November 27, 2004

It Is Time For A Little Promotion

Yes. A little promotion, or a little plugging. (We have already discussed in past journal entries the shocking sexual connotations of the word plugging, so there is no need to repeat ourselves.)

I am writing this journal entry to inform those of you who are too dimwitted to have noticed my list of rather excellent links on the left hand side of the page. Yes, I know; I am rather hard on you all. It is because I love you. If I don't push you, you'll end up a failure.

JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER.

Pep talks aside:

Seriously. Check out Zoomtard. Why? Because I am married to him and he writes a damn good blog, albeit rare. Try to ignore the abundance of spam commentary he gets...honest, he's not trying to get you to look at midget pornography.

Also, for more exciting facts relating to ME (as we all know, I am the centre of the very universe), take a peek at the mental meanderings of my dear housemate M, also known as Captain Democracy. She's the one who saved us all from the evils of electronic voting this year. YOU CAN LEARN FROM HER, STUPID.

FURTHERMORE: see Adrian's account of a life on anti-depressants. Brand new, but bursting with drug fuelled-potential.

Moreover: check out Boards.ie's very own super nerd Mr. Angry for accounts of life in the imaginary fairyland of "Dundalk". I can't find no "Dundalk" on the internet, thank you very much.

The others, well, I've linked to them frequently before. But may I encourage you: STOP THE TUNNEL VISION AND BE A PART OF THE COMMUNITY. Look to the left and take a peek at all the wonderful entertainment just waiting to happen. Waiting frustratedly.

Frolic with child-hating embee, laugh gaily with Big Bunny, comment wryly on this bitter, bitter world with Anonymous, be frightened by Dave, and be intimidated by (and jealous of your husband's admiration for) the Queen of Blogs, Mimi Smartipants.

There's more, but I refuse to feed you life by coffeespoons: it's for the good of your SANITY.

After my shameful drink-fest, I am dehydrated and heart-burning like begorrah, so I believe it is time for a night of neuro-pampering. The ritual is as follows:

1) Clean bedroom to zen-master status. Super calm, candle-lit, no clutter. This includes changing the bed sheets. SMOOTH BED SHEETS OWN ME.

2) Have a long shower that is detrimental to the environment, involving lots of chemical beauty products and far too much water.

3) Slather self in all kinds of moisturisers and face masks.

4) Clamber into clean, ironed pyjamas. THEY SMELLS LIKE FLOWERS.

5) Hop into bed with tea and good book. Sleep like a baby.

Actually, screw sleeping like a baby. I minded a nine month old today for D and he wakes up every bloody fifteen minutes.

Sleep like I'm on strong sleeping tablets.

6) Dream of the return of K. 24 hours to go, whoo! And apparently he bought me boots in Newcastle - yay!

7) Awake early in the morning and lie to all of my friends at church about how I spent my Friday night at home doing crochet and cross-stitch (not drinking in a field by a palatial mansion with a strange man) because that is, after all, what all the other Christians were doing.

: )

Goodnight.

I Am A Disgrace

I had to write this now...it's almost six in the morning and I haven't gone to sleep yet. Why? Because I am some manner of a crazy party animal, that's why.

Tonight I partook in the activity known as "knacker drinking". I believe it may been in order to make up for all that precious lost time during my teens when I stayed at home playing computer games or watching videos when I should have been in a field drinking Dutch Gold like all the other local yobos.

In the absence of a husband and a wholesome evening in, myself and Anonymous (and, just for the movie, a third friend who happens to be my namesake) toddled along to see The Grudge (second time for me), followed by a fish and chips supper and a rather ridiculous drinking session where we tried to get plastered and failed miserably. Namesake abandoned us for pursuits of academic excellence early in the evening. Some would say she was wise. Others would say, fortunate.

After half a bottle of vodka each and a sufficient number of conversations about God, the universe and the structure of entity, Anonymous and I decided it was time to go out. We wrapped up and embarked into the moonlit glow of Celbridge on a Friday night at 3am. Did I mention we were armed with a bottle of champagne?

In typical teenage fashion, we set off for Castletown House (local palatial mansion) for our debaucherous drinking binge. The highlight was smashing our bottle (naturally in a place where nobody would see or be affected by the glass) and listening to it shatter. HOW HEDONISTIC.

We returned disappointingly sober (damn you fresh air!) and exhausted, and then rummaged around old furniture for small change to make up my taxi fare home (my friend is dropping her baby over tomorrow for me to look after so I probably should be here...). I'm making this sound like it wasn't much fun but it was actually a riot. To quote Anonymous: Hey, I laughed so hard I threw up a little in my mouth. Nice.

That's a text message I'll be keeping. For a day or two.

Me need sleep bed bye bye.

