill of shapeshifting from the hunted to the hunter, Anabelle’s power. She warns tori that “out there”, in order to survive the predators, she must out think them, out create them, and apply everything Anabelle has taught her, or she could literally lose her head.

The Fire Muse begins her message to tori with,”rose so red this night of hunters, find love instead of their blood by your thorn.” The Fire Muse acknowledges that some of the dark forces gathering hunt for power, others, to invade children’s dream. tori’s first instinct is to for revenge against these dark forces. The Fire Muse explains that the children’s dreams must be reclaimed. With the assistance of the Seven Sisters, a frequency is put in place to watch over the children’s dreams and guard them against the dark forces that would invade these children.

The Seven Sisters bring tori to the force Love and for the first time she has gratitude for the people that have come into her life and even though they may leave, for whatever reason, they are not truly gone.

With the dawn comes Carry, and the sentiment, “you will not ever be forgotten by me in the precession of the might stars your name is sung and tattooed now on my heart here I will carry carry carry you forever.”

Tori Amos July 2011

Whatever you say, Tori. Whatever you say *pat pat*

"I'm going to stand really still and look off wistfully into the distance because it makes me look deep and spiritual"

Le Crumpets, and Other Assorted Things That Don’t Make Sense

It’s strange being back at college. So far, the course is way more intense, with quite a few wee assignments (though nothing serious) so far. I’m supposed to be performing a piano piece on Thursday morning – EEK. After listening to the other piano players in the class, I think it’s safe to say I’m shitting myself just a tad because they’re all really awesome. And younger than me. Waaah.

One of my classes involves building a career portfolio, which involves creating a website/blog documenting music-y things. So naturally, I’ll be switching regularly between my new music blog and this slightly more personal one (although saying that, it’s not really personal at all since I don’t give away all that much. But you know what I mean!)

So anyway, the point of this wee baby blog is to inform you that http://deedeesmusic.weebly.com/   is my wee music site. It sucks noodles right now, but I’m going to be working on it. A lot. So feel free to shimmy on over there and leave nice comments ^_^

When something interesting happens to me, I shall document it here for all you tangeriney peaches. Until then…. I’m going to be boring and stop now >_<

The Motorist Who Spewed Racial Epithets While Also Spewing Vomit – (I’m quoting the awesome Dinosaur Comics)

Today is unusual. Why, I hear you ask? (or not) Well I’ll tell ye! For two reasons: first, the fact that I got my first student loan today; and second, that I have a beehive.

Yes, the world is certainly different when your bank account actually has more than dust surrounding it while your hair is piled impressively upon one’s head.  Unfortunately, this is also the very beginning of my life of being in terrible debt (no doubt) and one day, a loan shark will come for me and break my legs.

Also, next weekend, boyfriend and I are going up to the Highlands again for a wedding celebration. His mum recently remarried and they are having a 60′s themed party, hence my experimentation with tall hair. This is no easy task, for my hair is so thin it resembles brown smoke, it is only down to my shoulders, and finally, I don’t actually have very much of it. It seems to be purely theoretical. Anywho, much back-combing, hair-spraying and pinning-up later, I ended up with a considerably high….thing on my head, so I suppose I would consider it a success. I ordered a cute little white 60′s mini-dress online (and so begins my ridiculous spending habits that will inevitably end up ruining my life). The 60′s illusion is complete!

Anyway, it has been far too long since my last post. Again, you are not asking why, but unprompted, I shall continue ahead. The reason for said silence is not because I lost my entire face in a freak banking accident, as the rumours suggested, but because I have been a lazy numpty-head. And also I’ve been sorta busy when not being lazy.

From mid August to the beginning of September, I was doing this mentoring job for Edinburgh University. The ELTC wanted young adulty people to help them teach Japanese students (of around the same age) English. Me and three friends went along to their classes and a few evening activities, and it was awesome fun. Me and one friend had one class which we helped teach, and the other two of us had another class which occasionally split, or maybe they had two classes. Anyway, I’ve forgotten, but the point is, we were helping to teach, and it was good. Demonstrating polite conversations, taking part in drama (and making ourselves look stupid), taking the Japanese students to the local pubs and helping them set up their own presentations… that was the sort of shenanigans we got up to. Everyone was lovely and friendly, and despite being shy at first, they all seemed to improve their English by the end, so at least we weren’t totally useless. Of course, there were some awkward moments , like when a Japanese guy who is shy and isn’t too confident with English attempts to hit on you multiple times, and when all his friends keep telling you how cute you are every time they see you, but apart from that it was fine. If slightly embarrassing as my friends watched gleefully from the other side of the room/sitting opposite, sniggering because they know how awkward I felt. Thanks a lot, guys! We also had a Ceilidh which was good fun (though being tossed around by one of the Japanese guys who was usually very quiet and scared all the time was a surprise, and also sort of painful…) and we also went drinking a couple of times. I made one good friend in particular who we hung out with a couple of times outside class and she also came shopping with us and she also visited my flat briefly – I miss the students a lot! They were really lovely. But of course, the world of facebook has allowed us to keep in touch, so hopefully we’ll keep that up.

