Alternative title: Insecurity 101
Is it wrong that at the age of 28 I still worry about my level of 'cool?'
Of late I have found myself wondering whether it is ok to like certain music or certain films based on their 'cool' level... for example, I have been in love with the Kings of Leon song 'Sex on Fire' since I first heard it on the radio.... now I know this to be a grand misdemeanour in the great church of righteous awesomeness and probably should have me kicked out.... so I love it in secret and do not speak of my shame publicly (until now obviously).... but why the fuck should I care?
Ok, it doesn't stand up to their early work...clearly they shaved off their beards and cut their hair and became vastly too mainstream to be considered 'cool' anymore... but despite my better judgement I love that song....
There are countless other examples as well but frankly, having just done the musical equivalent of coming out to my parents I am not about to rub salt in the wound by telling them that my new partner is my old high school gym teacher...
My point is... why do I care?...
Am I not a free spirit, a caster off of the shackles of societies norms and judgements, a nay sayer to the whims of the mass populace, a crusader in the battle to end fear, to embrace differences, to spit in the eye of expectations, to dance on the grave of oppression and defecate on the pillow of ignorance?
Why do I feel the need to judge my own whims and censor my own entertainment for fear of what people will think of me?....
I should be allowed to run free, wooping and hooting at the joy of music and cinema because I love it....I should not have to quantify liking something by saying things like 'I know it's terrible but...'
So why, why oh why in the name of Jebus do I care?
Stupid cripplingly low self esteem.... bollocks to you... bollocks I say...
I'm off now in a cloud of whimsy to listen to songs I love... I don't care if you like them or not... poo to you!
(I do still care a little bit though if you now think I'm less cool than you did before...damnit)
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Monday, 27 April 2009
Self Loathing 1, Dignity 0
Alternative title: All is not well in the Temple of Bex
It would seem that there is a delicate balance to be maintained when attempting to kill a cold with alcohol and cigarettes...especially when said cold is probably due to excessive consumption of these ingredients in the first place...
Usually this is a brilliant and effective plan and has steered me right most of my life...in fact I can't remember the last time I had a heinous mucus goblin that couldn't be killed with the delightful poison that is beer and fags....
However it would seem that Saturday night was not in fact a good night for this... cocktails are very very bad and make Bex a very very poorly girl... Cathryn and I went our for cocktails and after letting some random Essex girls put make up on me and tell me that if I took out my facial piercings I would look less like a lesbian, I spent the rest of the evening curled up on the toilet floor of the bar praying to the porcelain gods....
Cathryn apparently had a lovely evening making friends with a gay man who thought she was fabulous while intermittently coming in to the toilets to make sure that I hadn't died...
There was a point between the vomitting and wanting to die where I managed to open the cubicle door and heard all the women who had been queueing for hours to use the one remaining toilet that was not full of my vomit declare things like 'Oh god' and 'poor girl' and various sympathetic tones while they all rallied round in sisterly solidarity...my favourite declaration was from the girl who was stroking my back and ordering people to 'find her friend' and 'get her a glass of water'... she said the brilliant line 'come on ladies, we've all been there'... this seemed to rally the troops and some how I made it out of the club where I passed out on Cathryn's knee on a bench before she somehow managed to carry me home and Bob stayed up with me till dawn to make sure I didn't choke on my own vomit....
I think this may be true love...
So now I feel rancid and a little ashamed... but terribly appreciative of my darling husband and my lovely Cathryn... both of whom said that it made a change that they were looking after my sorry drunken ass....
Note to self: cocktails lead to paraletic Bex...
...and the cold is now worse... fucking brilliant!
It would seem that there is a delicate balance to be maintained when attempting to kill a cold with alcohol and cigarettes...especially when said cold is probably due to excessive consumption of these ingredients in the first place...
Usually this is a brilliant and effective plan and has steered me right most of my life...in fact I can't remember the last time I had a heinous mucus goblin that couldn't be killed with the delightful poison that is beer and fags....
However it would seem that Saturday night was not in fact a good night for this... cocktails are very very bad and make Bex a very very poorly girl... Cathryn and I went our for cocktails and after letting some random Essex girls put make up on me and tell me that if I took out my facial piercings I would look less like a lesbian, I spent the rest of the evening curled up on the toilet floor of the bar praying to the porcelain gods....
Cathryn apparently had a lovely evening making friends with a gay man who thought she was fabulous while intermittently coming in to the toilets to make sure that I hadn't died...
There was a point between the vomitting and wanting to die where I managed to open the cubicle door and heard all the women who had been queueing for hours to use the one remaining toilet that was not full of my vomit declare things like 'Oh god' and 'poor girl' and various sympathetic tones while they all rallied round in sisterly solidarity...my favourite declaration was from the girl who was stroking my back and ordering people to 'find her friend' and 'get her a glass of water'... she said the brilliant line 'come on ladies, we've all been there'... this seemed to rally the troops and some how I made it out of the club where I passed out on Cathryn's knee on a bench before she somehow managed to carry me home and Bob stayed up with me till dawn to make sure I didn't choke on my own vomit....
