The Joys Of Late-Night Conversations

Last night, J said something so mind-bogglingly mad that I immediately retorted, “I’m blogging that!”

Unfortunately, my memory is shite, and I can’t for the life of me work out what he might have said. It was probably about the female reproductive system, since I’m on my period and grumpy with it, but more than that, I cannot say.

This, sadly, means that the only thing I have to entertain you with is the exchange that shows me in a pretty foolish light:


Me: *tells half of a story I’d read about a tampon getting lost*

J: *goes off on tangent*

Me: Shit, I’ve completely lost my thread, damn you…

J: *laughs hysterically*

Me: *glares over the phone, tries not to laugh*


On a somewhat related note, I keep trying to get J blogging. I’ve come to the conclusion that I just want to live online vicariously through him, because my offerings at the altar of Blogland have been distinctly fluffy of late. In my defense, not only am I posting at least twice a week for the Sheffield Fems, but ordinary life leaves me with precious little time, and the stress of ordinary life leaves me with precious little inclination to put my feminist glasses on. It all just gets too depressing, and gives me headaches. Or bouts of murderous rage. Still, at least my weekend news-surfing means I do have some inclination of what is going on in the country. This is probably a good thing.



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