Kitten is currently trying to beat me up (as always) so this is a short (and rather boring) update. Oh well! If something exciting happens at college I guess I’ll update it here.

shazam.

And Here Lies Dobby the House Elf, Who… NAH I’m Just Kidding, No One Actually Gives a Crap About That Annoying House Elf

Warning: Contain’s a few wee spoilers, so if you haven’t yet seen the last instalment of Harry Potter and have not read the books then see this blog at your own peril! Oh, the peril!!

So, part 2 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Goblet of the Half-Blood Philosopher’s Deathly Hippogriff, or whatever the hell the last book was entitled (it’s been so long since I’ve read it, I forgets) has finally been released. Boyfriend and I shuffled along to the cinema to see it earlier on tonight. Damn the expense, we said. Then, when we got to the cinema and were charged almost 5 pounds for a regular bag of popcorn, we were like, “DAMN THE EXPENSE!”

So here is a quick summing up of stuff I felt worth mentioning in wee bite-sized bitelets. Also note I like to use irony and exaggeration and probably enjoyed the movie way more than I’m letting on.

1. Storyline
This movie, which consists of roughly the last like, four chapters of the book, all drawn out and hammed-up to make an entire 2+ hour film, is naturally full of epic things. No, seriously. It’s just creamy dollops of epicness. It’s just shooting hot jets of epic foam. It’s filled to the brim with epicness after being pumped full of epic juice. You get the picture. Sadly, while the film was certainly not lacking in epic everything, the storyline was somewhat wanting. Epic music? Check. Epic camera angles? Check. Epic lines in the script? Check. Sly yet epic boob shot of Emma Watson? Giggity. Story? NOWHERE to be found! But fortunately we have tons of epic stuff to put in to make up for it.
Story points: 3/10
Bonus:  Epic points bonus, 8/10

2. Characters
As usual, Harry’s friends, whom he treats like crap most of the time, have nothing interesting to say or add to this movie. I mean sure, Ron and Hermione FINALLY make out, which this whole thing has really been building up to, but other than gazing doe-eyed at each other for the whole 2 hours, they don’t do anything else particularly interesting. Well, I mean, they destroy horcruxes and all, but the movie relies on the film-goer having seen all the other movies and read all the books to actually care about them, so by itself, no sympathy, or indeed, even a shit or two, can be given about them. On the other hand, Emma Watson dresses as Helena Bonham-Carter’s character, Bellatrix Lestrange, and consequently a brief but inarguably epic shot of what her push-up bra can really do flashes before our unsuspecting eyes.
In other news, Harry’s object of affection, Ginny Weasly, is simply that. An object. Like a blueberry pancake, or something. Perhaps venetian blinds. Throughout the movies, there is nothing likeable or special about her. She doesn’t stand out as being smart or funny, caring or generous or indeed posess any vague acting talent. I’ve eaten boiled rice less bland than her. Then again, Daniel Radcliffe has no more acting skill than a bologne sandwich, so they’re perfect for each other. However, she’s supposed to be fiery and stubborn (and, let’s face it, she gets off with everyone in the books) and we don’t see any of that on screen. She plays the part of merely the object of affection, then the vessel for Harry’s ugly children. Though I suppose this mirrors Harry’s own parents (Lily Potter = redhead, James Potter = insufferable indie kid with stupid glasses… my god it’s exactly the same!!).
Character points: 3/10
Bonus points: Emma Watson boob shot, 7/10. Giggity.

3. Tear-Jerking Moments
While some moments in the movie are quickly skimmed over (Look this person is alive and- OH they’re dead, how sad, and- LOOK AT WHAT’S HAPPENING OVER  HERE NOW!) other moments were actually a little sad. I won’t go into too much detail, but when some of the characters go you genuinely feel bummed out, probably because of the epic music accompaniment. However, any grief for the characters who die is quickly forgotten within five minutes, probably to make way for the next epic part in the sequence of events. Occasionally it shows a shot of a dead person, who did something in one of the previous films, and while you’re racking your brains trying to remember who exactly they were and what they did, the movie goes stomping on ahead like an impatient pony.
Teary points: 6/10
Bonus: Not whining about deceased characters too much for too long: 7/10

