Londinium calling

Posted 19 Apr

Yup, up in the smoke I was yesterday for a worky type thingy...anyhoo highlights of the day was seeing a nun on the back of one of those porter trolley things, being given a pig, a sponge and a tree (which had a pube in it), getting disgruntled looks from fellow tubers when my friend had a total 'blonde' moment involving Barney the dinosaur and spending the resulting 5 mins in fits of laughter oh and getting 'attached' to another lady on the tube. Resulting in the best stereo exclamation of 'Oo' I've heard in a long time.

Ed Byrne reckons the best way to communicate with other tubers is to use your ipod as an ice breaker. Sorry Ed you're wrong (and a flithy slutbucket to boot, but we won't go there) the best way, is to secretly lace your rucksack straps through someone else's and they try to go in opposite directions. Fabtastic fun for all in an overcrowded, hot and stuffy carriage!

I also had an incident with my cheek and pak choi juice - but I think we'll leave that right there! (Mind you at least I can identify pak choi and don't think its cabbage or similiar).

Oh and huge thanks to the myspacer who posed a serious question to me this week - I so seriously nearly wee'd (sic) myself, its actually quite worrying and has me searching for 'feminine aids'.

Cause I love disappointing boys (lapdancing) & podcast?

Posted 17 Apr

Ok for me male readership...as promised lapdancing with only the kind of spin Jools can put on it!

I've come to the conclusion that lap dancing must've originated in comedy clubs or dinner theatre venues. Comedy clubs are not the natural habitat for the normally reserved English classes. We're quite good at the queuing, I'll give you that, but then we find ourselves doing the seat shuffle all night cause no one wants to take the 'firing line' seat at the front. There should be some sort of points or drinks system for these kind of gigs.

Firstly, the poor late bastard who does end up in the firing line should get a huge round of applause and free drinks all night for sheer bravery. The rest of us, whilst waiting for the latecomer to arrive will have to satisfy ourselves with musical chairs. Ensuring that at no point does any part of our body make contact with any strangers, even if this means someone's going to have to read the rules of twister before they can extract us from our seats.

We could attempt the newest fitness craze for the over 30'er – the bar obstacle course, as you once again struggle to the bar ensuring you make no physical contact with another human, resulting in a rather strange interpretive dance which has you alternating between the moves to YMCA, Saturday Night Fever and attempting to limbo under a barman's legs. (Hey it passes for modern dance in some arts fesitvals you know).

You get to take a drink of beer or wine if you make it to the bar and back, if you make it to the loo's and back then you get to drink a shot and if you manage to do both without landing in someone else's lap or standing on someone's foot then you have to down all your drinks.

*personally I think there should also be a high scoring round if you manage to get a comedian to give you a 'terrified' look - but maybe that's just me? ;)

**Ooh podcats? For those that missed/ignored *ahem* the bulletin, I used to do podcasts, then I didn't, the sun's been out so maybe I'll do another one again. Do you want IT? You might even get a namecheck (woo hoo infamy at last - not necesairly a good thing, people start calling you slut and all sorts).

Minty pacers to all of ya!

Sorry my music choice just said 'nothing I can say when I'm in your thighs'! Funkeeehhhh

and she's off about toilets, again....

Posted 14 Apr

Carrying on from toilet tardis I thought I better just continue with my education of the men folk and explain in a little more depth about what women actually get up to in the toilets.

First picture the scene:

You're in a trendy nightclub surrounded by gorgeous females (trust me on this, they're all gorgeous cause you've just downed 8 pints of lager), anyway you spot that all the women are making 'evil eyes' at each other as they boogle themselves into oblivion. Invariably at some point in the evening 2 or more of them will make the difficult ascent towards the loos.

Once within the safe toilety haven a complete metamorphosis occurs:

First, most of the glaring ceases as women drape themselves casually against a wall, sink or willing victim

Then we strike up a conversation with anyone who'll listen, which normally consists of:

Gawd there's always a damn queue isn't there
Ooh I like your top, where'd you get it
And ooh what's that bint over there having a rant about?

