Being child-free by choice, I have got used to justifying myself to others over the years. I don't mind people who are just making polite conversation when asking if I have or want children, but the look on people's faces when I say, "No" often says a great deal about what they think of me or what they are going to say next. And it's often negative or patronising.
Of course, not everyone automatically has an (often unintentional) questioning, condescending, sometimes offensive attitude.
But only the other day I got, "Don't ALL women want children?" as if I am some kind of freak.
But as I have talked about this extensively on my other pages, and listed the reasons why I don't want children, I'll just leave it at that, and let you watch this cartoon video I have made. It's based on truth as I have had all of these questions and statements in the past year at some point. Enjoy!
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Monday, 5 April 2010
Dream Dinner Party Guests.
I have thought about my Dream Dinner Party Guests for a few years now. Having the rich and not so rich, famous and infamous to dinner, would be fascinating. Being a pretty good cook, I can usually impress, or at least please and not poison, my friends. However, cooking for friends is one thing. Cooking for strangers - however much I think I might know them from TV or book - is a different matter all together. For a start, I could not invite them all at once. Having all these interesting people all at once would be over-whelming. There is also the fact that any one of the the fantasy people I have chosen, would intimidate me to a point where I couldn't EAT or TALK properly, never mind COOK a dam thing. And as for the amount of wine I would consume due to shear nervousness, it isn't worth thinking about the humiliation I would forever endure.
But if you put aside the reality of some of my guests being inconveniently dead - in some cases long dead - and getting these famous people together, all at once, without any of them being busy or even wanting to dine, with other complete strangers in my inner city area of Leeds, in a small house, in a small kitchen, round a small table, hosted by a nervous 30-something nobody and with no one of strong opinion, arguing with another, well you've got yourself a party.
Watch this space for my list.
But if you put aside the reality of some of my guests being inconveniently dead - in some cases long dead - and getting these famous people together, all at once, without any of them being busy or even wanting to dine, with other complete strangers in my inner city area of Leeds, in a small house, in a small kitchen, round a small table, hosted by a nervous 30-something nobody and with no one of strong opinion, arguing with another, well you've got yourself a party.
Watch this space for my list.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Lanzarote and bye bye Jamiesons
Lanzarote was wonderful. Although the weather was cool in an evening, during the day it was mostly fabulous, especially toward the end of the week.
The return journey, however, wasn't.
On our last day of holiday, I always get pissed off. Flying is so fecking boring and uncomfortable, and all we had to look forward to was miserable, cold, dank Manchester. And work.
We booked our flights with an airline that I won't mention called THOMAS COOK. The "fun" started on Monday 15th. Our flights were about 1530, and check-in opened two hours before. Struggling to find the check-in desk, we just looked for the one with the biggest queue - and there it was - the one flying to Manchester (or "hell").
Being British, we obviously love a long queue (no!) so joined it. After what seemed like an eternity, we got to the front. I had a feeling we were slightly over, but hey-ho.
We were 5kg over.
Thomas Cook wanted to charge us €70!!!
WHAT?! That's €14 a KG!! (Just under £14 or $28). How I held my tongue, I don't know. Well, actually, I didn't. I looked away and said, quite loudly, so the gormless bint on the check-in would hear, "That's taking the fucking piss." More than once.
I then turned around to see a man who literally looked like he weighed twice as much as me, and had the body-shape of an orange. My BMI being 23, his looking significantly more than 30. Yet HE PAID THE SAME AIR FARE AS ME!!! HE WEIGHED a HELL of a LOT MORE than 5kg MORE than ME. So WHY do I have to pay an extra €70??!?!?!!
She then asked "Are you going to pay or rearrange?"
I know she's only doing her job, but all I want to do is go home - well actually, I didn't. I wanted to fuck off back to the apartment and waste more time reading and sunbathing.
Needless to say, TC weren't getting any more fecking Euro's, so we rearranged. So we were there, rearranging clothes, threw away a few cheap towels. I zipped up the suitcase - or thought I had - and pulled the thing up, angrily, only to realise I had actually UNzipped the thing - as a cascade of underwear and various other items launched themselves from the suitcase like rats out of a sewer. At this point, I laughed. Although, it was more of an insane cackle.
We re-joined the queue. Luckily, this time, we were under and the cases went on their jolly way.
Going through customs is always fun.
This time was double-fun.
Already in a bad mood, we put our bags on the scanner.