4. Staying True to the Book
What? THAT didn’t happen like that in that bit! What’s going on there? Wait, that person died AFTER that happened! Wasn’t that part meant to be in the tower? Why are they falling? They just INVENTED that part! Wait, he didn’t die like that! What’s with the ash?! It’s simply for the audience to enjoy some flung-in 3D effects! I don’t care about 3D goddamn it! This is an outrage! If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the angry dome!!
Staying true to book points: 2/10 (because they skimmed over/missed out all the massive parts. “Dumbledore’s boyfriend? His sister? His brother? We’ll sum that all up in four minutes! Except for the gay part”)
Bonus: Some of the changes improved the 3D viewing experience, I GUESS *sigh*: 3/10

5. The Look
The sets? Awesome. Camera angles highlighting the cool stuff you can do with 3D effects? Not bad. Stuff that flies at the screen, again benefitting the 3D experience? Alright. Character looks? A bit dorky, as usual, except for Emma Watson’s awesome Bellatrix Lestrange outfit. CGI? Pretty good. Makeup? yeah, I guess Voldemort is gross and scary looking. Clearly this was a film with the looks in mind (shame the same didn’t apply to the story or characters) and they certainly delivered on that front.
Looking Pretty/Epic/Atmospheric/Insert other descriptions here: 9/10
Bonus: Caring that Hogwarts Gets partially Destroyed Because it Looks So Awesome: 8/10

5. Music
Again, certainly epic. The main themetune runs through the movie, which is nice because in the last couple of movies it seems to have been forgotten. The scores suit the events unfolding and help to evoke emotion where the main “actor”‘s wooden acting fails epically. Incidentally, was Daniel Radcliffe impersonating a shrub throughout the film?
Music Points: 8/10
Bonus: Shrub Impression: 10/10

7. Supporting Actors
The actors who were not hogwarts students were all fine, of course. It was mostly just the young ones who sucked noodles. Maggie Smith kicked ass as Professor Mcgonagall and Alan Rickman as Snape was pretty good. Apart from that though, there wasn’t much of a consistent appearance with the others (apart from the dude that plays Voldemort) even though they all had large roles in the book. Och well. We had Daniel Radcliffe’s shrub impression to keep us entertained, or not.
Supporting actor points: 7/10
Bonus: Maggie Smith being Maggie Smith (with her hilarious Jean Brodie accent): 10/10

Well, there you have it for now my tangeriney reader. If you haven’t watched the movie, then go and see it because it’s the last Harry Potter movie ever, for roast beef’s sake. And if you have watched it, then I’d love to know what other people thought of it.

And if you can’t watch it for whatever reason, then don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a plant or a twig you can watch that acts exactly like Daneil Radcliffe.

DERP DERPA HERPA DERP

Flying Girl! She Flies Through the Sky!….. With A PIE in Her EYE!!! *whoosh*

I’m having this flashback of my oldest sister holding me up above her going, “Flying Girl!!! She Flies Through the Sky!!!!….. With A PIEEEE In Her Eye!!!”  And then me shrieking with laughter at the rather surreal image, aged about 6.

Ah, Flying Girl, always with a pie in her eye. Was it apple? Steak? Who knows?! All that we know is that it was now situated in her face. Probably through some over-enthusiastic hand-flailing while flying, and clearly the subsequent result was that it ended up in her eye. Due to the temporary (we hope) blindness, my big sister would then let me fall. Flying girl goes down!! Oh but I forgot to mention I wouldalways land on the bed, or couch, or mattress or similarly soft surface. Otherwise, that would just be child abuse. And if she did throw me across the room, I’ve forgotten after the concussion.

Elspeth was the oldest growing up. She was the first one to go to primary school, high school, bring home her boyfriend, play loud music, get wasted (though not in front of us), make friends, go to art college, listen to good music (which me and Ally now listen too as well), move out, move to New York… the first of the Maxwell sisters to go stomping into the horizon and on to greater things. The list is obviously way longer but I doubt everyone wants to read about her being the first one of us to like, sit up and hold a pencil, etc.

Me and my sisters look pretty similar. Well, that’s obvious. We all have kind of round faces and big cheeks, making us all look younger than we are. We’re all short, we’re all pretty creative and we’re all nerdy in our own ways. We have similar opinions and political stances and a similar sense of humour. We’re all in steady, long term relationships (second sister is married now :)) and none of us are particularly athletic. Other people have told me we talk the same and laugh the same. Ok, this is sounding creepy and clone-like. Basically, you see the three of us together and apparently it’s like, “WOAH they’re a bit related” (and that’s a direct quote).

I’m rambling a little here, as usual. But the point is, me and my sisters have been in different continents at the same time and the minute we’re back together it’s like no time has passed at all. Wait, that wasn’t the point. But anyway. We go off and do our own things but as soon as we see each other again we’re back to our old antics. Maybe not quite of the “flying girl” caliber but you know what I mean.