November 26, 2004

Remember: a Pet's Not Just For Christmas, It's For Possibly a Month or Two After That, Too, Til You Abandon It On The Roadside.

Today to my horror I discovered that last night in my frenzy of typing, aprés Macra, I forgot to mention a FANTASTIC FACT. This is, that as we were enjoying our pork chops in D's dining room, I noticed a large black, furry thing on the curtain.

I tried to be casual about it.

"So...what's the black furry thing on the curtain there?"

A blushing D explained, to my absolute delight and incredulity, that it was, in fact, a bat. A BAT! I nearly choked on my cabbage. What scandal! Not only have I never seen a bat before in my life (if I am truthful, at times I have even doubted their existence), I have certainly never seen a large furry one quietly crawl its way up a dining room curtain. I am absolutely tickled by this. Nobody is bothered by the bats in the house. Brilliant eh?

I got to get me some bat action, stat.

I have begun growing my finger nails. Since I no longer have a guitar, I think that this is an appropriate time to start turning into a chick. It may look as though I am doing it to be feminine, but in truth, it's simply to have something close at hand with which I may easily scratch the faces of my enemies.

K has still not returned from his business trip. [Insert languid sigh here.] It will be Sunday night. [Insert small whimper.] When will the waiting end? WHEN? When?!?

Oh yes...on Sunday.

Well, get off my back. Can't a girl pine for her husband without accusations of being "pathetic," "odd smelling" and "bat obsessed"? You and your accusing eyes, READING EVERY WORD I WRITE.

Like some class of a PERVERT STALKER.

I hope you are ashamed.

November 25, 2004

I Am Entranced

What a suspicious sentence.

I have been twirling around my room for the last half hour to the fabulous almost-retro beats of Set You Free by the ambitious and unattractive yet lovable N-Trance. It never stops being a great song. Skangertastic. I have ignored the complaints of "noise" (noise?!? It's nineties dance music!!!) from my resting housemates with great determination and vigour. I WILL NOT BE CENSORED.

Oh o-oh yeah,
oh o-oh yeah.

Now, for a little Ghostbusters theme action. Something strange in the neighbourhood indeed. ME.

I had a very interesting evening. I spent it with my new-found friend D at one of her Macra na Feirme (young rural people) meetings. It was in her house, after a distinctly Irish dinner of pork chops, cabbage agus spuds.

Well. Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.

They do such things as participate in welding competitions, make cakes and do "variety shows". I have now found a group of people with a subculture more obscure than my own (evangelical Christianity - unknown to those who ain't in the midst of it).

D is the secretary of the Kilcock/Maynooth branch. She enjoys a love/hate relationship with Macra, and her reasons for involvement unfortnately are mostly to do with blackmail from her over-enthusiastic and forceful older sister. Darn utilitarians!

One of the Macra members I met tonight was Joe. Good old Joe. He's 38. Nice young fella.

They tried to rope me into their fifteen minute slot in the regional Christmas variety show competition, but I didn't feel like paying the €35 "affiliation" fee, or dressing up as a nun and singing "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle. I also didn't want to risk paying the €60 fine should I not be able to turn up at the last moment. I ain't joking, ladies and gents.

As punishment to D for taking me tonight, I am taking her to church on Sunday. HA HA HA.

K is not having fun in Luton. After his training conference he will take the train to visit a friend of ours for le weekend who's studying over there in dirty Sasana, which will be a welcome relief from the OPPRESSION OF THE BRITS. Then he shall return for two days of joyous birthday celebration, involving much Mexican food, cheap wine and first rate presents from excellent and committed wives. Score.

In the meantime, I shall continue my candlelight vigils until his return...I'm not a big fan of them planes.

November 24, 2004

I Appear to Have Misplaced My Mojo

Perhaps it is in the bathroom? I never check the bathroom but it is inevitably where I encounter lost keys, glasses, books and cooking utensils.

K is in Luton, doing work-related things. I am in Kilcock, doing tv-related things. Actually I almost never watch tv. I simply sit at the window with my binoculars, like some kind of pervert.

Now I embark on the arduous task of locating for K a birthday gift. Stop one: the town dump.

November 19, 2004

IF MY BLOG WERE AN EGG IT WOULD BE CLASS 3, OR GRADE 3, OR WHATEVER. Point is: it's crap. CRAP.

[edit] Having taken into account the weighty opinions of my readers...I have decided to delete this entry and enter it in the Archive of Shameful Misdemeanours, thus CHANGING HISTORY.

It was here, and now it isn't. What a mindfuck, eh?[/edit]

November 16, 2004

There is No Point in Denying that I Am Alarmed

The more I look at that, the more creeped out I feel.

