"You're the one for me..."

TV has never served me so well as it did last night.

After a productive day at work and a quick visit to a mates to pick up some doob I got home at 8.15pm; cooked a delicious bowl of pasta for me and Evan (with a side order of garlic bread – hmmm) and settled down in front of the TV to watch quite possibly the best bit of TV ever - ‘Supersize Kids’. Yes, a whole programme dedicated to fat kids. Wicked.
The main storyline was one kid who I think was 16 and she weighed a whopping 24 stone! Fat cow. She was a walking – or should I say waddling – example of my entire argument against fat people.
Let’s start with her diet as described by her: One massive bowl of cereal for breakfast. One salad wrap, 2 tubes of Pringles, one 250g of chocolate bar, one large bag of Malteasers, and then she has lunch. 2 hours later she has dinner with a dessert; her mum’s ‘special’ trifle which had marshmallows on top.
Everyday…
Her mum is to blame. A heffa herself, she doesn’t think that there’s anything wrong with her child’s eating habits and will encourage her to have “one slice of cake.” “one slice of cake won’t harm you.”
I think my favourite line in the whole programme was “I’m not going to some health farm, you get three meals a day and that’s it – if you miss one then tough luck, and they make you exercise. I’m not doing that.” Her tired and desperate father said that that’s exactly what she needed, healthy eating and exercise and she replied: “what, so if I walk a lot I lose weight? I don’t think so.” Genius.
Instead of doing anything to help themselves they plopped themselves onto a plane and flew to Belgium to have surgery which would leave them unable to digest sugar and unable to eat more than two mouthfuls at any given time. They opted to have life-altering/impairing/threatening surgery that would leave them scarred and weak, over healthy eating and exercise.
Now, I wouldn’t say I eat the best and my exercise consists of a 20 minute walk to and from work and regular sex so I know I’m in no position to lecture but for the love of God what’s wrong with these people?
The best bit was in the editing of the programme. The guy who did it obviously feels very strongly about this like I do and every dumb fuck comment like: “I don’t think I eat that much junk food.” would be followed by a shot of one of them stuffing their podgy swollen faces with chocolate. They should win a BAFTA.

Anyway after that, I’m sat smugly on the couch and changed channel to BBC2 where I find Tracy Emin on Room 101. Now I know she’s not the most liked person in the world and her art has caused some controversy – but I like her, and I especially like the ‘Unmade Bed’ piece that she did. She’s an out-spoken, loud mouthed, drunk who isn’t afraid to wear her life on her sleeve and I like that. Anyway, she put in pointing and cocaine into room 101 and then the last item was: clowns. I HATE clowns more then anything else in the world. They are wrong. I could go on about this but I’m quite busy at work and need to get on but my hatred of them is only matched by my fear of them and she successfully binned them into eternal hell. Excellent.

Now if she’d just have said fat people too it would have been a perfect night’s television.

"Sisters are doing it for themselves..."

It's 'International Woman's Day' today!

GET IN!!!!

Not entirely sure what this means in anyway - maybe it's just a celebration of all things womanly. A joyous look at the beauty that is the woman - in all her womanly glory.

OR

A reflection of the struggles and strains that the female race have had to endure and overcome. A day in which to take stock of the oppression, the inequality, the fight, the power, the protests.

OR

Being a lesbian for the day...

Not sure which tack I'm gonna go for but rest assured whichever direction I choose to go in today, I'll have the backing of the mighty sisterhood.
I'm gonna be ALL woman today - just you wait.

I'm however, going to resist the over-whelming temptation to blurt on for hours about the terrible atrosities inflicted on women by men over the years; to open a debate on the inequalities still suffered daily by women and to wax lyrical about the oppression still felt by women the world over.

Instead I'm just going to plainly say - Happy Woman Day to all females reading this. Have a wonderful womanly day...

I'm off to become a lesbian.

Now where are my goddam dungerees?

