So my foster sister Megan gave birth today.
After seventeen hours of labour, only gas and air, a tear here or there and copious amounts of screaming at her boyfriend she gave birth to Miss Amelia Grace today at 5.45pm. A bundle 0f dark hair on her head and a pretty tired mum.
This has got me to thinking. I am so far away from any sort of procreation that the only last step away is lesbianism. I am also two years older than her.
Is this a bad thing? I grew up in a house where the normal thing to do was to get pregnant. My grandmother was married at 16, had my mum at 17, and my uncle at 18. Mu mum was 19 when she had me and has quickly followed this up by literally farting kids out at a rapid rate. I am looked upon by these people as being literally past it at the age of 23.
Don't get me wrong, I have a super maternal instinct. You'll find me mothering almost everyone within sight, and if i hold a baby I can literally feel my ovaries screaming. In some of my more crazier moments, when I have had a scare with an ex, I have also actually held onto that pregnancy test and tried with the power of the mind to create a second line. But that has never happened, and boy am I glad that it hasn't.
Because as much as I get those pangs, those feelings when my stomach seems to itch with wanting to feel a kick, that thought is pretty quickly replaced with the absolute fear of it all. I don't know what I'm more scared of; the pain, the changes to my body, the changes to my life or the expectations and responsibilities that come with it.
I have a relatively high pain threshold, but so does my sister. Knowing that she is screaming to be put to sleep during her pregnancy does not bode well. And even though all mothers proclaim to instantly forget this and go on to have more! This is confusing for my little weary brain.
My body no longer is my own. The alien feeling of having something inside moving is just something I cannot comprehend, and don't know if I would be able to cope with. That and the constant interference needed by doctors; check ups and prodding and poking... its all so much.
My life is not one that I could bring a child into. My life is constantly full of ups and downs, and is sometimes utterly chaotic. I know that this is obviously a sign of not being ready for one, but I can't ever see this changing. There are too many people here now that rely on me and I pretty much have a heavy load of responsibility, what with seven younger siblings with a set of completely dysfunctional and often degenerate parents. I have a two year old brother, and trust me, he is going to need me over the next 16 years.
A lot of people tell me that I shouldn't do so much for my brothers and sisters, as often it is done without a touch of gratitude. Uprooting yourself and renting a two bed apartment just so that your sister has somewhere to call home takes a lot to do, and when she ups and leaves a couple of months later because she doesn't want to do the washing up kind of leaves you wondering whether it is worth it. But how do you explain to people who haven't lived in that environment that you know how much it would have meant to know that there was just one person you could turn to know matter what? Being a parent is often a thankless task, at least when your kids are children, so why should I expect any different from them? The main thing is that they may abuse it, but they know that there is somebody somewhere...
And when I do get to that stage, my biggest fear is what if I cock it up? I have no excuses, because it has been demonstrated to me for 23 years how not to do it. But I am so shit scared of turning out just like her. And for that, I just wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I know that parenting doesn't come with a handbook, and no one has the perfect parents, but I know that I want to be as close to that as possible. The only question for that is whether i ever will be.
Until then, I'll congratulate Megan and guess I'll just stick to being Aunty Katy... at least I don't have to do the shitty nappies, right?
Monday, 30 November 2009
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
(845): I missed Saved by the Bell this morning, but Ashley in a later episode of Fresh Prince is keeping the morning wood alive.
Round Two of the Rap Battle:
From: Daniel To: Katy
Now this is a story all about how I slapped this girl just all around,
So if you’d like to call me Spaniel just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I knocked out this girl who worked for a surveyor
In West Bognor Regis I was born and raised,
In the arcade I seemed to spend most of my days,
Hitting out, acting, protracting and pooling and shooting some punk kids outside of the school
When a mad Hayward’s girl, she was nodding her head,
Tried hard to make my name rhyme with a quadruped,
She got in one little fight and said that she hates me;
But then whispered later “Oh I wish that big Dan could take me”
From: Katy To: Daniel
I whistled for the Spaniel and when he came near
I kicked him in the goolies, wet willied his ear.
If anything I could say that this fight was fair
Cause the only thing Big about Dan is his hair!
He. Was. Trying for hours, he gave into fate,
and I yelled to the Spaniel, yo homes you’re too late!
Locked in the kennel, he was finally there
To watch me, Queen rapper, you puppies beware…..
From: Daniel To: Katy
Now this is a story all about how I slapped this girl just all around,
So if you’d like to call me Spaniel just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I knocked out this girl who worked for a surveyor
In West Bognor Regis I was born and raised,
In the arcade I seemed to spend most of my days,
Hitting out, acting, protracting and pooling and shooting some punk kids outside of the school
When a mad Hayward’s girl, she was nodding her head,
Tried hard to make my name rhyme with a quadruped,
She got in one little fight and said that she hates me;
But then whispered later “Oh I wish that big Dan could take me”
From: Katy To: Daniel
I whistled for the Spaniel and when he came near
I kicked him in the goolies, wet willied his ear.
If anything I could say that this fight was fair
Cause the only thing Big about Dan is his hair!
He. Was. Trying for hours, he gave into fate,
and I yelled to the Spaniel, yo homes you’re too late!
Locked in the kennel, he was finally there
To watch me, Queen rapper, you puppies beware…..
(514): Just saw some guy walking down the street rapping about various types of pasta.
Today I am 23... which means that technically i shouldn't be doing this anymore:
From: Daniel To: Katy
Uh uh, uh yeah…here we go
Who’s lookin’ at me?
Got this surveyor, purveyor, of the purest kinda midget,
Kinda short ass little punk whose inches just touch double digits man that’s tiny,
Like an ant, I got you squashed beneath my feet,
The only feat you’ll ever achieve is suckin’ on your mother’s teat
So while you cryin’, and be brayin’ that this cretin got you down,
I’ll be watching from the gutter wearing ‘Lyric Winner’ crown,
Cos I’ll stomp you and smash you, like KFC does to a chicken,
Prepare your burger, grab a mop and get back in the kitchen…BITCH.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Who’s looking at you?