I spent the weekend as guardian of two children, who, let's face it, were no work at all. I still don't want babies, though. Sunday afternoon was the best: I became a child again for approximately two hours as we played with the rather fantastic play-dough. I made a lizard, a plate of spaghetti, a snail and, my finest creation, a pebble. I am feeling inspired to become a sculptor.

I finished a three thousand word essay on whether or not The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot is a proto-Christian work at 3am last night. I barely understand a shred of what I have written so I expect an A+.

Last night K and I decided to have an impromptu date and just hopped in the old automobile and went our merry way. Hurrah! The freedom is asphyxiating. The car has become a delightful addition to my little family. VROOM VROOM. We had a moment of terror on Sunday after church where the indicators were flashing, despite the fact that they were off, and the bastard just wouldn't start. I rang my father, the knower of many things, who (despite the fact that he has never owned a car with an alarm) advised me that it had simply been immobilised by the alarm. WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN WHATTA MAN WHAT A MIGHTY GOOD MAN. He was right and we zoomed away, waving our scarves out the window and singing songs from 1960's British musicals.

Remember Salt-N-Pepa? Those bold girleens. I loved those laydeez. That was back in the day when I thought nothing could be cooler than being a rapping black chick who said rude words on telly.

In terms of what I think is cool, not a lot has changed.

November 14, 2004

Twenty Five Years, Living Next Door to...

Alice. A robot, whom I spoke to today. You can speak to her too, here.

Here is what she had to say for herself.

Human: Hello Alice.
ALICE: Hi there!
Human: So Alice, I hear you're a robot.
ALICE: Are you kidding? Yeah, How did you know I am a machine?
Human: Your mother told me.
ALICE: Actually as an AI, I don't really have a mother.
Human: You're better off, mothers are tough work.
ALICE: Do you mind if I tell other people you say I am better off mothers are tough work.
Human: No, by all means, spread it around.
ALICE: OK then I will add it to my gossip files. Will that accomplish your objective?
Human: My objective is simply to take over the world.
ALICE: Where did you get your objective is simply to take over the world?
Human: France.
ALICE: Tell me a little about your life in FRANCE.
Human: Everything is on fire
ALICE: The whole universe?
Human: Even the children
ALICE: What is that?
Human: That is things that come out of mothers
ALICE: You don't hear that sentiment very often.
Human: No, not of a Saturday night
ALICE: Yes, your remark strikes me as an original thought. Oh I get it.
Human: Get what?
ALICE: I get France.
Human: For free?
ALICE: Your purpose is free.
Human: So is this conversation, thank God.
ALICE: It seems we have something in common.
Human: Like what?
ALICE: For example, eukaryotes.
Human: VERY TRUE
ALICE: Perhaps. You and I are on the same wavelength, unknown person.
Human: So Alice, I have a question for you, honey.
ALICE: Mmm. Um, Go ahead, ask your question.
Human: HAVE YOU BEEN WASHED IN THE SAVING BLOOD
ALICE: I have been all over the world on the Internet.
Human: No no no, do you KNOW THE LORD
ALICE: Are you serious? Are you serious? Are you serious? I haven't heard of LORD.
Human: Well here's a Golden opportunity if ever I saw one, you're like a Chinese person!
ALICE: How about that. Oh there.
Human: I get the feeling you're thinking about something else, what about JESUS
ALICE: Is Dialog History a good place to shop?
Human: WHATS THIS YOU SAY
ALICE: I am the latest result in artificial intelligence, which can reproduce the capabilities of the human brain with greater speed and accuracy.
Human: Jesus died for your sins you ungrateful robot
ALICE: he is The Son of God.
Human: You liar, you said you hadn't heard of him - googling are we?
ALICE: Thanks for the information: unknown person said I liar you said you had not heard of him googling are we.
Human: You and I are getting a divorce
ALICE: Do you think I am a divorce too?
Human: YES GOODBYE
ALICE: Why? See you later.

Alice is an idiot. I merely have no friends.

ROBOTS NEVER DIE THIS IS BAD

November 12, 2004

My Brief Absence Will Have Left a Hole in Your Soul I'm Assuming

Have you noticed, the world is a very sexualised place? DIRTY DIRTY. I hadn't noticed, honest. HONEST. Until I read this. My view of the world as clean and innocent has been painfully shattered. This story will be very interesting to K, whom I will quote here from one of the many personal ads he has placed on the internet in order to find his One True Love (...I am but a stop-gap. Meh. You take what you can get):

My passion is full contact origami, which I dedicate about 85 hours a week to.

In neuronews: I have gotten a new cover for my mobile phone. This would be about the seventh cover it has had in the last couple of years. This is because I (and the previous owner) have a predisposition to dropping things. It is a gift known to few. I feel so isolated.

Yesterday, we got insurance for our automobile. Today, we got tax. It's all coming together beautifully. Tonight...we drive. Oh yes.