Elspeth, being eight-and-a-half years older, was naturally and obviously a role model. Listening to Tori Amos blaring from her room, while I sat in my own room playing with barbies, it was clear that Tori Amos was what older, cooler people listened to. Me and Ally, being closer in age, spent most of our time playing and/or squabbling (usually one followed by the other) so while I was obviously influenced by Ally too, I think I noticed it less because I spent more time around her. Elspeth, being at art college, was this amazing Art Master (I think in the back of my mind I still think that….) and clearly a genius since she could work out what to do in computer games when I could not (Dizzy, Prince of the Yolkfolk comes to mind. CLASSIC.)

Dizzy, Prince of the Yolkfolk, helping a lion. What a saint.

I sound like a total kiss-ass. But as a kid, that was what I thought, and this is getting embarrassing now since I’m all like, “oooooh Els is so great blahblahblah!”

But fuck that. Elspeth IS great. And that’s because she’s a Maxwell gal and the first one to pave the way for her two adoring younger sisters, and later another little sister and a sister that is a year older than Els…. Yeah, there’s kind of a lot of us. Obviously, Dad, being the only guy in the family, is hopelessly outnumbered.

So why this sappy blog? Well it’s the first of the Maxwell girls’ birthday! Huzzah! We love Elspeth, that we do. So 17th June marks the day she gains more wisdom with her extra year, on top of those 8-1/2 years of experience she has on me. *so wise*

Happy Birthday Els, hope you’re having an awesome time in New York.  *more sappy blogging and reminiscing…..*

  But what would a birthday blog be without one last wee story about Els? A boring one, that’s what! Hey Elspeth, remember the time we were crossing the Links by the Meadows? A helicopter flew over us really low. “AAAARGH!!!” I shrieked, and promptly turned around to make a break for it. I then walked STRAIGHT into Els, face first. *SMOOSH*

Possibly my dumbest moment ever. Well at least ONE of them. Good times had by all.

The troll be a harsh castle guard...

*Flies off, holding…..A PIEEE! How will this end?!?!?! Tune in NEXT TIME!!!!*

In The Wild, Wild West… There Was….A BAR WHERE THE SAME THING HAPPENED ALL THE TIME!!!

Somwhere in the wild west, a small, sleepy town stood on the pink, baked ground of a dusty desert. Well, it wasn’t pink because it had been baked by the sun, it was actually just pink because that was the colour it happened to be. In fact, I’m pretty sure that baked things come out browner or black, not pink. And when I say dust, I mean those clusters of dusty, fluffy bits you find in the carpet if you haven’t hoovered for a good long while.

The town was quiet, and consisted of nothing more than imagined buildings lined parallel with each other. In the centre was the bar where the locals frequented. While the sound of clinking glasses and laughter echoed from behind the swingy doors, a mysterious figure approached. They rode on a white horse, holster rattling as they galloped towards the town.

Back in the bar, Celine, who owned the place, was busy cleaning the glasses. She was friendly, and a wonderful singer, at least when it came to reciting the CareBear’s theme tune. She had a habit of wearing green a lot: a green waistcoat to be exact. She also had a matching green tutu but it was often abandoned for different items of clothing given the slightly distasteful colour.  Her hair was reddish-brown and short, sticking up in an interesting wave-type style at the back of her head. Truth be told, beneath the hair was a velcro patch for the purpose of sticking on a giant hair extension. Truly, she was the most beautiful woman who had ever… owned a bar in these parts.

Working by her was Blossa, a young blond woman with wavy hair that had been cut to her shoulders. She was the one who lent a helping hand to all who asked. Everyone loved her, for she was a kind soul. Also, she was quite good at singing, but not as good as Celine, though she could certainly warble out any Disney tune at request. Someone came sauntering through the saloon doors as she wiped clean the greasy glasses at the bar (Wiping glasses was pretty much the only thing the barmaids actually did, might I add). Blossa met their gaze and she smiled happily, for the exotic man with long black hair who stood in the middle of the room was none other than Kocoum, the town sheriff and the love of Blossa’s life. (Others may recognise him from Pocahontas, the guy Pocahontas was supposed to marry before she got off with John Smith instead.) Kocoum looked around, confirming all was well. There had been reports of a stranger approaching, but then again anyone who passed through was called a stranger, and feared. After a quick shot of… something, and prolonged gaze at his girlfriend, Kocoum left the bar again to investigate the suspicious claims. Meanwhile, the stranger from the desert arrived in town, dusty and squinting in the low light of sundown. He came in on his white, pink-haired horse, one hand on his holster, ready to whip out his gun. I realise I’ve already mentioned the horse and the holster, but I thought it would be cool to mention them again. Anyway, where was I…..
Ah yes. This town was full of suckers. He’d robbed it before and goshdarnit he’d do the very same again. Except this time, he wouldn’t get caught. Pause for dramatic sustained minor chord on acoustic guitar. And resume.