Well Bognor Regis boy, don’t be frontin’ you aint witty,
Your lyrics aint tight, your bars ain’t right, blud their pretty s**tty, (oh no she didn’t…)
I may be small, but boy I’m hot, good thing in a small package,
Now hold it down and hold on tight, prepare for lyrical smackage.
So stick to the gutter, with your crown, cause mans is from the street,
Cause down there blud, it ain’t so hot and you can’t take the heat.
From up on road I’ll take the throne, and boy you just can’t touch ‘dis,
You got done by one short gal cause this is how she does this…..
From: Daniel To: Katy
BLAM!!!!
Oh girl you know I’m sorry, I was under impressions we was battling,
If I’d known I’d receive a monologue containing your incessant prattling,
I’d have turned the other cheek but not to be struck so that you know,
I’m talking ass is what I’d show you cos it smells like your lyrics yo!
Seriously you wanna diss me cos of my seaside roots?
Girl you told me you’s Irish, what, should I call out all my troops?
We’ll blast you down to earth, bury you in sarcastic compilations,
Go enjoy your junk food, and to my words your masturbation.
BRRRRAP BRAP BRRRAP!!
From: Katy To: Daniel
Dude, I’ll give you props, a comeback here for sure,
But rating it my brudda, I’d have to say its pretty poor.
You say you’ll bring your troops, blud you’d better have an army,
Cause anything less, you’ll be left in a mess, dude it would be barmy.
You say the words you spout do come from deep within you’re a**e,
Its true, where as my lyricism is somewhat expert class.
Masturbation darling, well I’ll leave that to you boys.
Instead I’ll demonstrate to you that guys are nowt but toys.
Toys with which I entertain myself when I see fit,
Toys which try to spin some lines but end up looking s**t.
Toys, they’re just for Christmas, they are not forever.
And you are not for rapping son, cause you just ain’t that clever.
RUUUUUUUUDEEEEEE BOIIIIIII!
Twenty three and i'm still Jenny from the block... bad boy for life.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
(646): I would kind of like a job that starts at 10:30 and i'll work til 7. I'm not very productive in the morning. My main focus is not puking from 9
This is what I did today....
From: Katy To: Daniel
The applicant has failed to respond so I am cancelling any further chasing.
Kind regards
Katy
From: Daniel To: Katy
Lazy.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well that is gratitude for you! ;-)
From: Daniel To: Katy
Love you really. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday, things started to go manic.
Looking at your social schedule makes me feel like an old man at the age of 23.
From: Katy To: Daniel
No problem… wish there was some mania around here… actually I command you to refer everybody that walks through your door to us from now on!
And you are 23 too? Good age to be so I’m told… Only 5 days left of being younger… ugh.
From: Daniel To: Katy
Maybe you should ‘represent’ us young ‘uns and get some pulses racing in the office. Any ideas?
You command me huh? I’ve got to be the highest referrer of surveys by now in brokers. What gives you the right to command me huh :p
From: Katy To: Daniel
Lol why do I have to do the representing? You are the one with the *pervy bows* so I think you would be much better at it!
And unfortunately Mr Craig you are slightly trailing when it comes to referees… indeed it is not your referrals that make you my favourite… but your quick wit and humour! And as you are my favourite, surely that gives me some leeway with the commanding….
From: Daniel To: Katy
Because you’re a closet perve and you know it that’s why :p
I’m trailing??? I swear I send over at least 4-5 per month, what’s everybody else doing?? I like the fact that I’m your favourite though, does that mean I get extra cash for each referral?
In terms of the commanding, let’s test to see if it works. You command me to do something and if I do it we’ll accept your dominance, if not then it will show you are weak…so weak…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Closet perve?! What on earth would give you that impression! I am nothing but an upstanding and valuable member of society… nothing smutty here in the slightest… ahem…
And others have dwarfed your valiant efforts Mr Craig… And unfortunately you would have to rub by boss up the right way to get more spondooleys for your efforts… not me…
And my command…. I shall have to think of something great for this…. And there is nothing weak about me my boy! I eat my spinach!
From: Daniel To: Katy
That’s annoyed me, I don’t like losing, what has everybody else done? How many do I need to do to get in the top three?
I’m not sure what your boss looks like so I’ll probably leave all rubbing out of the equation. But strength in numbers etc etc.
I’m liking this Mr Craig stuff as well, it’s nice to see with the commanding you’re already becoming subservient :p
Finalmont, I’ve not met many people who like spinach. So you’ve just gained 100 cool points. Give yourself a pat on the back
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well I can tell you in the scale of Funky Financial Advisers Referrals… you are…. 6th…. With a difference of 15 more referrals between you and the big bad broker at the top… however that does make you 6th out of 16… so a small pat on the back is in order…
My boss is a woman… does that help?
And with regards to being subservient… I have decided to change your name to Daniel the Spaniel in order to display my total lack of disobedience… mwa ha ha…
And spinach is probably the only thing I like to eat that is in any way unpopular… one can be a picky eater…
And with regards to my command… can I make it an ‘I bet you can’t…’ cause they are so much more fun?
From: Daniel To: Katy
As long as it’s not an “I bet you can’t refer more than ‘x’ people to me” then go for it.
6 out of 16 is average but 15 more referrals is not too far away, only 1.5 extra per month needed then really, I imagine that’s Noe or Lisa? However that’s also good I should get in the top 3 next year then.
Re Daniel the Spaniel, I’m going to have to call you Shady Katy (works if you say it in American accent).
One can be a picky eater can one? One was actually of the vegetarian variety for five years however one has, forthwith and with great haste, amended said dietary requirements to include substances of the more carnivorous variety.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Okay… *rubs hands with glee*
I bet you can’t… rotate your right hand clockwise while rotating your right ankle anti-clockwise…. Do it….