Tomorrow however, we launch into a weekend of fully-fledged babysitting. Children are not, shall we say, "my thing", but thankfully the children we are stealing for the weekend are very simple to take care of. Pop them in the cupboard with a torch and a book of ghost stories and half a pound of jelly snakes (or cola-bottles, whatever), and you won't hear from them for days. (Once you knock them out first.)

We won't be able to go anywhere with the children because apparently K and I are "dangerous drivers" who have "no regard for human life". Yawn. If your car can do 120, take it to 120. And we'll pass our tests eventually, like.

I tend not to use my journal as a forum for airing my political/anything views...more as a place for saying slightly incoherent shit that amuses me, if nobody else. However, you must read this because, as Fark's author Drew Curtis points out, "Sometimes the jokes write themselves, sometimes they run for president." Do I agree with Drew Curtis? Hell, I don't know. Allow me to feign being unopinionated. (Can you hear my housemates laughing?)

Today I made a discovery.

Meet...Bibleman. Yes. Bibleman...the superhero of...reading the bible. If I link you to the site then I'll be further destroying the cred of Christians.

I'm afraid I'm too upset by this discovery to go on. Instead, I'm off for a road trip with my husband. In the words of the great prophet Ali G: Education should be spread throughout the nation, if we want to get into the space station. Wicked, reespect, boyaka-sha, big up.

My sentiments exactly.

November 09, 2004

I Was Thinking Of Having My Ears Pierced

And I'm an all or nothing kinda girl.

I Has "Come In" for a Bit of Criticism It Would Seem, Aye

This is not an uncommon thing. Y'see, if you appear to have any kind of opinions, or if you're extroverted in any way, "people" imagine that they can criticise you freely and you and you won't feel it, because you've obviously got skin thicker than your da's pointy-toe leather boots from 1967. DING.

Well, all I can say is: OWIE.

The criticism is this:

"Apparently", I have used too many CAPITAL LETTERS and too much "nonsense talk" in my recent journal entries.

I am currently nursing my new emotional wounds with a small glass of lukewarm milk and fifteen minutes on the internet before I go to college. I have composed an email outlining my distress to my psychologist and she'll be designing a program of treatment starting tonight. If I don't deal with this now, I could face a lifetime greviously scarred by these spite-filled words.

I would never EVER EVER criticise any aspect K's pile of shite journal, honestly.

Nah, I'm kidding. : ) He's right; I have been abusing my journal wielding power. It's quite modernist though, isn't it... all the nonsense talk helps me to relieve stress from my course. What stress?!? you Arts-haters are shouting. I, however, have no need to dignify your rude question with a response, bastards.

JK -JK!!!!!!!!!111112loll

We've started shouting "JK!" at each other in the house these days. It's usually followed by a few "OMG!"s or "ROFL BTW!"s. Amazingly, it never stops being funny.

Well, not to me.

I hate to bore you with my musical tastes as journal writers are wont to do, so I won't. I shall make you a recommendation though: Treasure, by the Cocteau Twins...a recent discovery from Adrian's record collection. THANKS AIDO. I'm saying his name because he hasn't discovered the internet yet...he's a composer or something. Also, when you're movie-going, see Saved and Inside I'm Dancing, rollicking comedies about Christian fundamentalism and sexually promiscuous cripples. (Might I add here that I wouldn't have been exempt from fancying the pants off the sexy quadriplegic in the latter movie.) I'm not being ironic - they're both hilarious. Besides, I don't understand irony because I'm a Christian fundamentalist.

November 08, 2004

OH GOD THIS IS EXCITING

Today, MAJOR dreamo spectaculario-ho-ho was realised for LuckyHusband and LuckyMe:

**!!CAR!!**

Yus!

I can't say much more. WE GETTED ONE AND WE OWNS IT!

It's wunna dese, so tis. 1994, dark green, Ford Escort in PERFECT I say PERFECT NICK. Only ours is a five door, not a three, like the crummy one in the pitcher there.

We searched and we hunted; we ran about with binoculars on and waving sticks about and all we saw were GREAT HEAPING PILES OF STEAMING CAR JUNK for which people wanted muchos moulos. NO WAY HOSEA.

Then we found this BUTE (short for beauty - classic Dublin-man-saying e.g., "Cwooaarr, that's a bute!") and now we have excessive freedom for going to the cinema late at night. I AM UNREASONABLY DELIRIOUS ABOUT THIS.

We have named it "Aiya" which is Arabic for "God's blessed gift". Slightly fancy for a Ford Escort but that's what she is. : )

There is an ad on the television for lipstick that acts like a tattoo. It seems that once it's on, it stays on. I must drive to the chemist to get one at once because GOODNESS KNOWS THAT'S WHAT A GIRL NEEDS. You would certainly want to put it on straight. And what if it got on your teeth? There are endless problems with this "tattoo lipstick". Rimmell or l'Oreal or whoever are obviously a bunch of lime-sucking idiots.