"Let me hold you in my arms dear, and let me melt in the heat of your gaze...

...and let the clock strike one, time and mind go marching on. Let our sense of selves decay."

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine posed me the following question:

Who would be in your ultimate super group? You may have alsready asked/answered this yourself but I've taken this challenge very seriously and have still no idea.

The rules were - 5 members, dead or alive, you can have as many members from the same band as you like and they have to be suited to one another - ie: they have to realistically be able to play together and work as a band.
I still can't quite answer it. I find the bassist hard. Also is it really possible to have Jimi Hendrix AND Jimmy Page in the same band? And is it really self-obsessed to put yourself (however untalened) in the band? Don't know about you but I'd kill to play in a band with Hendrix, Grohl, Cobain, etc etc Although I wouldn't get much playing done if you know what I mean...
(sorry Evan - this is fictional though!!!)
There is so much to consider. Egos as well as styles. Its truly very hard.

Anyway - I sometimes re-visit this question when bored. And I was this morning on the tube (Evan ran out the battery on my Ipod - bastard) so I thought about it and I still can't come up with it...
Drums: Jon Bonham - best drummer ever....but then so's Dave Grohl
Bassist: Do I want a girl bassist?
Guitarist: Kevin Shields - maybe - I like the noise he makes
Lead guitarist: Jimi Hendrix - for the riffs
Vocals/guitar: Kurt Cobain - obviously - but then there's Thom Yorke

I haven't even mentioned Ian MacKaye, Jimmy Page, Billie Joe Armstrong, Slipknot, Maynard James Keenan, Zac De La Rocha duel drumming, vocal harmonies, style of music, good use of drug addiction, looks, charisma, politics, lyrics, merchandise, live show....

Its never ending...

"She's just a devil woman; with evil on her mind..."

It's Mothering Sunday on er...Sunday. It was of course my Mum's birthday last Sunday, so that's two presents, two cards etc etc. The card I have for her Mother's Day however, is the funniest - most sick making card I've ever seen.
It's got Sir Cliff Richard on the front. He's wearing black slacks, a pristine white shirt (tucked in) and a black suit jacket (smart/casual). He's got his hands in his pockets and he's standing at the bottom of a Mediterranean-esque outside staircase looking a little smug.
As you open up the card his sickly-sweet-good-Christian-soft-Home-Counties-obviously-gay voice says "To a special mum, who's one in a million. Have a wonderful day."
WHAT A DICK!!!!

The man has sold more records than anyone else in the world EVER and has had his fair share of bad and good publicity. There is no need for him to make this card. At all. He must have the worst management/PR team in living history to have made this card. Its so bad that it crosses the line of so bad it's good, and goes on further to a whole other level of badness.

I'm very well educated on Sir Cliff. A healthy diet of his music has been polluting my life ever since I can remember. My mum ironing on a Sunday to 'Miss You Nights' or some such bollocks. I actually think she still wears a Cliff jumper...

Through work I met a sound guy who does sound monitoring for Cliff and who was able to get me and my Mum in to see Cliff at the Royal Albert Hall. I organised this for her birthday and Mother's Day present last year. So we went last April. We sat at the sound desk bit. 3 hours he went on for. 3 HOURS.
And everyone brings presents for him and walks excitedly up to the stage to hand over their gifts. Cakes, flowers, cards, pants, someone had actually knitted him a jumper I think!!! Its like a cult.
My mum is too cool to have bought a present but she couldn't resist going up to the stage whilst he played 'Miss You Nights' (her favourite song) and sway.

I sat there thoroughly bored and quite embarrassed. How could my Mum be this hilariously tragic.

It did get me to think though - when I have kids, will they be embarrassed by my music taste. Will they sit and cringe as I race forward to join the mosh pit at Reading Festival, tutting and rolling their eyes? I'm pretty sure they will. Maybe they'll like Cliff - because the 'I love Cliff' gene has most definitly skipped this generation...