And Noe and Lisa? One is above you and one is below you… so that should make you happier…
Shady Katy… quite apt…
And vegetarian… a preposterous idea for me as one only eats vegetables and is not a fan of fruit or salads… or much meat to be honest… yeah… I have quite a crappy diet….
From: Daniel To: Katy
I can do it, just, if I concentrate, but now I look like I’ve got downs…
You just said you only eat vegetables and don’t have much meat or fruit or salds. Wouldn’t that MAKE you a vegetarian??
From: Katy To: Daniel
You cannot do it! It is a physical impossibility! I would need videographic evidence of such an action taking place, and seeing as you cannot provide that I take that as a victory… and I have proven that you can’t do something I commanded you to do, which in a roundabout way manages to convince me (probably not others) that I am indeed commanding… yes…. (A fine example of the inner workings of my spasticated head)
And I don’t think I qualify as a vegetarian… as I am quite keen on bacon. And chicken. And I have recently found out I like duck. I’m pretty much a junk-food-arian… I may copyright that phrase…
And what else do you enjoy Daniel the spaniel? Apart from sexing vegetables and looking like a plum by trying out tasks commanded to you by short, badly-eating women?
From: Daniel To: Katy
Actually, if we’re talking technicalities, you didn’t command me to do anything. In fact, you bet me that I couldn’t do something, which I did, but then, like the referee of the Ireland v France match last night, you incredulously claimed that because you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t have happened. Shame on you Shady.
Actually as you don’t eat much (or at least you only eat junk) should I start calling you Slim Shady? Do you possess a chainsaw? I used to love junk food but then when I did go veggie it made me change, now I’m pretty healthy really.
PS - http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&safe=off&q=%22junkfoodarian%22&meta=&aq=f&oq too late 5 people got to it before you did :p
What else do I enjoy? Well sexing vegetables has to be pretty high up on the list to be honest with you, it’s something about the way they come out of the ground dirty…
But outside of my orthorexia nervosa (damn I’m good) what do I do? Well I play guitar and piano (neither very well) so that takes up quite a bit of my time, I run a (currently unsuccessful) business with a friend designing blackberry applications and I try to travel quite a lot. I’m a bit of a book nerd so I love to read anything from Steven King to some deep philosophy like Hesse and psychology like Jung.
Oh and films, I LOVE films. Especially weird ones. I’m odd, in case you hadn’t noticed. I thought you were good in 8 Mile.
What other ventures have you got set up at the moment?
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition…
Bet = Command. Fact.
And match?!? What is this you speak of? I am a lady, therefore I know not of this… match….?
And Slim Shady…. Hmm… I used to look like a bit of a lollipop… all head and stick thin body, so it would have been appropriate back then… unfortunately these days my metabolism is rapidly slowing.. so I’ve filled out a bit… not too much though… how about Slightly Slim Shady… much more fitting… pardon the pun… Unfortunately I don’t possess a chainsaw… but I have a pink toolkit… does that qualify?
And damn those five people… do you think it may work the same a royalty… if I bump those off, will I inherit the title of junk-food-arian originator?
And you sound like a dirty root veg kind of guy… or are you more for the runner bean bonking?
Orthorexia nervosa can easily be cured with a Big Mac… I’ll be sure to treat you to one when you’re in town…
Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual… Sound like a bit of a ledge Mr Craig (you get the title back on this one occasion for namedropping King… 100 cool points right back at you!
Major fan of the films too… more than likely because of my unhealthy obsession with popcorn (tried to look for a medical term, appears there is none… new copyright on the horizon)…
So how does quite a clever chap like yourself become so clever hailing from Kennington… or am I wrong to assume that you must travel from far afield in order to reach your place of work? Used to live in Oval for a period myself and can’t say I was overly impressed with the majority of fellow residents… bit of a catchment area for vagrants from my experience… was probably a bit hobolicious back in my teenage days too… so probably fitted right in!
From: Daniel To: Katy
I draw your attention to the fact that the name Sweeney has Scottish origins and as such, must be steeped in lies and treachery (having half of my family from Scotland I can attest to this).
This leads me to believe that the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition is actually full of lies and therefore, your so-called ‘fact’ is nothing but preposterous hoohar.
The match was a stormer, but Ireland got robbed by a blatant handball. Hence why I was alluding to the fact that you may be a closet referee, as well as a closet molester.
A pink toolkit is far scarier than a chainsaw, at least with a chainsaw you know where you stand, whereas with a pink toolkit you don’t know if you’ll be smashed to bits with a hammer or plucked to beauty by tweezers. Those five people should be quaking in their gothic cyberboot platforms.
Ah dirty root, good pun on the Australian slang if that’s what you were aiming for, but I’d say I’m more of a salt man. I go with any dish and can make the most dull of meals turn into a veritable taste explosion, or I can be used very subtly, when the mood fits.
“Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual” All words which I don’t understand.
This of course means there must be some chink in my armour and that would be general facial looks I’m afraid. I am also a shorty at 5’ 8”. Last year the government changed the national average height from 5’ 8” to 5’ 8.5”.
Needless to say I wrote an angry letter to Gordon Brown but it didn’t get very far as I couldn’t reach high enough to put it through the slot in the post box…
I have a King obsession, it’s not healthy, I have about 50 of his books, which is at least 85% of the entire thing. Any faves
Finally (as this email is becoming far too long) I actually grew up in Bognor Regis which is a dump, but moved to London by myself at the whippersnapper age of 17. I lived in Fulham (poncy) then Chiswick (awesome) then Canary Wharf (dump) and now I live right next door to Battersea Park (which is faaakin laaavly, specially with a clear sky at 1am in the morning if you wander through it and stare at the stars).