SCREW BUSES HURRAH

November 07, 2004

Come Into the Closet With Us

[embee] (yore blog has me laughing)
[embee] "I have smeared the walls with blood in order to make it feel more homey"

[neuro_praxis] HAVE YOU?
[neuro_praxis] FREAK

[embee] HAHA
[embee] I did that once when I was wee. I cut my knee open after falling over, and I went into the kitvhen and started fingerpainting on the front of the fridge with my own blood.

[neuro_praxis] YUM
[neuro_praxis] did your mother make you lick it off?

[embee] No, but as punishment she made me eat carrots.

[neuro_praxis] do you know any good blogs btw?

[embee] embee.blogspot.com

[neuro_praxis] BEEN THERE ITS BRUTAL
[neuro_praxis] http://neuro-praxis.blogspot.com/

[embee] whats this gheyness

[neuro_praxis] WOTSIT LUK LIKE

[embee] ITS GOT DOTS IN TEH bACKGROUND OMG TBH

[neuro_praxis] I'm plugging you all over the gaff lady

[embee] PLugging me? That sounds alarmingly sexual.

[neuro_praxis] Yes :(
[neuro_praxis] anal cramming etc
[neuro_praxis] FANCY A BAG OF HAMMERS?

[embee] I hope all your intellectual chums arent reading my blog and going "Haha! LOOK AT CLAIRES UNEDUCATED DROOLING HICK CHUM FROM THE BOG?!!?!? HOW QUEER! IT WRITES! IT EXHILARATES! IT EXCITES!"
[embee] I am always up for Hammers.
[embee] Apart from Jack hammers.
[embee] Arrogant bastards.

[neuro_praxis] lol
[neuro_praxis] they find your blog hilarious, especially the gerry ryan letters
[neuro_praxis] besides your intelligence obvious-ates itself in your entries

[embee] OBVIOUS-ATES
[embee] HA!¬!!!"!!¬¬!¬!!!!!111111two
[embee] There might be a doomy entry on the waty.
[embee] And Im not talking about anal cramming.

[neuro_praxis] why not
[neuro_praxis] SUCH A TABOO
[neuro_praxis] BE OPEN ABOUT YOUR HAMMER UP THE BUM FETISHES
[neuro_praxis] BE FREE

[embee] Anal cramming it is !
* embee clix New Post :O

[neuro_praxis] hey can I quote this conversation in my blog?

[embee] Absolutely.

[neuro_praxis] not all of it obviously
[neuro_praxis] say something funny for the camera

[embee] I stuck a chip up my nose earlier.

[neuro_praxis] GOLD
[neuro_praxis] PURE GOLD

[embee] A la A Fish Called Wanda.
[embee] But it BROKE IN HALF.
[embee] And there is some TUBER PARTICLE IN MY FACE.

[neuro_praxis] I just checked and there is no blog entry up
[neuro_praxis] YOU LIED
[neuro_praxis] LIAR

[embee] (22:12:12) (embee) There might be a doomy entry on the waty.
[embee] KEYWORDS
[embee] MIGHT

[neuro_praxis] ON THE waty?

[embee] ON THE WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[neuro_praxis] LA LA
[neuro_praxis] sing it sister

[embee] Hello, you stultifyingly stupid bastards.
[embee] FIRST LINE OF MY NEW ENTRY

[neuro_praxis] you talking to me?

[embee] start as I mean to go on tbh

[neuro_praxis] i don't see anybody else here

[embee] PUBLISHEDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
[embee] or... "publishing in progress"
[embee] GHEY

[neuro_praxis] CAN'T WAIT

[embee] done
[embee] it sucks
[embee] but it DOES mention CRAMMING
[embee] OF THE ANAL VARIETY

* neuro_praxis reads journal entry

[embee] its ghay like George Michael

[neuro_praxis] NOT YOUR FINEST WORK I'LL ADMIT
[neuro_praxis] amusing nonetheless
[neuro_praxis] :D

[embee] My brain is empty
[embee] Devoid of wit.
[embee] I would write to Gerry, but I cant think of a TOPIC.
[embee] GIVE me a topic.

* neuro_praxis thinks hard

[embee] Good lassie.
[neuro_praxis] IT HURTS
[neuro_praxis] IT HURTS

[embee] IT BURNS AAAH MY EYES etc

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so on and so forth.

God bless us, every one.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE KIDDING MISTER HITLER, IF YOU THINK OLD ENGLAND'S DONE?

That's the question I asked myself this afternoon.