I think this may be true love...
So now I feel rancid and a little ashamed... but terribly appreciative of my darling husband and my lovely Cathryn... both of whom said that it made a change that they were looking after my sorry drunken ass....
Note to self: cocktails lead to paraletic Bex...
...and the cold is now worse... fucking brilliant!
Friday, 24 April 2009
A Bit Wanky or Awesomely Cool?
Alternative title: What do we think of the new layout people?
So then, thanks to Marianne being terribly clever I have now worked out how to change my template to something more exciting - so what do we think? Is it, as the title says, awesomely cool or a little wanky?
In other news... I have a cold... this would be less rubbish if I didn't have the irrational hatred for mucus that I have... it's so bad that I actually find myself disgusting right now... it's really rather unpleasant being stuck in my body!
Also I have discovered that my friends are awesome... FACT! ... if you are my friend, you are awesome...so thanks for that :)
So then, thanks to Marianne being terribly clever I have now worked out how to change my template to something more exciting - so what do we think? Is it, as the title says, awesomely cool or a little wanky?
In other news... I have a cold... this would be less rubbish if I didn't have the irrational hatred for mucus that I have... it's so bad that I actually find myself disgusting right now... it's really rather unpleasant being stuck in my body!
Also I have discovered that my friends are awesome... FACT! ... if you are my friend, you are awesome...so thanks for that :)
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
The Metric Fuck Ton and other Tales of Daring Do
Alternative Title: I think I may have hurt my tummy
Firstly - thank you Marianne for introducing me to the phrase 'The metric Fuck Ton'.... we believe this to be slightly smaller than the Imperial Fuck Tonne - but an aweful lot nonetheless... especially when used to describe the amount of alcohol consumed by my teeny tiny pixie like body at the weekend...
Friday night saw me spending the night clubbing in Swindon (horrid place) however, since two of my closest friends got engaged to each other that night in a terrifyingly brilliant plan of subtlety and subterfuge not seen since my previous life as a baddass ninja assassin and it was her birthday... good times were had...
The group (about 20 of us) all had VIP entry to the club which meant that we didn't have to pay to get in, we had our own private area to keep out the riff raff, free champagne on arrival and all the drinks were buy one get one free... which I didn't realise until I ordered 3 shots of Sambuca and 3 bottles of generic European beer...and got 6 of each.... oh dear.... then it started getting messy... some how the strawpeedo of a trough of booze seemed like a good idea at the time...
I spent most of the night with an old uni friend who I hadn't seen for a very very long time and was very pleased to realise that he is one of those friends who you can spend 5 minutes with after about 8 years apart and feel like you've never been apart... superb.
I then spent the night sandwiched between him and another strapping man on a double air bed in my friend's lounge... both of them doing the 'drunken boy snore'... suffice to say I got about 2 hours sleep in total... oh dear
Saturday, extremely hungover I make my way to Dom's party of awesomeness and decide that the best way to combat my monstrous hangover is to drink a further metric fuck ton of vodka and Marianne's particularly lovely home-brewed cider... beautiful appley ambrosia of the Gods and spend the entire night snuggled in her ample bosom... so soft and warm...yummy.
This may not have been wise as I spent most of the next day being really really grumpy and hungover and taking it out on the (not so) curly one and the ginger northerner...sorry about that boys.... Bob's delightful roast wasn't even enough to lighten my mood....still excellent parties on both nights... alcohol was consumed, love was made, cigarettes were smoked and friendships were resumed.... superb!
I think however, there is a small chance that I may be getting too old for the whole weekend bender as I then had to take Monday off work to recover...oops!
Firstly - thank you Marianne for introducing me to the phrase 'The metric Fuck Ton'.... we believe this to be slightly smaller than the Imperial Fuck Tonne - but an aweful lot nonetheless... especially when used to describe the amount of alcohol consumed by my teeny tiny pixie like body at the weekend...
Friday night saw me spending the night clubbing in Swindon (horrid place) however, since two of my closest friends got engaged to each other that night in a terrifyingly brilliant plan of subtlety and subterfuge not seen since my previous life as a baddass ninja assassin and it was her birthday... good times were had...
The group (about 20 of us) all had VIP entry to the club which meant that we didn't have to pay to get in, we had our own private area to keep out the riff raff, free champagne on arrival and all the drinks were buy one get one free... which I didn't realise until I ordered 3 shots of Sambuca and 3 bottles of generic European beer...and got 6 of each.... oh dear.... then it started getting messy... some how the strawpeedo of a trough of booze seemed like a good idea at the time...
I spent most of the night with an old uni friend who I hadn't seen for a very very long time and was very pleased to realise that he is one of those friends who you can spend 5 minutes with after about 8 years apart and feel like you've never been apart... superb.
I then spent the night sandwiched between him and another strapping man on a double air bed in my friend's lounge... both of them doing the 'drunken boy snore'... suffice to say I got about 2 hours sleep in total... oh dear
Saturday, extremely hungover I make my way to Dom's party of awesomeness and decide that the best way to combat my monstrous hangover is to drink a further metric fuck ton of vodka and Marianne's particularly lovely home-brewed cider... beautiful appley ambrosia of the Gods and spend the entire night snuggled in her ample bosom... so soft and warm...yummy.