Anyway what’s your excuse? You work for **** and I thought a prerequisite was that to work for **** you had to be boring, stupid or full of yourself. You seem to be none of them…
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the fact that that was one of the longest emails I have ever received! And I don’t like to be outdone so I am going to go at this one with gusto…
Sweeney may have Scottish origins, but mine in fact are Irish… which is slightly Irish in nature in itself do you not think? And to tarnish a whole nation with a complete stereotype… steeped in lies and treachery… well that’s just wrong. I would say that Scots are usually ginger, toothless and unemployed…. Usually but not all. You see.. no general sweeping of the tarnish brush here for me.
The Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition takes offence to your slanderous comments, and would like to reiterate to you that you are named after an actor… who as a line of work acts like a bit of a twat by playing with fake gadgets whilst wearing tight swimming trunks… we should not be basing assumptions on names… or should we?
And I am glad that you fear the pink toolkit… most people just mock. As least whilst hanging shelves* I can look fashionable and styled.
Loving the food analogy there.. you already know the way to Miss Plump McPlumpison’s heart over here…
Quite humorous aren’t we Mr Craig… how’s about alright with a guitar thingy, likes to thing of crap first, likes a curry, geek… better?
And don’t beat yourself up your looks… The ugly stick did that for you! (Mwa ha ha) Completely joking… bet you’re a closet stud muffin.
Stephen King is a ledge… The Green Mile… I bought it when I was about ten… and I’ve loved it ever since…
And Bognor Regis, what a place. Particularly like the delightful arcades down there, they have a certain je ne sais quoi about them that you just don’t find in Brighton… Basically grew up in Battersea Park too. I have actually been for a swim in the delightful boating lake, and not by choice either. Its not so nice. Have you found the secret garden-esque garden area thingy up by where cricket is played yet? Bloody lovely in the summer…
And these characteristics that you claim are much needed in order to work for this delightful company of ours? You don’t seem to be in possession of any of them either, so how did you end up here? My own story is a rather complicated one. Started a law degree many moons ago, and upon realisation that as an independent student I was NEVER going to be able to afford to carry on I gave up and gave in to becoming a slave labourer… or a secretary.
*Hanging shelves should be read as handing the hammer to some poor bloke friend who I have dragged round to mine to help…
From: Daniel To: Katy
I’ll wind up the length then and keep it short and sweet (like Kim Jong Il)
I’m half Irish too, you’re even more scheming. So that was a fail.
Daniel Craig has nothing on me. His blue trunk wading, chiselled body gleaming, suave smiling personage has nothing on my belly scratching, boxer clad, financial servicing wonder ways.
I like the version of me you gave below far better, that’s far more accurate and I can grin at that one.
Ah the arcades of Bognor. Many a Saturday was spent on trips to Macdonald’s followed by £2 in the Time Crisis Machine on the pier. Crazy golf was a particular fave of mine. That’s where Bognor stops and the pikeys start though.
Sounds like you’ve had to do things off your own back as well, I moved up here to get involved in film, ha.
We’ll have to meet some time, but make sure you wear sturdy shoes otherwise you’ll cut and slice your feet on all the shattered dreams…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Yes but I bet your half Irish hasn’t got anything on my Irish Jamaican speaking dad… uh huh, I’m ghetto bruv.
And there’s nothing better than a belly scratching boxer clad financial adviser to get a girl all hot and bothered!
And I’ve pretty much been on my own since about 13, so I blates win that one! *blows raspberries*
And speaking of meeting I have just been unceremoniously informed that my attendance at this godawful Christmas bash that the company is hosting is mandatory… so I command you to do the same! At least we can both sit in a corner somewhere and discuss the finer points of King’s prose whilst laughing at the losers on the dancefloor skanking out to 80s music…. Ahem.
Got to say it made the afternoon pass oh so quickly... I see drunken escapades at the company Crimbo shindig... could be fun!
From: Katy To: Daniel
The applicant has failed to respond so I am cancelling any further chasing.
Kind regards
Katy
From: Daniel To: Katy
Lazy.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well that is gratitude for you! ;-)
From: Daniel To: Katy
Love you really. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday, things started to go manic.
Looking at your social schedule makes me feel like an old man at the age of 23.
From: Katy To: Daniel
No problem… wish there was some mania around here… actually I command you to refer everybody that walks through your door to us from now on!
And you are 23 too? Good age to be so I’m told… Only 5 days left of being younger… ugh.
From: Daniel To: Katy
Maybe you should ‘represent’ us young ‘uns and get some pulses racing in the office. Any ideas?
You command me huh? I’ve got to be the highest referrer of surveys by now in brokers. What gives you the right to command me huh :p
From: Katy To: Daniel
Lol why do I have to do the representing? You are the one with the *pervy bows* so I think you would be much better at it!
And unfortunately Mr Craig you are slightly trailing when it comes to referees… indeed it is not your referrals that make you my favourite… but your quick wit and humour! And as you are my favourite, surely that gives me some leeway with the commanding….
From: Daniel To: Katy
Because you’re a closet perve and you know it that’s why :p
I’m trailing??? I swear I send over at least 4-5 per month, what’s everybody else doing?? I like the fact that I’m your favourite though, does that mean I get extra cash for each referral?
In terms of the commanding, let’s test to see if it works. You command me to do something and if I do it we’ll accept your dominance, if not then it will show you are weak…so weak…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Closet perve?! What on earth would give you that impression! I am nothing but an upstanding and valuable member of society… nothing smutty here in the slightest… ahem…
And others have dwarfed your valiant efforts Mr Craig… And unfortunately you would have to rub by boss up the right way to get more spondooleys for your efforts… not me…
And my command…. I shall have to think of something great for this…. And there is nothing weak about me my boy! I eat my spinach!
From: Daniel To: Katy
That’s annoyed me, I don’t like losing, what has everybody else done? How many do I need to do to get in the top three?
I’m not sure what your boss looks like so I’ll probably leave all rubbing out of the equation. But strength in numbers etc etc.