Blossa and Celine were busy serving customers: among them being Michael Jackson, who sang “Black Or White” when his belly button was pressed, and also Mulan, wearing a long red chinese-style dress. She didn’t say much. There was also  Carolla, who was Blossa’s twin sister with significantly less hair after an unfortunate haircutting episode. Phoebus from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” had also arrived, and him and Michael Jackson were happily knocking back whiskies as Celine began belting out one of the slower numbers from Evita. The doors to the saloon burst open all of a sudden and the stranger entered, the doors swinging wildly in his wake. Everyone fell silent, including Celine, which was remarkable since it was ordinarily an impossible task to make her stop singing at the best of times. Standing there was, as everyone soon realised, not a stranger at-all. In fact, it was none other than the scum of the wild west, the baddest bad guy for miles around, the most terrible criminal ever to live…. Simite Sam!!!

Simite Sam. He was tanned, orange in fact, with a very white smile plastered on his orangey, orangey face. He had orange hair to match, moulded into an 80′s side-parting. He was wearing a tuxedo, stolen from none other than Shaving Ken. He sure was the most evil crook out there. First the robbery of the town shop, followed by his arrest and then instantaneous escape, and now this.

“Well, well well….” Simite Sam smirked as he tapped up to the bar in his plastic bare feet. “Back here again….”

“Get out, Simite Sam!” Celine said bravely. He ignored her however, like baddies so often do to people. So rude. Just then, Michael Jackson came squaring up to Simite Sam in his white shirt and vest and black trousers.

“AHEEHEE!” he said threateningly. Simite Sam laughed meanly.

“Sh’mon!” he added, really meaning it this time. Simite Sam shook his head.

“You’re a fool, boy!” Simite Sam chuckled, and he threw a punch at Michael Jackson’s plasticy face. Michael Jackson fell to the pink carpet, frozen into a standing position with his arms all dramatic, except he was on the floor.

“You’ve gone too far Sir!” Cried Phoebus, suddenly plucking up the courage after his 6th whiskey shot. Clunking towards Simite Sam in his gold-and-blue armour (how spiffy), he drew his sword and pointed it threateningly in the criminal’s general direction. Given his hands were positioned in a weird half-clasp position, this was a much harder feat than initially indicated. Simite Sam whapped out his gun and fired a warning shot into the ceiling. Phoebus dropped his sword and decided to sit quietly instead, since he was obviously going to lose this one, and besides, Esmerelda was watching and as soon as she found her right arm again, she was going to whapeesh him upside the head for being such a reckless fool.

“Now ya’ll are gonna sit still while I go ahead and help myself to this here money safe,” Simite Sam announced, pointing to the only safe in town which, for some reason, was located at the bar as opposed to the bank. Celine and Blossa slowly edged out from behind the bar and stood to the side while Simite Sam barged past. He shot the lock and helped himself to all the money, scooping it into his bag of swag, which he probably stole from some bandit somewhere in the first place.

After this horrendous display of rudeness and criminal activity was over, Simite Sam slowly began to back towards the exit. He cackled evilly and fired another couple of shots into the ceiling for effect.

Just then, a blur came tumbling through the swinging doors and landed right on top of Simite Sam. They lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. His gun was knocked from his hand in the commotion and it slid way across the room. But what had happened!?!?

Why, the blur had been none other than Kocoum, the town sheriff! He was always there to save the day. Blossa clapped her tiny hands together in awe and amazement.

“I don’t THINK SO, Simite Sam! You’re under arrest!” Cried Kocoum, raising his voice to create a distinct impression of authority, even though he ordinarily kind of sucked at it, given the abnormally high crime rate of this stupid town. Which was actually ALL caused by Simite Sam. Also, there were babes watching, among them of course, his beloved Blossa. He flexed his muscles just to make sure attention was still on him.

Just then, Shaving Ken entered the bar. “Hey…..HEY! Is that my suit?? What the hell, man?!”

Unfortunately, Shaving Ken’s disdain was drowned out over the cheers as Kocoum arrested Simite Sam’s orange ass in an unnecessarily dramatic display (hey, there were still babes watching). “Hooray!” cried the patrons of the bar. Celine cleared her throat and began singing “Once there Was the Sun” from Thumbelina. Blossa took the swag bag and returned the money to the safe. Truly, all was well again with the world.

Kocoum marched the criminal across town and to the sheriff’s office. Then he shoved Simite Sam in his usual jail cell and locked the door. “Done and done!” he said in a very manly fashion, dusting his hands as he did so. “This time, Simite Sam will never escape! Therefore, it will be safe for me to leave the keys on this table directly in front of his jail cell. Why, that’s the safest place to keep them!”