This may not have been wise as I spent most of the next day being really really grumpy and hungover and taking it out on the (not so) curly one and the ginger northerner...sorry about that boys.... Bob's delightful roast wasn't even enough to lighten my mood....still excellent parties on both nights... alcohol was consumed, love was made, cigarettes were smoked and friendships were resumed.... superb!
I think however, there is a small chance that I may be getting too old for the whole weekend bender as I then had to take Monday off work to recover...oops!
Monday, 6 April 2009
Ow ow ow ow
Alternative title: Ow ow ow ow...that's a whole lot of ow
Does anyone have any bright ideas about how to sort out my reccurring neck and shoulder stiffness without resorting to expensive medical treatments...seriously people it's like meningitis of the neck!
Also in a desperate bid to save our flat and have enough food to eat I'm pimping out Bob's ass... any takers?
Failing that my services may be available very soon...once I come up with a suitable 'lady of the night' pseudonym...
I might need to move to Bristol for more business... perhaps I could write a book about my experiences afterwards... "Down and Desperate in the Downs"
Me love you long time
NB: This image is cruelly and copy right infringingly ripped from an excellent web comic... go check it out
Does anyone have any bright ideas about how to sort out my reccurring neck and shoulder stiffness without resorting to expensive medical treatments...seriously people it's like meningitis of the neck!
Also in a desperate bid to save our flat and have enough food to eat I'm pimping out Bob's ass... any takers?
Failing that my services may be available very soon...once I come up with a suitable 'lady of the night' pseudonym...
I might need to move to Bristol for more business... perhaps I could write a book about my experiences afterwards... "Down and Desperate in the Downs"
Me love you long time
NB: This image is cruelly and copy right infringingly ripped from an excellent web comic... go check it out
Thursday, 2 April 2009
A Present
Alternative Title: You Know Who You Are....
I would like to apologise for any embarrassment caused last night...
To make up for it... I thought you might like this:
I would like to apologise for any embarrassment caused last night...
To make up for it... I thought you might like this:
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
I've found my Vocation
Alternative Title: I always knew I was a Scrubber
So against Sam's better advice, I scrubbed the gent's toilets yesterday... on my hands and knees, elbow deep in piss and filth... it was strangely satisfying... when I had finished and the place smelled clean and even the skirting boards and the mirrors were sparkling with joy at the love and attention they had received....
My victory was a little marred however when rather than getting annoyed that I was not at my desk, as hoped, my boss actually congratualted me on a job well done and suggested that we should get the old cleaner back in to show her how it's done.... bollocks... no justifiable and righteous vitriol for Bex... bugger
It was made all the more rubbish when 15 minutes later, after a few of the lads had been in there, I went back in to the toilets to finish off and it smelled of piss again...
I mean seriously... do boys just eminate an odour of urine?
Do you deliberately piss on the floor... is it like a competition?
I cleaned the damn urinals - use them!
Please boys, tell me... I need to know so I can combat this evil in the future!
In the evening I took photos of the (not so) curly one and his best friend, (who we shall call Mr Blonde tight trousers for now) - pictures of Bob attacking Mr Blonde tight trousers with a knife... Bob is doing a logo for a martial arts organisation (paid work... woo hoo!) and needed a dynamic pose to work from....
For inspiration I shouted things like, "Come on, attack him like you hate him... he's just fucked your mum and he's wearing stupid shoes"... I thought it was genius ... the boys seemed to disagree... ah well ... perhaps professional photography is one thing to cross off my list of vocation options...
So against Sam's better advice, I scrubbed the gent's toilets yesterday... on my hands and knees, elbow deep in piss and filth... it was strangely satisfying... when I had finished and the place smelled clean and even the skirting boards and the mirrors were sparkling with joy at the love and attention they had received....
My victory was a little marred however when rather than getting annoyed that I was not at my desk, as hoped, my boss actually congratualted me on a job well done and suggested that we should get the old cleaner back in to show her how it's done.... bollocks... no justifiable and righteous vitriol for Bex... bugger
It was made all the more rubbish when 15 minutes later, after a few of the lads had been in there, I went back in to the toilets to finish off and it smelled of piss again...
I mean seriously... do boys just eminate an odour of urine?
Do you deliberately piss on the floor... is it like a competition?
I cleaned the damn urinals - use them!
Please boys, tell me... I need to know so I can combat this evil in the future!
In the evening I took photos of the (not so) curly one and his best friend, (who we shall call Mr Blonde tight trousers for now) - pictures of Bob attacking Mr Blonde tight trousers with a knife... Bob is doing a logo for a martial arts organisation (paid work... woo hoo!) and needed a dynamic pose to work from....
For inspiration I shouted things like, "Come on, attack him like you hate him... he's just fucked your mum and he's wearing stupid shoes"... I thought it was genius ... the boys seemed to disagree... ah well ... perhaps professional photography is one thing to cross off my list of vocation options...