I’m liking this Mr Craig stuff as well, it’s nice to see with the commanding you’re already becoming subservient :p
Finalmont, I’ve not met many people who like spinach. So you’ve just gained 100 cool points. Give yourself a pat on the back
From: Katy To: Daniel
Well I can tell you in the scale of Funky Financial Advisers Referrals… you are…. 6th…. With a difference of 15 more referrals between you and the big bad broker at the top… however that does make you 6th out of 16… so a small pat on the back is in order…
My boss is a woman… does that help?
And with regards to being subservient… I have decided to change your name to Daniel the Spaniel in order to display my total lack of disobedience… mwa ha ha…
And spinach is probably the only thing I like to eat that is in any way unpopular… one can be a picky eater…
And with regards to my command… can I make it an ‘I bet you can’t…’ cause they are so much more fun?
From: Daniel To: Katy
As long as it’s not an “I bet you can’t refer more than ‘x’ people to me” then go for it.
6 out of 16 is average but 15 more referrals is not too far away, only 1.5 extra per month needed then really, I imagine that’s Noe or Lisa? However that’s also good I should get in the top 3 next year then.
Re Daniel the Spaniel, I’m going to have to call you Shady Katy (works if you say it in American accent).
One can be a picky eater can one? One was actually of the vegetarian variety for five years however one has, forthwith and with great haste, amended said dietary requirements to include substances of the more carnivorous variety.
From: Katy To: Daniel
Okay… *rubs hands with glee*
I bet you can’t… rotate your right hand clockwise while rotating your right ankle anti-clockwise…. Do it….
And Noe and Lisa? One is above you and one is below you… so that should make you happier…
Shady Katy… quite apt…
And vegetarian… a preposterous idea for me as one only eats vegetables and is not a fan of fruit or salads… or much meat to be honest… yeah… I have quite a crappy diet….
From: Daniel To: Katy
I can do it, just, if I concentrate, but now I look like I’ve got downs…
You just said you only eat vegetables and don’t have much meat or fruit or salds. Wouldn’t that MAKE you a vegetarian??
From: Katy To: Daniel
You cannot do it! It is a physical impossibility! I would need videographic evidence of such an action taking place, and seeing as you cannot provide that I take that as a victory… and I have proven that you can’t do something I commanded you to do, which in a roundabout way manages to convince me (probably not others) that I am indeed commanding… yes…. (A fine example of the inner workings of my spasticated head)
And I don’t think I qualify as a vegetarian… as I am quite keen on bacon. And chicken. And I have recently found out I like duck. I’m pretty much a junk-food-arian… I may copyright that phrase…
And what else do you enjoy Daniel the spaniel? Apart from sexing vegetables and looking like a plum by trying out tasks commanded to you by short, badly-eating women?
From: Daniel To: Katy
Actually, if we’re talking technicalities, you didn’t command me to do anything. In fact, you bet me that I couldn’t do something, which I did, but then, like the referee of the Ireland v France match last night, you incredulously claimed that because you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t have happened. Shame on you Shady.
Actually as you don’t eat much (or at least you only eat junk) should I start calling you Slim Shady? Do you possess a chainsaw? I used to love junk food but then when I did go veggie it made me change, now I’m pretty healthy really.
PS - http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&safe=off&q=%22junkfoodarian%22&meta=&aq=f&oq too late 5 people got to it before you did :p
What else do I enjoy? Well sexing vegetables has to be pretty high up on the list to be honest with you, it’s something about the way they come out of the ground dirty…
But outside of my orthorexia nervosa (damn I’m good) what do I do? Well I play guitar and piano (neither very well) so that takes up quite a bit of my time, I run a (currently unsuccessful) business with a friend designing blackberry applications and I try to travel quite a lot. I’m a bit of a book nerd so I love to read anything from Steven King to some deep philosophy like Hesse and psychology like Jung.
Oh and films, I LOVE films. Especially weird ones. I’m odd, in case you hadn’t noticed. I thought you were good in 8 Mile.
What other ventures have you got set up at the moment?
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition…
Bet = Command. Fact.
And match?!? What is this you speak of? I am a lady, therefore I know not of this… match….?
And Slim Shady…. Hmm… I used to look like a bit of a lollipop… all head and stick thin body, so it would have been appropriate back then… unfortunately these days my metabolism is rapidly slowing.. so I’ve filled out a bit… not too much though… how about Slightly Slim Shady… much more fitting… pardon the pun… Unfortunately I don’t possess a chainsaw… but I have a pink toolkit… does that qualify?
And damn those five people… do you think it may work the same a royalty… if I bump those off, will I inherit the title of junk-food-arian originator?
And you sound like a dirty root veg kind of guy… or are you more for the runner bean bonking?
Orthorexia nervosa can easily be cured with a Big Mac… I’ll be sure to treat you to one when you’re in town…
Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual… Sound like a bit of a ledge Mr Craig (you get the title back on this one occasion for namedropping King… 100 cool points right back at you!
Major fan of the films too… more than likely because of my unhealthy obsession with popcorn (tried to look for a medical term, appears there is none… new copyright on the horizon)…
So how does quite a clever chap like yourself become so clever hailing from Kennington… or am I wrong to assume that you must travel from far afield in order to reach your place of work? Used to live in Oval for a period myself and can’t say I was overly impressed with the majority of fellow residents… bit of a catchment area for vagrants from my experience… was probably a bit hobolicious back in my teenage days too… so probably fitted right in!
From: Daniel To: Katy
I draw your attention to the fact that the name Sweeney has Scottish origins and as such, must be steeped in lies and treachery (having half of my family from Scotland I can attest to this).
This leads me to believe that the Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition is actually full of lies and therefore, your so-called ‘fact’ is nothing but preposterous hoohar.
The match was a stormer, but Ireland got robbed by a blatant handball. Hence why I was alluding to the fact that you may be a closet referee, as well as a closet molester.
A pink toolkit is far scarier than a chainsaw, at least with a chainsaw you know where you stand, whereas with a pink toolkit you don’t know if you’ll be smashed to bits with a hammer or plucked to beauty by tweezers. Those five people should be quaking in their gothic cyberboot platforms.