And he left the jail, a hard day’s work done. Now it was time to go celebrate with everyone else at the bar, and possibly earn a slim chance of scoring with Blossa. They partied well into the night, and Celine and Blossa even extended their repertoire to include several numbers from VeggieTales.

****

“My GOD!!!” Kocoum shouted as he walked into his office the next morning. Some of the locals came running.

“What is it, Sheriff?!” they cried, wondering what could possibly have happened.

“Simite Sam! Why, he’s escaped! That son of a gun!” Kocoum added under his breath, shaking his head. “He always seems to be one step ahead!”

“Never mind,” replied Celine, who had ceased singing songs from The Little Mermaid long enough to form an actual sentence. “Next time, we’ll get him Sheriff….. we’ll get him!”

Meanwhile, Simite Sam sat on his horse, back in the desert again. He scowled back at the town. “I’ll be back!!!” he hissed, before galloping off into the distance. Cue dramatic acoustic guitar again. Roll credits.

———————————————————————————————

For second sister tangerine, who has a birthday on the 15th of May :) This is dedicated to the awesome barbie games we used to play, back when I was like 6 or 7.  and in case I don’t have time to write a blog for her (since I’ll be seeing her in person this year, that seems likely!) I thought I’d write one now. Happeh Birthday Squishy xx

This was the Ken we used for Simite Sam! MEMORIEEEEEES ^^ Except he was wearing clothes, obviously. Shaving Ken's tuxedo, to be exact.

And Now… For the Speech of All Tangerines!! (get ready for boredom, people)

So Second Sister Tangerine Peach got hitched on Friday, which was the 29th April. Huzzahs all round! Of course, the royal wedding was also on that day, but we all had a bank holiday for the Tangerine Affair as opposed to the royal one, because let’s be honest, who gives a fuck about them. So if you were off, thank the tangerines :)

As third sister of the family I had the sworn and sacred duty of giving a wee speech during the reception. Since I still have it, but will probably loose it, and also since I sort of wrote it and delivered it in the style of most of my bloggy writing (which was sort of an accident but oh well), I thought I’d put it up for posterity and memories and niceness and all that.

Of course, some bits I changed slightly as I said it (also I was nervous as hell) but it went a little something like this…

* * * * * * * * *

  This one time, a monkey ate Ally’s shoe.

She was wearing flip-flops made of foam, and while visiting the monkey farm one fateful day, while on holiday, one of the chimps took the liberty of taking a rather impressive chomp out of the heel. This of course, rendered poor Ally completely distraught, and nothing she said could quite be discerned through the sobs.
This is actually one of my earliest memories of Ally. Ally, with two plaits on either side of her head, wearing a t-shirt and shorts and one-and-three-quarters of what was left of her blue flip-flops.

It’s funny to think of that now, as I look at Ally here on her wedding day, sitting with Li Nah as they go on to take the next step in life together.
But even though so much time has passed between 8-year old Ally grieving over her shoe and now, Ally still retains the many funny and amazing sides of her personality that I remember from our childhood…

For instance, Ally proved her braveness and commitment to helping others as we were both walking home one Summer’s day. As she trod over a particularly ill-tempered wasp, a woman stopped us to ask for directions. Ally, who was probably in a great deal of pain, refused to run home without first giving the woman very clear directions and a polite smile. Ally will always put the needs of others before her own, even a stranger, who didn’t seem to notice Ally whimpering quietly between sentences.

Not long after, a particularly dramatic episode took place. Ally and I played in a garden that belonged to a nearby chapel. It was surrounded with trees and Ally, demonstrating her dare-devil side, climbed halfway up what must have been the tallest tree out of all of them. In case there was any doubt about her fearlessness, she decided to jump, all the way from the height she had reached to the grass way below her. Well actually, it was more like, “Hey Deedee, do you think I should jump down from here?” “….. yeah, whatever….”
So jump she did. Unfortunately, she landed not as smoothly as expected, and actually ended up with a broken wrist. Not realising she had seriously injured herself, I somewhat neglected the role of being a caring younger sibling. Instead of agreeing to take her home, I sat on the grass, rolled my eyes and told her to stop crying because I was trying to play with my little toy plastic animals, which I couldn’t do because she was making such a noise. Despite this, Ally forgave me, and has always been a loving and compassionate older sister. She even let me write on her cast, which was a plus.

Throughout the years, Ally and I have been there for each other, particularly when we would do stupid things as children and get into trouble as a result. A certain event springs to mind, one which demonstrates our total incompetence when it comes to washing the family car: to save time, we decided to use steel sponges to clean it. As you can imagine, we managed to scratch off more than just the dirt, much to Dad’s complete horror. Needless to say, that was the last time we were ever recruited to wash the car.