This continues until we make it into a cubicle, upon which we discover one or all of the following:

No loo roll
Broken lock
No loo seat
Floor that resembles Lake Michigan

At this point we hover over the loo seat, precariously perched with a foot on the door, as we holler out 'anyone got any loo roll?'. Dependent on the floor in question this is either passed under the loos (this is the usual etiquette) upon which we comment on our cubicle buddy's shoes, or occasionally we opt for the overhead lob.

The broken door dilemma is just one of the reasons we take our mates with us. Similar to meerkats we operate a 'look out' system, where a mate is placed outside the door to act as a door stop and also to protect us from any would be predators *see previous comment about ranting bints.

Of course posher toilets never have all of these problems, but I've yet to find one that doesn't suffer from one of them. The problem with posher loos is that they put the toilet further away from the door, which is a logistical nightmare if you are sans friend. Imagine if you will a woman try to invoke a < shape whilst directing her pee backwards. Near on impossible to emerge without looking like a tie dyed hippy.

Total Tit - Dramatic encore

Posted 14 Apr

Advice for not making a total tit of yourself – part 3 (or whatever – I've lost count there's so many).

Tis not advisable to go on a German school exchange as an impressionable 15 year old and embarrass yourself in ways that you will still recall when you're in your 30's.

Such as dumping your boyfriend and letting your greedy German pen pal get her mitts into him, thus spending the entire trip scowling at people (which indeed helps with the goth look you've recently adopted, but helps with little else). Wailing at anyone who will listen and drinking way too much beer (which you don't like anyway) and spectacularly fall out of a tree house in a drunken stupor.

It's also not advisable to wake up in a German household with a monster of a hangover, especially when your pen pal's, 3 older and cuter brothers have all dropped by to say Hi and are proffering plates of cheese and ham.

Finally it really isn't a good idea to agree to go swimming whilst still nursing a hangover and not knowing the German for either 'paracetamol' or 'kill me now' and subsequently throwing your guts up into the nearest bin in the pool reception.

This is not a good way to improve British/German relations – for pity's sake they lost the war, they don't really need some British bint barfing into a bin.

*Unfortunately by no means the last in the Jools is a Total tit series

Enhanced drunken jim jams it is then

Posted 13 Apr

OK, so just for my lovely subscribers, I bring you drunken jim jams (you are all going to be SOOO disappointed now as I rather feel we pimped it up a bit too much)

Is it ALWAYS wrong to be in your 30's and still drink an entire bottle of lemon schnapps and throw up down your jim jams?
Cause we never wear anything but jim jams now. They suddenly become the uniform of choice for the semi alcoholic 30 year old. Gone are they days of throwing up in the gutter, on someone else, or down your best batwing fluorescent jumper, nope hit your 30's and you just don't go outside any more. Quite frankly, what's the point you're only going to be harassed by hoodied youffs shouting obscenities about your zimmer frame and all the drinks are bloody expensive. Why go to the expense of going out and buying a jack daniels and coke when you can buy a bottle of Liebfraumilch for a fiver and stay in watching Top Gear.

And what about the serving suggestions they put on bottles of wine. I don't mean the serving suggestions ' this goes nice with chicken or fish' those sorts of one, cause lets face it all we really want is one that says goes very well with kebabs, but I think the lager industry has cornered the market on that one.

No I mean the size servings they suggest. On a standard bottle of wine they reckon you can get 6 glasses out of it. 6! 6! – What sort of Lilliputian fantasy world are these guys living in? I don't know about you but I'm lucky if I get 3 glasses out of a bottle and to be fair I'm lucky if the wine even makes it into a glass.

Now they've also come up with wine stoppers, you know to 'store' your wine so it doesn't go off! Christ that's never going to happen, my white wine is lucky if it even sees the fridge before its consumed. I don't have a cellar, why the fuck would I need a device to store wine.



Of course the problem with living on your own is you have no guage of how drunk you actually are. Yes you've got a ready meal for 1 and the cats for company but that's about it.