Ah dirty root, good pun on the Australian slang if that’s what you were aiming for, but I’d say I’m more of a salt man. I go with any dish and can make the most dull of meals turn into a veritable taste explosion, or I can be used very subtly, when the mood fits.
“Musically talented/challenged… entrepreneur… cultured… intellectual” All words which I don’t understand.
This of course means there must be some chink in my armour and that would be general facial looks I’m afraid. I am also a shorty at 5’ 8”. Last year the government changed the national average height from 5’ 8” to 5’ 8.5”.
Needless to say I wrote an angry letter to Gordon Brown but it didn’t get very far as I couldn’t reach high enough to put it through the slot in the post box…
I have a King obsession, it’s not healthy, I have about 50 of his books, which is at least 85% of the entire thing. Any faves
Finally (as this email is becoming far too long) I actually grew up in Bognor Regis which is a dump, but moved to London by myself at the whippersnapper age of 17. I lived in Fulham (poncy) then Chiswick (awesome) then Canary Wharf (dump) and now I live right next door to Battersea Park (which is faaakin laaavly, specially with a clear sky at 1am in the morning if you wander through it and stare at the stars).
Anyway what’s your excuse? You work for **** and I thought a prerequisite was that to work for **** you had to be boring, stupid or full of yourself. You seem to be none of them…
From: Katy To: Daniel
I draw your attention to the fact that that was one of the longest emails I have ever received! And I don’t like to be outdone so I am going to go at this one with gusto…
Sweeney may have Scottish origins, but mine in fact are Irish… which is slightly Irish in nature in itself do you not think? And to tarnish a whole nation with a complete stereotype… steeped in lies and treachery… well that’s just wrong. I would say that Scots are usually ginger, toothless and unemployed…. Usually but not all. You see.. no general sweeping of the tarnish brush here for me.
The Sweeney Thesaurus Ltd Edition takes offence to your slanderous comments, and would like to reiterate to you that you are named after an actor… who as a line of work acts like a bit of a twat by playing with fake gadgets whilst wearing tight swimming trunks… we should not be basing assumptions on names… or should we?
And I am glad that you fear the pink toolkit… most people just mock. As least whilst hanging shelves* I can look fashionable and styled.
Loving the food analogy there.. you already know the way to Miss Plump McPlumpison’s heart over here…
Quite humorous aren’t we Mr Craig… how’s about alright with a guitar thingy, likes to thing of crap first, likes a curry, geek… better?
And don’t beat yourself up your looks… The ugly stick did that for you! (Mwa ha ha) Completely joking… bet you’re a closet stud muffin.
Stephen King is a ledge… The Green Mile… I bought it when I was about ten… and I’ve loved it ever since…
And Bognor Regis, what a place. Particularly like the delightful arcades down there, they have a certain je ne sais quoi about them that you just don’t find in Brighton… Basically grew up in Battersea Park too. I have actually been for a swim in the delightful boating lake, and not by choice either. Its not so nice. Have you found the secret garden-esque garden area thingy up by where cricket is played yet? Bloody lovely in the summer…
And these characteristics that you claim are much needed in order to work for this delightful company of ours? You don’t seem to be in possession of any of them either, so how did you end up here? My own story is a rather complicated one. Started a law degree many moons ago, and upon realisation that as an independent student I was NEVER going to be able to afford to carry on I gave up and gave in to becoming a slave labourer… or a secretary.
*Hanging shelves should be read as handing the hammer to some poor bloke friend who I have dragged round to mine to help…
From: Daniel To: Katy
I’ll wind up the length then and keep it short and sweet (like Kim Jong Il)
I’m half Irish too, you’re even more scheming. So that was a fail.
Daniel Craig has nothing on me. His blue trunk wading, chiselled body gleaming, suave smiling personage has nothing on my belly scratching, boxer clad, financial servicing wonder ways.
I like the version of me you gave below far better, that’s far more accurate and I can grin at that one.
Ah the arcades of Bognor. Many a Saturday was spent on trips to Macdonald’s followed by £2 in the Time Crisis Machine on the pier. Crazy golf was a particular fave of mine. That’s where Bognor stops and the pikeys start though.
Sounds like you’ve had to do things off your own back as well, I moved up here to get involved in film, ha.
We’ll have to meet some time, but make sure you wear sturdy shoes otherwise you’ll cut and slice your feet on all the shattered dreams…
From: Katy To: Daniel
Yes but I bet your half Irish hasn’t got anything on my Irish Jamaican speaking dad… uh huh, I’m ghetto bruv.
And there’s nothing better than a belly scratching boxer clad financial adviser to get a girl all hot and bothered!
And I’ve pretty much been on my own since about 13, so I blates win that one! *blows raspberries*
And speaking of meeting I have just been unceremoniously informed that my attendance at this godawful Christmas bash that the company is hosting is mandatory… so I command you to do the same! At least we can both sit in a corner somewhere and discuss the finer points of King’s prose whilst laughing at the losers on the dancefloor skanking out to 80s music…. Ahem.
Got to say it made the afternoon pass oh so quickly... I see drunken escapades at the company Crimbo shindig... could be fun!
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
(512): you never know when you'll meet the man of your dreams and bang him in an elevator
The incidents of the afternoon....
1. I leave my office for a cigarette break. I walk down and up the flights of stairs, four floors, out of breath when I reach the top... for the lift to go ping... and open up to flash its insides at me... dude are you taking the piss?
2. My foster sister is with her friend's baby. They are trying to wean him off of his dummy. I suggest telling him that if he sucks on that dummy one more time he will die. *BLINK* *BLINK BLINK* Parenting skills right up there man....
Pity my embryos....
1. I leave my office for a cigarette break. I walk down and up the flights of stairs, four floors, out of breath when I reach the top... for the lift to go ping... and open up to flash its insides at me... dude are you taking the piss?