Growing up, of course there were times we would fight. But as the years went by, our fights became increasingly epic. One particularly memorable evening involved giant, super-soaker water-pistols. In the house. While Mum and Dad held a bible study. There was much screaming and carnage, and by the end of it, we were completely soaked. The walls didn’t fare much better, and I seem to remember water dripping from the ceiling. The carpet actually squelched underfoot for the following several days.

My childhood with Ally is a blur of great memories and amusing stories, and all of them I wish I could share with everyone. They’ve taught me many important life lessons over the years, such as: never use a steel sponge to wash the car, and don’t encourage Ally to jump from ridiculous heights. Every time I think back, it makes me smile and I know I’ll always hold them in my heart.

Li Nah: I couldn’t have asked for a more devoted and kind-hearted partner for Ally to share her life with. In the time I’ve known you, you’ve shown your caring, your generosity, your sense of humour, your excellent cooking skills and your sense of style, which incidentally, makes me feel really uncool when I stand next to you.  I know you’ll both have many adventures and hilarious antics to add to the crazy shenanigans that Ally and I got up to.

And finally, I look forward to having you as my sister-in-law. I know you’ll always be there to love and support Ally. You’ll be the one to comfort her and be her shoulder to cry on… especially if that vengeful monkey ever comes back to finish the job.

* * * *  * * * ** *

So that’s pretty much how it went. Oldest tangerine sister said her speech first – it was a little more serious than mine so we agreed I would go second. While her’s was all lovely and sentimental, mine was all like,  “yeah, so…monkeys”

The ceremony itself was really sweet, and all us bridesmaids ended up all teary.  Everyone looked amazing and very spiffy. It was generally just a lovely day, and despite my feet falling off after 12 hour in those massive heels, I had a really good time. Plus, the drink was flowing and the food kept coming, so I was on and off a little tipsy throughout the day, though (apparently) I didn’t show it. It was good to see the relatives and family friends again as well, and it meant boyfriend could meet everyone too.

So, wishing second tangerine and new–addition-to-the-family tangerine luck, and other similarly cheesy sentiments.

this wasn’t the actual cake by the way, but I thought it looked yummy…

I Move That Everyone Come to My Apartment to Snuggle My Cat

I am fairly convinced that I’m a 90 year-old grandma stuck in a recently-turned-20-year-old body.

This is because I’m a tad on the scroogey side. I complain constantly about the weather, I grumble about students and children, I glare at people who are too loud and the joints in my legs click so loudly every time they’re bent that it sounds like two building blocks banging together. I like to sip gin and tonic whenever I go out and I grumble about kids watching too much TV these days. I can’t use computers and I hate those microwaveable meals because they’re so damn lazy and I constantly moan about money. I shout at my guy friends who all mumble way too much. Kids these days have no respect. I can barely use my phone and disapprove of those goddamn Kindles – hold a book, you young whipper-snappers!

And I’m a total cat lady.

Then again, I’ve been like this since I was like, 17, so it’s nothing new. It’s just that since turning 20 (a couple of weeks ago), I’m much more aware of how damn OLD I am compared to everyone else I hang with at college.

Oh well. With age comes wisdom, they say. Or bitterness perhaps. I’m scowling all the time now, at all those younger 18/19 year olds and plotting to steal their youth.  I tend to rub my hands together evilly and shuffle to a group of nearby young ‘uns, not to talk nicely to them you understand, but to hit them with my walking stick. Since I am so old, they can’t say anything because obviously I’m senile. Brandishing said walking stick, I take a swipe at their young, carefree heads. Mostly I miss, so my handbag can serve as a flail with which to bonk them upside the face. My task complete, I meander away slowly yet with a sense of triumph. Then I forget what is going on and suddenly change direction with a surprising sense of purpose. Onlookers then witness me trying to eat the plants by the foyer entrance.

Most of the time I yell, it is not out of anger but from a busted hearing-aid. I would use one of those electric wheelchairs but I’m not allowed anymore because I tend to use them as a weapon against small children and animals. As an old person I enjoy buying single pieces of fruit with a coupon and then returning it ten minutes later, making people wait behind me while I complain loudly. I also enjoy having my blended food drunk with a straw. Yes, you read that right. But don’t let me have steamed carrots or I’ll complain that it’s too spicy.