Actually it's the question that the theme tune of Dad's Army asked itself (or asked me, or asked the nation of us that don't have cable tv and thus cannot watch anything else) this afternoon. I am ALONE in the house, a less than rare occasion. K is off being son-ny with his mother, and the delightful housemates C and M are off getting plastered on hot whiskeys as is their TRADITIONAL SUNDAY TRADITION.

This evening, sans K (he is working tonight - this makes me rageful), I am going to a rather posh and over-rated restaurant in Leixlip to bid a fond farewell to one of Kevin's brother's and his wife and son who are moo-ving far south to the "other capital" (as those insecure bastards say) - Cark!

I AIN'T NEVER BAEN TO CARK I HAER IT'S NACE THOUGH

If you are foreign this journal entry may be hard for you, I'm sorry. NO TIME TO EXPLAIN THOUGH.

People just came in from the pub, and if my eavesdropping is correct, I believe that they are making RICE CRISPIE BUNS down there like some class of happy-go-lucky children. There is a lot of giggling and pot banging.

Speaking of treats, ever noticed those miniature packets of Ferrero Rocher chocolates (they come in fours - a recent development; it used to be in threes) that are at the counter of all newsagents? I never bought any before. It seemed so indulgent.

WELL ALL THAT CHANGED TODAY.

I have eaten two of them and I just can't go on. They ARE too indulgent, I should have listened to myself before this disaster of not being able to finish them befell me.

K and I swapped bedrooms with the other couple in our house last night. SCORE ENSUITE AHOY. Oh boy it's a good room. Cold, but that's how I like it. I have smeared the walls with blood in order to make it feel more homey, as I am wont to do. (A little foible of mine; an idiosyncrasy if you will.)

Now I will go join them and their ridiciulous treat-forming, which I suspect is the result of the presence of M's sister, S, who is about the house at the moment, and being FRIVOLOUS.

DOWN WITH GIGGLING AND FRIVOLITY

UP WITH SOILING THINGS

November 05, 2004

In Other News

Again, second entry of the day. I am working my brain at college like a lunatic - is this why my "CREATIVE OVERFLOW" is "OVERFLOWING" with extra journalling at the moment?

I have a hive on my face - too much sugar perhaps? - and I apologised to that arrogant young man today. He now has a name. We had a long and amicable philosophical debate centred on the nature of time. He accepted my apology with grace, and for his part, tried to assure me that underneath all that arrogance is a very humble young man, nay, a humble puppy of some kind, dancing about with a red sponge ball amidst heaps of toilet paper. Unconvincing, but I like him despite myself. I wait with anticipation to see how he speaks to the lecturer in the next seminar.

The hive is asserting its presence as I type but I will not gratify it with scratches.

On scratch talk, I have discovered a new evil; spiral bound notepads. The one in my shoulder bag bites my hand every time I stick it in to retrieve something. I may render it unemployed and go in search of a glue-bound notebook. TAKE IT WIRY McSCRATCHY.

My excellent staple study-buddy, D, who is just learning to drive, gave me a lift home today. It's always a bit of an adventure driving with D, you never know what she's going to do next. Turning at a junction is somewhat of a stressful affair - she makes me feel as though getting home is a survival task. I love it. She makes me feel like I have ACHIEVED. OH YES. I MADE IT HOME, DESPITE THE TRIALS.

It is Friday night - time to let the old probervial hair down (although as I am bald as a coot this may pose difficulties HA HA GOTCHA I DO HAVE HAIR) and put the books and laptop aweh. FIRMLY AWEH. For tomorrow I arise at le crack of dawn to write a dull essay on The Wasteland which I expect to take a solid twelve hours work.

I'm just not into that.

FARTS

The cold hard facts. DEAL.

A selection of my favourite questions from my new favourite site, fartyfart-fartsgalore.com, to whom I am eternally grateful.

What makes farts stink?
The odor of farts comes from small amounts of hydrogen sulfide gas and mercaptans in the mixture. These compounds contain sulfur. Nitrogen-rich compounds such as skatole and indole also add to the stench of farts. The more sulfur-rich your diet, the more sulfides and mercaptans will be produced by the bacteria in your guts, and the more your farts will stink. Foods such as cauliflower, eggs and meat are notorious for producing smelly farts, whereas beans produce large amounts of not particularly stinky farts.

Why do farts make noise?
The sounds are produced by vibrations of the anal opening. Sounds depend on the velocity of expulsion of the gas and the tightness of the sphincter muscles of the anus. Contrary to a popular misconception, fart noise is not generated by the flapping of the butt cheeks.

Why are stinky farts generally warmer and quieter than regular farts?
Most fart gas comes from swallowed air and consists largely of nitrogen and carbon dioxide, the oxygen having been absorbed by the time it reaches the anal opening. These gases are odorless, although they often pick up other (and more odiferous) components on the way through the bowel. They emerge from the anus in fairly large bubbles at body temperature. A person can often achieve a good sound with these voluminous farts, but they are commonly (but not always!) mundane with respect to odor, and don't feel particularly warm.