Stairs do help with establishing the level of drunkenness but if you live in a studio flat or a bungalow you're totally bollocked. You tend to be ok until you attempt to go for a piss and then suddenly the sofa seems to be a very long way from the floor. Of course its not at this point that your body goes into puke spasms..oh no its at 3 am, you've been asleep for a couple of hours when your body suddenly jerks you awake and you realise that
a) you've drunk an entire bottle of walnut liquer and you have a intolerance to nuts,
b) you're spreadeagled like a beslippered starfish across your rather cold and hard laminate flooring and
c) you're really not going to make it to the loo or even sink in time to chuck up last night's kebab.

And really puke is bloody difficult to get out of flannelette. Maybe that's what we need for the next series of the 'You've got a crap idea' or Dragon's Den or whatever it's called – the first set of puke resistant pyjamas.

Space Dust Blow Job*

Posted 7 Apr

I do think that women who grew up in the 80's must've been a bit disappointed when it came to their first blow job. We've been brought up on Rice Krispies and Space Dust and quite frankly we expected a bit more from putting something in our mouths. They rarely snapped and never crackled or popped – quite frankly I felt a bit ripped off. If I'm going to put something in my mouth, it might as well do some sort of trick whilst its in there or at least attempt an impression of a sherbet dip dab.

*There's going to be some very disappointed punters who came looking for a sex blog - sorry but the jim jams posts are just as interesting, honest!

Updating

Ok so even though I'm decamped in myspaz, I thought I'd double post some of the witterings in case any of you are missing me...btw I am still reading all the blogs I'm subscribed too but just don't have the time to comment, so please don't think I'm ignoring you my little darlins..I love you all still, muchly.

Anyway so updates coming in the order I posted them on spazzer (apologies to any subscribers but there's going to be shedloads over the next few days...)

Posted 1 Apr
Why do barmen insist on showing you their arses when they're coming over to clear glasses? They make this big show of doing a 360 degree spin as they nonchalantly sashay over and then go, 'oh I must've forgotten something on that table there, let me just do a slow spin round to retrieve it'. Then when they finally walk away they hold the pint glasses just at the right height behind them so the glasses are magnifying their arses to perfection.
Fair enough for the gay ones, but what on earth do the straight ones think they're doing?



Women really aren't interested in arses. The only interest we have in them is asking guys if ours are too big.

It doesn't matter how you respond to this question, face it guys you are ALWAYS going to be wrong. Even a sincere and heartfelt 'but your arse is so tiny in those very flattering 80's style ski pants' will be met with a snort of disbelief and then you'll be spending the rest of the afternoon as chief handbag carrier as we deliberately spend an eon in the changing room having first spotted half of your rugby club heading towards you.

The only way to get out of that question hell is to try and deflect it by doing something completely spontaneous and uncharacteristic. Like taking us out to dinner, listening to an entire conversation or learning the location of the clitoris.

Decamped

Ok so I have fairly permanently decamped to munterspace (linky in the right bar somewhere near the bottom). I know, I know, I never thought I'd be a munter either, but it's bloody addictive and actually a damn site easier than blogger and doesn't eat my posts!

So shenanigans are over on myspaz, including double trouble with 2 comedians this time - oh yes I've only been and done it again, must learn to keep me gob shut.

I categorically refute the fact that I am a slutty freakboat! :)

See you over there folks. :)

Bloglines ate my gerbil

Ok well not my gerbil but they have eaten any beta blogs, which means I'm way behind on my reading. Thinking of ditching this place as I'm double posting over on munterland as well and find it difficult to keep up with all the split personalities.

So if I disappear in a couple of weeks, you'll know where I've gone...

toodles
X J

Unidentified pants contents

(and no it's not a penis!)

Ok so following on from the mascara incident - I discovered, late today, what can only be described as a 'thing' in my pants!
I have NO clue what it was and I'm almost certain it didn't come from me. I can only describe it as a cross between a peanut skin (you know the inner little bronzey coloured husk, not the shell) and a part of cherry, like you'd get in a muffin.

Now I did have a cherry cookie the other day (and yummers it was too) but that was like 3 days ago and I don't generally spend my time shoving cherries down my pants *insert witty/sarky comment here* or indeed have discovered my hidden talent of 'expelling' cherries from my lady bits.

I'm waiting to see what'll appear next.....grape, orange, melon, fruit salad?
Anyone wanna place a bet?