I go into the post office and spend half an hour buying a single stamp, only to exclaim after I’ve put it on the envelope already that it’s the wrong one. I shuffle into coffee shops demanding watery tea and then getting angry when it’s all watery. I also point out to staff if a queue is too long, or I’ve been waiting for more than five minutes, despite the fact that the people in front of me require lots of time from the staff to deal with whatever it is. I constantly wear my slippers outside and I dye my hair with weird purple-rinsey stuff. I prefer the company of cats more than people and I own too many things that are tartan. I spend my days knitting and watching Bargain Hunt on daytime television and godawful soaps and bedtime is always 7pm. I also take afternoon naps in my armchair.

So perhaps it is safe to conclude I am an old, senile person.  But isn’t that what makes me so darn endearing….????

Of course it is.

Now off I shuffle to go and tell the postman at the door that I’m not at home.

Because Apparently All Women Are the Exact Same

While innocently browsing through some interesting Feminist articles online, my attention was drawn to a particular one about wolf-whistling etc, otherwise known as sexual harassment.  The author (contributing to www.thefword.org.uk) was writing about how she mistakenly stumbled upon a stupid-ass page entitled: “53 secrets girls don’t want guys to know”.

All 53 secrets are annoying, dumb and obviously ridiculous generalisations, but what really annoyed the author and myself the most was secret #1:

1. When we get whistled at in the street, we feel uncomfortable and we’ll always tut and roll our eyes. But we’re awesomely flattered and we’d be gutted if it stopped.

Hmm. Really? Thank you for that enlightening “fact”. Of course we women enjoy sexual harassment. Hell, we fucking love being judged like pieces of meat and objectified in every possible way.

Because when I was walking past a group of builders and one of them tried to get my attention by shouting, and then (when I ignored him) began shouting abuse after me, of course there was no way I felt in the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, I was actually euphoric by the fact he was staring at my ass.

And of course I enjoyed being cornered on the bus while some creep was going “oh FUCK” and covering his crotch like he had a hard-on and I couldn’t actually get away because he was blocking me in, or when he tried to play fucking footsie – of course, moving myself away was merely me just trying to play hard-to-get and of course I was actually having fun.

And of course I greatly appreciated being told I was “all tits and no brains” because where I worked failed to provide the usual prawn mayonnaise to a certain body-builder prick who probably takes so many steroids that his junk has undoubtedly shrunk to the size of half a crouton.

And of course being viewed on camera is always fun. Really, I was just so flattered about being on screen. Hell I was there every day because I obviously couldn’t get enough of it.

And let’s not forget my love of nightclubs and my particular fondness for being groped in the dark and you can’t really tell who did it. Really, that just adds excitement on, not an icky uncomfortable feeling or anything.

And Summer is my favourite time of year. Of course, I dress solely for the male population, not because it’s hot or anything, so that gives them the right to stare whenever they fucking feel like it. But really, I’m GLAD they do that, even if I glare or roll my eyes or sigh or look and feel embarrassed.

And I do relish the thought of guys shouting stuff when they’re with their friends. And honking their car horns is always such a confidence booster when I’m trying to get somewhere, it’s not like it’s inappropriate or slightly threatening. And random guys on the bus? I love it how they turn round really indiscreetly so they can enjoy a good gawp. Especially if I then have to walk straight past them and stand for a bit before I can get off the bus.

That article enforces the ridiculous, and dangerous, idea that when it comes to women, “no” means “yes”. That when guys see a woman walking down the street they have the right to judge or talk to or follow her. That women are supposedly pining for the attention of males, even if we don’t seem like we are. That we need verification from them. That we feel complimented by disgusting and inappropriate language and/or behaviour and we enjoy being whistled at.

No matter what anyone says, men are NOT animals. They are human beings who can CONTROL their fucking emotions, it’s just a percentage of them who choose not to. Don’t give that percentage the excuse by saying they’re just stupid and don’t know any better. Men who sexually harass are trying to exercise power over someone else with intimidation and/or mocking. Do you really think a man worth being flattered by would make such disrespectful comments about all or part of a woman?

There is appreciating a woman’s body, and then there is plain harassment. There is a line there and we all know there is. So don’t give them the excuse by saying, oh they’re just dumb animals.

And of course, there are also women who enjoy such attention. To them I say, fine, whatever floats your boat. But everyone is different. If they don’t mind being viewed as merely boobs or ass with a body attached instead of being appreciated as a person, then I’m not going to argue.

Interesting fact: if, for example a builder, whistles at you, you can sue the company for which he works. Remember that! And I’m sure mentioning that to them in passing would be good for them, since knowing a thing like that can be oh-so-helpful.

And for guys who are fully aware that such actions are inappropriate, then great. Carry on being a nice human being, and call bullshit when other guys say or do stupid stuff like whistling or groping. And if you’re one of those girls who grope guys in nightclubs, think about how you might feel if that happened to you, and if you happen to enjoy it, stop applying your own preferences to everyone else.

In other news, my cat just horked up her food onto the bedroom floor. Perfect.