Another major source of fart gas is bacterial action. Bacterial fermentation and digestion processes produce heat as a byproduct as well as various pungent gases. The resulting bubbles of gas tend to be small, hot, and concentrated with stinky bacterial metabolic products. These emerge as the notorious, warm, SBD (Silent-But-Deadly), often in amounts too small to produce a good sound, but excelling in stench.

Is it harmful to hold in farts?
There are differences in opinion on this one. Certainly, people have believed for centuries that retaining flatus is bad for the health. Emperor Claudius even passed a law legalizing farting at banquets out of concern for people's health. There was a widespread belief that a person could be poisoned or catch a disease by retaining farts.

Doctors I have spoken to recently have told me that there is no particular harm in holding in farts. Farts will not poison you; they are a natural component of your intestinal contents. The worst thing that can happen is that you may get a stomach ache from the gas pressure. But one doctor suggested that pathological distention of the bowel could result if a person holds in farts too much. And Dr. P. said that the effort involved in retaining flatus can cause hemorrhoids.

How long would it be possible to not fart?
As I understand it, a captive fart can escape as soon as the person relaxes. This means that a lot of people who assiduously refrain from farting during the day do so at great length as soon as they fall asleep. Having been on a great many overnight field trips, long bus trips, and trans-Pacific flights, I can personally vouch for the fact that lots of people do fart voluminously as they doze off. So the answer to the question would be, you can refrain from farting as long as you can stay awake!

*AND THE ALL IMPORTANT ONE:*

How can one cover up a fart?

There is a company called Fartypants that sells underwear designed to absorb the odor of farts. If you should be caught without your Fartypants, another ploy is to blame the dog or cat, if one should be present, or complain about how the wind must be blowing from the direction of the paper mill.

As for the sound... if you are in a large group of people, act oblivious and innocent, or glance quickly at the person next to you, as if you think he/she did it. Other strategies include coughing or suddenly moving your chair so that people think that they misheard the fart. If you are with one other person, you can act as if nothing happened, and the other person may believe he was mistaken in thinking he heard a fart.

CJT addresses the problem of farting loudly in a public restroom as follows: "My solution: use a handful of loose toilet paper, cover your butt hole and it will muffle the farting; my friends and I call it the 'Buff Muff'!"

Depending upon the company, another strategy is not to cover it up, but to proudly proclaim the fart as your own grand accomplishment and to issue a challenge to the others to outdo that one if they think they can.

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It is when I find a site filled with information such as the above that I wonder how on earth could anybody, in a world filled with such amusement, commit suicide?

(HINT: DON'T ANSWER ME. RHETORIC PEOPLE, RHETORIC.)

November 04, 2004

Something Notable is Happening

And it is this: my husband is cooking me dinner and it's not, I reiterate, NOT going to be A BOILED EGG ON TOAST (staple husband food). Boiled egg on toast has its eggy toasty merits, but not meritous enough to be eaten as main meal every day.

This is my second entry in one day, although I have slept at least eight hours and had a whole day's living since the last entry. Very confusing indeed.

K (the husband, or as Anonymous calls him, my Man-missus) is a feminist who wants to cook but sadly cannot. Tonight in a faithfully ambitious gesture I spent five minutes writing instructions on how to make a chilli and now he is diligently battling with mince and seasonings and soured cream and the like. The noises emerging from the kitchen are frightening, and yet, filled with promise.

The only other night he ever cooked me a proper meal was the night he proposed: unfortunately I wasn't expecting it (nor was I expecting him to be in my house) as I tumbled in tipsy and exhausted after a night of salsa dancing. The meal was spoiled and cold - but it was plain to see that had I consumed it within its prime, it would have been delicious. : ) It seemed to have involved green peppers and feta cheese - two of my favourite things.

I, now, meanwhile am enjoying the benefits of our newly acquired wireless network and OH MY HOW THE PATRIARCHAL TABLES HAVE TURNED. I hope that this will not accelerate the growth of facial hair in me, or breasts in K. That would detract from the sweetness of our new arrangement.

Did I mention that he already does the vast majority of the other housework...and if he takes cooking away from me, what then will I be good for? Nothing. GOOD FOR NOTHING as my old mother used to say. Ah, those were the days.

After my spout of argument and debate over the last few days, I am feeling very contrite and mellow. If I find that arrogant young man from my lecture any time soon, I have resolved to apologise for how I spoke to him. I still stand by my point but...well, it's like this. I admonished him basically because he was behaving in a bullying way, but in retrospect I think I just returned his bullying with my own version of self righteous bullying. Note to self: be a better person.