2. My foster sister is with her friend's baby. They are trying to wean him off of his dummy. I suggest telling him that if he sucks on that dummy one more time he will die. *BLINK* *BLINK BLINK* Parenting skills right up there man....
Pity my embryos....
(209): I think this dress is screaming I want a birthday 3some with two moderately attractive guys. I hope.
Today I am 22 years and 358 days old. Which means that in seven days I shall be 23. This is when I begin to think I am getting old.
Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the inevitable onslaught of time, but I can make sure that I make it pass with a bang, which is generally what happens when I reach this milestone.
As you may have guessed from previous posts (and one day I am more than likely to go into further detail), I am pretty much estranged from the majority of my family, so celebrating my birthday is often made the most out of with friends. This is the modus operandi for this year too. Tonight is the first of such celebrations, and I know it is a week early, but I like to call it my birthday eve eve eve eve eve eve eve. Any such plans that take place from now until next Tuesday will reduce by one eve as the days progress. You get the point.
Tonight I am going to dinner with an old friend of mine. His name is Steve. And he happens to be my old English teacher.
Yes, this is slightly strange. Yes, we meet up a few times a year to catch up, get drunk and generally mock each other mercilessly about the general lack of direction in our lives. The guy is only ten years older than me, and it helps that he still thinks he is 21 too. So tonight I will be sharing a cocktail and a general summing up of the past few months with him. Plus he buys a mean present, so that side of things will be a great way to spend a Tuesday night. Did I tell you I got straight A’s in English? Lol.
Tomorrow night I am going for a curry with the girls. Not so much a birthday celebration as a general catch up, as over the last few months, everybody has grown a little bit more distant as our lives start to take different paths. We have reached that age where we are all in pursuit of different things in life, and inevitably distance can sometimes grow when some of us are settling down and about to give birth, and others are still necking bottles of beer and becoming queens of downing steins (ahem). So it was decided that we all needed to come together to stuff our faces as we are all still pretty good at that.
Thursday night I am not doing anything. I am relishing this fact. Actually possibly planning the outfit for the Saturday shenanigans.
Friday night’s plan is to have a few people over to my house possibly. But then the imminent arrival of my father on Saturday morning, meaning waking at dawn to clear the carnage from the night. Not such a great thought.
Saturday daytime may be spent with my father. I say may, because the guy is notoriously unreliable when it comes to spending time with his eldest daughter. Swear to God the dude still needs reminding about when I was actually born. For a father, he is a complete wanker, but as a friend he is pretty cool. I mean, how many people do you know that have a short, balding Irish guy with a Jamaican accent for a father…? I rest my case. Ya man!
Saturday night is when the main event has been planned for. As per usual, hitting a club with a gang in tow. Thirty five confirmed attendees already. Thirty five. I really shouldn’t know that many people.
However, there is one guest that I must point out. The one that has had me arranging eyebrow appointments, having the girls consult over makeup, hair, dresses etc. The GOD that is A.S.
A.S. is a guy. But not just any guy. He is the ‘holy shit, hose me down, otherwise I will be all over him like a fox on a rubbish bag’ guy. A.S. is my Channing Tatum, Wentworth Miller, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, hot to trot, chunk of hunk, eye candy guy. I love him. On my last birthday he showed up with a friend of mine, and after he wished me a happy birthday – please note that I was oh so drunk by now – I dragged my then boyfriend to where A.S. was standing and proceeded to tell him that that was the man I was going to have beautiful babies with, not him. Wowsa, did not go down well. Hiccup.
So now I’m single. And so is he. And to be honest I haven’t got a rats chance in hell of anything ever happening with him. Standing next to him and dribbling onto his shoes does not count as something I am told. Anyhow, this year I was cajoled into inviting him personally by the girls, having not spoken to him since the same time last year. And then he accepted. And then he spoke to me on Facebook. Like, actually came and found my profile and spoke to me first. After picking myself back up off the floor and finding my phone so I could call Donna and tell her that the magnificent wonder that is a social networking tool has just connected me to My Biggest Crush Ever… and get her to tell me to breathe again. He messaged me saying ‘I guess there’s a party soon beautiful’.
You see that last word there. Uh huh. Go read again. Yup. To me. And I get all cool and composed and actually reply. Dude, I must have taken a brave pill or something. I reply ‘ Yes, bad times. I’m getting older’. Yeah… Six whole words. I’m getting good at this shit. And then he replied ‘Older, wiser and prettier my dear… x’. And then I died.
So Saturday is D Day. I am going to see the godly A.S. again. And I know that he will come say hi, kiss me on the cheek and say happy birthday, and I know that I, with the retardations, will more than likely giggle, splutter hi and spit in his eye before stepping on his toe and spilling my drink down him. But for two seconds, two whole seconds, I will have A.S. embrace me, and then I can live for another year, hoping that one day the retardations may subside, and I may come across as normal, rather than a buttfuck.
Expect stories.
Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the inevitable onslaught of time, but I can make sure that I make it pass with a bang, which is generally what happens when I reach this milestone.
As you may have guessed from previous posts (and one day I am more than likely to go into further detail), I am pretty much estranged from the majority of my family, so celebrating my birthday is often made the most out of with friends. This is the modus operandi for this year too. Tonight is the first of such celebrations, and I know it is a week early, but I like to call it my birthday eve eve eve eve eve eve eve. Any such plans that take place from now until next Tuesday will reduce by one eve as the days progress. You get the point.
Tonight I am going to dinner with an old friend of mine. His name is Steve. And he happens to be my old English teacher.
Yes, this is slightly strange. Yes, we meet up a few times a year to catch up, get drunk and generally mock each other mercilessly about the general lack of direction in our lives. The guy is only ten years older than me, and it helps that he still thinks he is 21 too. So tonight I will be sharing a cocktail and a general summing up of the past few months with him. Plus he buys a mean present, so that side of things will be a great way to spend a Tuesday night. Did I tell you I got straight A’s in English? Lol.