Is it wrong to frank a Mother's day card for posting?

"Then I step through the fog and I creep through the smog Cuz I'm Snoop Doggy (who?) Doggy (what?) Doggy [Dogg]..."

Have you ever been so shocked by yourself and the way that you used to be? Like finding a really old photo of yourself with really bad hair or something and you can't quite believe that you actually looked like that.

This just happened to me. I was going through some emails and came across a bunch from just before Christmas. Only a little over 2 months ago I was a dick! A complete and utter dick. I'm not gonna go into the whys and whos but safe to say I'm embarrassed. There is a strong argument suggesting that I still am a dick but just not in the same way.

Anyway. I wrote a blog yesterday and left it up for an hour but then deleted it becasue it wasn't about me and I felt guilty talking about someone else. But I still feel like I need to get it of my chest. It was generally about being dumped and that I know someone who claims that he's never been dumped! Imagine that! How arrogant must you get if you've never been dumped.
I'm always being dumped and have really never dumped anyone. Luckily Evan's the same which means we'll have a dump stand-off if it ever got to that stage. It won't though.

I've only ever dumped one person. We were at a house party when I was about 16. It was full of people who had just spent the past year not liking me or my best friend Jenny - we had fallen out of favour but were just crawling out of the shit heap and starting to be liked again. Except for this bitch Teresa who bullied me. Bitch. Someone accidently trod on her nose once at this particularly raucous party and broke it - I laughed a lot but thats a story for another time. Anyway - she was there, and I had bagged myself a boyfriend a few months before - he was in all essence a cock but I liked him for some reason regardless - and he was there. I had been 'hanging out' in the kitchen - trying to be cool, and suddenly realised I hadn't seen Ben for a while. Or Teresa for that matter. I go off searching for him, ask a few people if they'd seen him. Everyone gave me a weirdish look and denied all knowledge of him even being there. I thought people were just being pissed so went off looking for him anyway. Went upstairs and tried all the bedrooms and bathrooms etc and then; right down the end of the hall was a closed door. I headed towards it and tried to open the door without making a noise. It was jammed shut but I rammed it open and there I saw - with the lights on, in full glory, on the bed, was Teresa and Ben shagging.

Doggy style

Delightful.

"I said a hip hop the hippie to the hippie, the hip hip hop, and you don't stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie..."

Just before Christmas I had a cold. As someone who never really gets ill, I kinda shrugged it off and thought it'll go eventually and its not really that bad. So I carried on going out, Christmas parties, late nights, etc etc and never gave myself the chance to actually get over the cold. A month later and I still had it - except it was worse. I couldn't breath through one nostril at all and it hurt. A lot.
I'd already made an appointment to go the Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist because my voice kept going and being all croaky, so I decided to book an appointment with my GP on the same day (both are in the same town y'see) and went to check out my nose.
First up though was my throat appointment where he fed a wire telescope up my nose and then down the back of throat and dangled it on my voice box! There was no damage there or anything wrong - the problem was that I couldn't project my voice very well and so if I shout a lot my voice just gave way - still does actually but not as bad as it was. He referred me to a speech therapist but I opted not to go. They're for losers...
Anyway - an hour later I went to the doctors and he diagnosed me as having Chronic Sinusitus - hence the blocked nose.
When telling this story to my caring boyfriend (although he wasn't my boyfriend at the time) he pissed himself and declared that from then on I shall be known as Chronic. Chronic D.

Well it's better than Danipants.

The reason for this story is because I fear the sinusitus has returned. I feel rubbish. It's like I'm blocked right up the top but it doesn't stop some of it from running out of nose and down my face at really inappropriate times.

And also I didn't want anyone to think that I'm really sad calling myself ChronicD - like a wannabe rapper MC or something. I'm not. Although spitting lyrics like a bad boy poet is something I can really see myself doing.

*sniff*