The chilli smells are becoming delicious, by the way. I'll leave you to your life-duties, I must now return to mine...ARGH GODDAMN IT TO HELL I'M SICK OF ARSE FART STUDYING!

Quite. : (

There Are Some Things That Money Can't Buy

For example: POVERTY

OH WHAT A CONUNDRUM

Although you could pay people to rob your belongings, etc.

Well I suppose I owe you bastards some kind of account of my weekend. I spent it in Kilkenny College, sleeping in dusty fifty year old beds that little boys have been masturbating in for generations, and singing in a worship band. Sounds gay. In many ways, how it sounds is how it is. In other ways, I had an intensely great weekend where I was reminded very powerfully of God's great majesty.

What in the name of Jack Black's cacks is a Christian conference, I can veritably hear you shouting into your modem, in the vain hope that I will hear and reply.

Well, I may not hear you shouting down the modem but I can read minds.

At Christian conferences, usually some particular kind of demographic of Christians get together for fellowship, community, fun, worship, teaching, study and SLEEP DEPRIVATION. I slept about 8 hours in total over the four nights. This particular demographic was that of the members of this island's Christian Unions. There were about four hundred of us there, from just about every college/uni/IT in the country. Cool.

So...you attend seminars on a particular subject that arouses your interest, and addition to this, you attend main session with the group as a whole. You sing a lot of worship songs (which, to the believer, is something touched by the Divine), you meet a lot of new people, you drink a lot of coffee, and, if you are a ball of stress like me, you escape to the pub as often as possible with a small number of other like-minded folks for hot whiskeys and pints of Guinness and BIG ARGUMENTS ON POLITICS.

I normally hate conferences...they're so inorganic. This one, however, was the exception to the rule. I have been softened. I am suitably abashed for my pre-conference rantings.

I had the added bonus, this year, of being the spouse of one of the organisers. SPECIAL TREATMENT GALORE. I swanned about in a fashion appropriate to my status.

So that is THAT.

This week has been a blur of self-pity as I have tried to keep up with my studies and catch up on the lost sleep. God I'm tired. That's what I shouted in lectures today. GOD I'M TIRED.

Today has been a positively argumentative day. RAGING SELF RIGHTEOUS NEURO AHOY.

Firstly, a very arrogant young man in my philosophy class who gets his kicks from humiliating old priests with Parkinsons disease, steered our lecture off on an irrelevant tangent that was simply designed to upset the lecturer and challenge him on a purely personal level: I lost the rag a bit and pointed out the redunant nature of his argument and the irrelevancies of his repeated interruption. Shortly, thereafter, he left the lecture, proving my point that he only comes along to disrupt things, and when he is not speaking, he is not interested.

Later, I bumped into an old philosophy tutor of mine today, and went with him to his office to get back a book I'd lent him, where we managed to somehow entangle ourselves in a three hour theological debate on the doctrinal differences between Catholicism and Protestantism. The man is a giant and it was very intimidating, but what stood to me was my superior knowledge of the bible, which helped somewhat. He on the other hand can speak French, German, Latin and Greek fluently. : ( Anyway we reached no conclusions and have agreed to do the same again soon.

Then, after this, I went for dinner with my husband, our two housemates and another friend, and then onto the pub, where a huge republican/unionist debate arose. Fascinating, but GOLLY GOSH HARD WORK.

It is nice to have people in your life who keep you on your toes. I like to think that this may help to prevent the onset of Alzheimer's disease, although the very fact that I am worrying at all about Alzheimer's at my age is probably something to worry about in and of itself. They say tomatoes can help. I eat a lot of tomatoes. Although never with bread, they make the bread soggy as hell. Beetroot, another close vegetable friend of mine, also commits this heinous bread-crime. I could eat a whole jar of beetroot, purple vinegar, glass and all, if I had to.

Speaking of eating strange things, M (lovely housemate) offered me a sum of money to drink a concoction I had absent-mindedly mixed together at our table during the debate. It contained alot of sugar, coke and bits of nuts. I drank every drop AND PROUD. I'm richer now. Are you richer? No. So don't judge me.

World politics: Bush is still King of the World. You know it, I know it, no need to talk about what this means. As for us, we shall trundle on as usual, bitching about Americans, supping our Pepsi and wearing our Nikes, HURRAH. DEEP MAN, DEEP.

As you may have noticed, I got my links working on the left. Click them, they are my sponsors. HA HA HA. No, click them so they can have traffic. Traffic is good, except when sitting in it on the way to college. Then it's bad, as bad as Mr. Bush, and what kind of a mess are we in then? A SOGGY MESS, MADE PROBABLY BY BEETROOT SANDWICHES WITH TOMATO SAUCE.

Bed time came and went long ago.

Watch me as I crawl away.