Tomorrow night I am going for a curry with the girls. Not so much a birthday celebration as a general catch up, as over the last few months, everybody has grown a little bit more distant as our lives start to take different paths. We have reached that age where we are all in pursuit of different things in life, and inevitably distance can sometimes grow when some of us are settling down and about to give birth, and others are still necking bottles of beer and becoming queens of downing steins (ahem). So it was decided that we all needed to come together to stuff our faces as we are all still pretty good at that.
Thursday night I am not doing anything. I am relishing this fact. Actually possibly planning the outfit for the Saturday shenanigans.
Friday night’s plan is to have a few people over to my house possibly. But then the imminent arrival of my father on Saturday morning, meaning waking at dawn to clear the carnage from the night. Not such a great thought.
Saturday daytime may be spent with my father. I say may, because the guy is notoriously unreliable when it comes to spending time with his eldest daughter. Swear to God the dude still needs reminding about when I was actually born. For a father, he is a complete wanker, but as a friend he is pretty cool. I mean, how many people do you know that have a short, balding Irish guy with a Jamaican accent for a father…? I rest my case. Ya man!
Saturday night is when the main event has been planned for. As per usual, hitting a club with a gang in tow. Thirty five confirmed attendees already. Thirty five. I really shouldn’t know that many people.
However, there is one guest that I must point out. The one that has had me arranging eyebrow appointments, having the girls consult over makeup, hair, dresses etc. The GOD that is A.S.
A.S. is a guy. But not just any guy. He is the ‘holy shit, hose me down, otherwise I will be all over him like a fox on a rubbish bag’ guy. A.S. is my Channing Tatum, Wentworth Miller, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, hot to trot, chunk of hunk, eye candy guy. I love him. On my last birthday he showed up with a friend of mine, and after he wished me a happy birthday – please note that I was oh so drunk by now – I dragged my then boyfriend to where A.S. was standing and proceeded to tell him that that was the man I was going to have beautiful babies with, not him. Wowsa, did not go down well. Hiccup.
So now I’m single. And so is he. And to be honest I haven’t got a rats chance in hell of anything ever happening with him. Standing next to him and dribbling onto his shoes does not count as something I am told. Anyhow, this year I was cajoled into inviting him personally by the girls, having not spoken to him since the same time last year. And then he accepted. And then he spoke to me on Facebook. Like, actually came and found my profile and spoke to me first. After picking myself back up off the floor and finding my phone so I could call Donna and tell her that the magnificent wonder that is a social networking tool has just connected me to My Biggest Crush Ever… and get her to tell me to breathe again. He messaged me saying ‘I guess there’s a party soon beautiful’.
You see that last word there. Uh huh. Go read again. Yup. To me. And I get all cool and composed and actually reply. Dude, I must have taken a brave pill or something. I reply ‘ Yes, bad times. I’m getting older’. Yeah… Six whole words. I’m getting good at this shit. And then he replied ‘Older, wiser and prettier my dear… x’. And then I died.
So Saturday is D Day. I am going to see the godly A.S. again. And I know that he will come say hi, kiss me on the cheek and say happy birthday, and I know that I, with the retardations, will more than likely giggle, splutter hi and spit in his eye before stepping on his toe and spilling my drink down him. But for two seconds, two whole seconds, I will have A.S. embrace me, and then I can live for another year, hoping that one day the retardations may subside, and I may come across as normal, rather than a buttfuck.
Expect stories.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
(+44): Yeah i wasn't gonna go out but then i was like im not gonna get my dick wet stayin at home studying
So today is a Thursday... and perhaps it was all that talk over on Miss Junket's page of alcohol today, or perhaps its because I feel like it... I have decided to go out and get absolutely wasted. Danielle has a friend who does the PR for one of those uber expensive clubs in Central London, and kindly informed me that we are headed there this evening... for free.. with a VIP table and two bottles of Grey Goose to keep us company...
This is probably not going to rate highly on the list of Clever Decisions, as I am smack bang in the middle of a statistical analysis report at work that MUST be completed tomorrow. I have a feeling that tomorrow my main missions will be:
1. Stay awake. Preferably not visit the toilet at all, because I have been known on occasion whilst hungover to slip into a rather deep slumber during the act of relief. Scary as fuck when you wake back up too...
2. Keep any sort of breakfast I may consume, in the hopes of energising myself, down.
3. Hope to god nobody puts the pictures up on facebook, as they will no doubt be horrific, whilst I will try to convince my workmates the dark circles under my eyes and my sluggish movements (lets be honest, my sitting at my desk drooling) are a result of some winter virus. Pictures of me with my gormless face, possibly dancing on a table, whilst snogging the face off a guy circulating the office will not scream influenza to anyone...
4. Do report.
I predict that points 1-3 will take up the majority of the day, and then I will scarper home at half five, snore my way through to Saturday morning, and bosh it out then. That is... if I happen to stay in tomorrow night... which is unlikely... oh crumbs.
This is probably not going to rate highly on the list of Clever Decisions, as I am smack bang in the middle of a statistical analysis report at work that MUST be completed tomorrow. I have a feeling that tomorrow my main missions will be:
1. Stay awake. Preferably not visit the toilet at all, because I have been known on occasion whilst hungover to slip into a rather deep slumber during the act of relief. Scary as fuck when you wake back up too...
2. Keep any sort of breakfast I may consume, in the hopes of energising myself, down.
3. Hope to god nobody puts the pictures up on facebook, as they will no doubt be horrific, whilst I will try to convince my workmates the dark circles under my eyes and my sluggish movements (lets be honest, my sitting at my desk drooling) are a result of some winter virus. Pictures of me with my gormless face, possibly dancing on a table, whilst snogging the face off a guy circulating the office will not scream influenza to anyone...
4. Do report.
I predict that points 1-3 will take up the majority of the day, and then I will scarper home at half five, snore my way through to Saturday morning, and bosh it out then. That is... if I happen to stay in tomorrow night... which is unlikely... oh crumbs.
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