Random Phone Call

You know that your loved ones understand you when…

J: Hey, can I ask you a question that might make you go “grrrrrrrrrarrgh!!”?

Me: Yeah, go on then. It’ll do me good to have something to growl about.

J: Guess how much a bunch of roses is, two days before Valentine’s day?

Me: How many roses?

J: Probably twelve.

Me: Oh, at least £15.

J: Wow, not bad – they’re actually £19.50. But I could buy ten wooden ones for £1, if I wanted. Actually, I’m kind of tempted.

Me: Well, they’d last longer.

J: Shall I buy some?

Me: Sure, they can go with my fake sunflower.

J: What colours?

Me: What, they’ve got colours that aren’t red or pinkI?

J: Yep

Me: GAY PRIDE ROSES!!!!

J: *laughs* Ok.

Me: And lots of purple!


I think this can only improve the decor of my living room. And at least I can’t kill them like I killed the evil potplant.

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I Did It!

It only took me three episodes of Blackadder to finally finish; I know the picture quality isn’t brilliant but the only camera I have is my webcam, so bear with me…

Introducing…

The Companion Cushion!

companion-cube

It is a hand-knitted, hand-sewn, hand-stolen-stuffing-from-my-pillow work of art! I is a genius! Unfortunately, I hear that Valve are bringing out Companion Cubes in plush form, and as a set of fluffy car cubes, thus replacing fluffy D20’s as the most overt display of geekery in car form. So I think I might be a little late.

Below is what the real Companion Cube looks like. I think I did rather well, considering that I’d only ever knitted stripes before.



Don’t Leave Me To My Own Devices…

…Because when you do, things like this happen:

I did my homework first though, honest.

It’s just that you can’t mess around with a program that draws graphs when your seven year old brother’s around without him asking you to draw pigs. Why didn’t I think of that?!


Quote of The Night

Ok, so I do have other stuff I want to write about, but seriously, make time to watch this video of little American kids saying who they’d vote for.

And Quote Of The Night?

You know why I didn’t vote for McCain?…. Because… Sarah Palin hunts moose.

H/T to Feministing 🙂


This Should Be Obvious

To the charming German speaker who somehow turned up at my blog after searching for “sexxx girl”:

You are very much in the wrong place. You silly, silly person.

Although, it is not really your fault that the search engine you used to find wank fodder was crap and picked out my blog because I used the word “girl” recently.

I swear, I cannot make this shit up. And I’m imaginative.


This Second Thought Was Dim

I was making pie this evening. This is relevant to my story only because it’s a lot of effort, and then you shove it in the oven and ignore it for half an hour.
For the record – and this is not relevant, but oh well! – I make bloody good pie.

Anyway, the point is, I was tired and had a cup of tea and half an hour in the kitchen to kill.
So I thought I’d indulge in a little light masochism, and flick through this month’s Cosmopolitan.
Yeah, and then I started playing Bingo again. It’s been a common occurrence this week, and with that in mind, I just lost The Game. Damn.

So, my second thought was this:

Perhaps I should conduct a statistical analysis of the ways in which reading Cosmopolitan requires playing Anti-Feminist / Fat-Hatred / Homophobic Bingo.
Or, put more sensibly, some kind of analysis of the messages contained within Cosmopolitan.

Clearly I am being foolish. Because it then occurred to me that one edition is a fucking terrible sample to take. (My statistics lecturer would be so proud.)
But… this means that I will have to both find and read back issues of Cosmopolitan.

Now, I’m all for pointless studies that prove [nothing] / [nothing we don’t already know] (delete as appropriate!) because they mean that I have something to gnash my teeth about.
But, you know, I don’t think that even I have the strenth of character to drag myself through the Bingo-playing ordeal of back issues of Cosmopolitan to produce a sensible study on it.

I would love to just be a terrible statistician and take a sample of one, but the problem is that this will actually give me nothing to analyse. I mean, I doubt it, but technically this month’s issue could be an aberration from a feminist-friendly norm. I can but hope.
There might be trends that I miss through not documenting statistics for older issues.
Or it might completely justify all of my biases and knee-jerk assumptions. Who knows?

Still, at least I don’t claim to be objective.

(As I write this, I can’t help but remember the time when I used to buy Cosmopolitan because I actually enjoyed reading it. I have to wonder what the hell was wrong with me, because I got so angry with the magazine this evening that I had to put it away and go to “check” the potatoes I was cooking [for “check” read “stab with a big knife”].)


Coffee Table

The coffee table in my flat looks a little strange.

There is a houseplant (Evil Flatmate’s).
There is a tea-stained mug (mine).
There is an issue of Cosmopolitan (EF’s).
There is a copy of The Vagina Monologues (mine).

I’m not sure what this shows, but it must show something.

Also, I have decided that I really hate women’s magazines. I shall add them to my list of drivel-purveyors, if I haven’t already.

I used to merely get annoyed with them, but now I can’t actually touch the damned things. Which is probably because there was a Big! Scary! True! Story! about how the only man that you ever have to worry about is the rich one, you know, that you’d normally think was really Hot! because he’s rich (duh! what was I thinking?). Secretly, Rich Hot Man is a Date-Rapist in disguise.

Now, I’m not saying that’s not true, but how about you make use of the fucking statistics, Cosmo? How about you don’t scare women with the less-likely option, when all of your articles about how to please “your man” in bed – even when you’re not in the mood yourself – are just another symptom of the fucked-up rape culture we live in? How about you tell women that yes, their husbands can rape them, their boyfriends or ex-husbands or ex-boyfriends can, and that actually, they’re far, far more likely to know their attacker?

Also, how about you remember that not every woman fancies men?
Fuck you, Cosmopolitan. You do not live up to your name.