There was a bit of finger-pointing at the screen. The woman opened the suitcase, and suddenly, it dawned: In the confusion of re-arranging, my one saving souvenir, my beautiful bottle of Single Barrel Special Irish Whisky, Jamiesons, had been put into hand luggage instead of hold. Of course, customs do not allow liquids in hand luggage. At this point, a tear actually welled up, if only for a second. I told the gaffer to "enjoy it, it's yours" and we walked away, head-low. As we had spent out holiday money, we didn't have quite enough to buy another bottle in duty-free.
On the plus-side, the flight home was cramped, noisy and uncomfortable. We were far too close to the wining loud brat and the weather in Manchester was cold and miserable.
The return journey, however, wasn't.
On our last day of holiday, I always get pissed off. Flying is so fecking boring and uncomfortable, and all we had to look forward to was miserable, cold, dank Manchester. And work.
We booked our flights with an airline that I won't mention called THOMAS COOK. The "fun" started on Monday 15th. Our flights were about 1530, and check-in opened two hours before. Struggling to find the check-in desk, we just looked for the one with the biggest queue - and there it was - the one flying to Manchester (or "hell").
Being British, we obviously love a long queue (no!) so joined it. After what seemed like an eternity, we got to the front. I had a feeling we were slightly over, but hey-ho.
We were 5kg over.
Thomas Cook wanted to charge us €70!!!
WHAT?! That's €14 a KG!! (Just under £14 or $28). How I held my tongue, I don't know. Well, actually, I didn't. I looked away and said, quite loudly, so the gormless bint on the check-in would hear, "That's taking the fucking piss." More than once.
I then turned around to see a man who literally looked like he weighed twice as much as me, and had the body-shape of an orange. My BMI being 23, his looking significantly more than 30. Yet HE PAID THE SAME AIR FARE AS ME!!! HE WEIGHED a HELL of a LOT MORE than 5kg MORE than ME. So WHY do I have to pay an extra €70??!?!?!!
She then asked "Are you going to pay or rearrange?"
I know she's only doing her job, but all I want to do is go home - well actually, I didn't. I wanted to fuck off back to the apartment and waste more time reading and sunbathing.
Needless to say, TC weren't getting any more fecking Euro's, so we rearranged. So we were there, rearranging clothes, threw away a few cheap towels. I zipped up the suitcase - or thought I had - and pulled the thing up, angrily, only to realise I had actually UNzipped the thing - as a cascade of underwear and various other items launched themselves from the suitcase like rats out of a sewer. At this point, I laughed. Although, it was more of an insane cackle.
We re-joined the queue. Luckily, this time, we were under and the cases went on their jolly way.
Going through customs is always fun.
This time was double-fun.
Already in a bad mood, we put our bags on the scanner.
There was a bit of finger-pointing at the screen. The woman opened the suitcase, and suddenly, it dawned: In the confusion of re-arranging, my one saving souvenir, my beautiful bottle of Single Barrel Special Irish Whisky, Jamiesons, had been put into hand luggage instead of hold. Of course, customs do not allow liquids in hand luggage. At this point, a tear actually welled up, if only for a second. I told the gaffer to "enjoy it, it's yours" and we walked away, head-low. As we had spent out holiday money, we didn't have quite enough to buy another bottle in duty-free.
On the plus-side, the flight home was cramped, noisy and uncomfortable. We were far too close to the wining loud brat and the weather in Manchester was cold and miserable.
First blog!
Firstly, "Hello" to anyone reading this, and "Welcome to my first blog". To be honest, I'll be amazed if anyone actually reads this.
I don't know what made me think about blogging stuff, probably something to do with having plenty to rant on about or moan about. I didn't have a secret diary as a kid, nor did I try and write poetry. Although I did try and write a song or two as a teen, although I don't think I ever got past one verse or a chorus without running out of inspiration.
Are blogs a good thing or a bad thing?
On the one hand, am I getting things off my chest or am I revealing too much of my inner soul?
Am I amusing enough? (barely).
Am I just plain old dull? (probably).
Will people laugh at my grammer and spelling? (No, judging by the annoying way people seem to type in text speak, which is HARDER to read)
Will they understand my sarcasm and irony, or just think I am being offensive?
Do I put the link on my facebook and then be forced to endure the laughter of work collegues? (That is, of course, if they click on the link and take time to read.)
Why am I even worried when people probably won't read it anyway? Or will they read the first line or two and get bored and find a slightly more interesting app on their iphone to play with.
If you have read this far, well done! You have stamina!
You must be either: (a) Bored or (b) Become my obsessive stalker. I feel almost privileged, yet embarrassed at the same time.
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