A Whole Crapsworth Of Joy


I read today what has to be one of the most blisteringly stupid columns to appear in a major newspaper ever. It wasn't even relegated to something like the Daily Mail. It was in The Times! Near the front! It wasn't at the actual front, thank various gods, because if it had been I would have found myself...er...affronted.

The article itself was to do with gay couples. Apparently they are always portraid as "unhappy, promiscuous and camp". I just started spluttering with a mixture of rage and amusement at that line. Particularly as it was written by the straightest looking woman in the world who wasn't Margaret Thatcher.

EVERYBODY IS UNHAPPY, PROMISCUOUS AND CAMP!

...except apparently that particular journalist.

Unhappy: We are always unhappy with something. Whether it's because we had a bad nights sleep, our day at work left us with yet more to do, or because the cat did its business on the carpet two minutes before you had to run for the bus. It doesn't take a lot. Tell someone they look fat and you'll ruin their day.

Promiscuous: Humans, dolphins and a certain species of monkey are very promiscuous. If you've ever had a dog enthusiasticly humping your leg for no apparent purpose beyond the sheer joy of doing so then you get where this is going. Every human being for the whole of their natural lives will look at another human being passing by on the street and at least mentally go, "PHOAR!" If you're single you may do something about it, and even if you aren't you might give it a go anyway.

Camp: Everybody is camp. It doesn't take being a guy in a tight shirt with a pink sarong over his designer jeans jumping up and down fanning his hands wildly squealing, "OH MY GOD I GOT A HAIRCUT!" to be camp. Certainly no more than it takes dungarees and a prison haircut to be a lesbian. I'm bi, and I know a fairly impressive amount of gay people who you would not consider on first glance to be gay unless they've got their tongue down the throat of someone of the same sex. Camp is a state of mind and does exist, but not in a bad way.

To summarise: This journalist has watched way too many episodes of Will and Grace.

Fun Felidae Fact: Whilst my parents were away I got a kitten called Tinker...currently Stinker.

Getting Some Tail, Some Swords, Some Pizza And Some Chess.


Alright, so the rumours are true. I have just had several days of very silly but fun goodness.

When the DJ of one of the nights he plays at heard the theme was science fiction and fantasy I was more or less the first person he thought of. As it turned out it was really well attended, and by mutual decision we went as Avatars. It was awesome and we truly enjoyed ourselves. The only drawback to the pictures is that you can't see the myriad glowing dots since we weren't under UV light at the time. Shame. I still loved being blue and waking up the next morning, and taking one look at a house full of what appeared to have become populated by escapees from Startrek to Lord of the Rings was hilarious.

The next day I went sword training. I have considerable experience with sword training, if not LARPing, so wasn't phased. This changed rapidly when I realised I'd only had said considerable experience with Japanese swords and have no clue what I'm doing with a one-handed sword and shield. To give the guys I was with credit they let me try a few different weapons before I chose my favourite; a sword fairly balanced for me and a shield big enough to hide behind. I'd actually made Redsword (my own) some time earlier but got solidly told off since it was apparently far too dangerous to be used. "But you're supposed to hit someone with it!" was my response, "Yes, but not kill them."

The funniest point of the sword training was when one person got whaled on by the trainer and sprinted off into the distance rather than having any more hits (think two hits to the head equals you theoretically dead, two to the legs you have to drop to your knees, two to either arm is disabling it...depending on how you play). This left me standing on my own giggling like an idiot. Another good part was the two-on-two, where we raised our shields and decided who to attack behind them then nobody would hear...then immediately got hammered because we weren't looking.

Later I had a game of chess with a friend who is by far better at it than I, but to his credit said I wasn't too bad given I could hardly remember how to play and it took an hour to get over with. Chess, and all good games, are best spent time on. Anyway...the photos:





Fun Felidae Fact: We really wanted to have yellow eyes...but since neither of us ever wore contacts before declined an evening of eye-watering. Oh, and thankyou fellow swordsmen, I'm aching like I haven't since I did kickboxing.

It's Almost A Wet Dream...But Stupid


My Mother and I had a huge argument earlier about, of all things, pyjamas. As is her wont at any given hour of the day she barged into my bedroom and accused me of wearing daywear in bed. I was quite calmly reclined in my tiny black pyjama shirt, which I pointed out had "snooze" written down the front. Truth be told she was half right because I was lying on the bed in my jeans. But we squabbled anyway and she slammed shut the curtains before demanding I take off what I was wearing and hurling them at the washbasket. In retaliation I then waited 'til she was out the room, smacked the light on again, flung open the curtains and jumped up and down in my nude for a minute or so. Given that this was at ass o clock at night I doubt anyone would have seen me, but it felt deeply worthwhile.

Fun Felidae Fact: I do actually sleep with my curtains open and during the Summer in my nude. Also, if my Mother knocks my plants over one more time with the aforementioned curtains I'm going to fling one at her.

Lent.


So I was considering what I'd give up for Lent. Firstly I thought chocolate, then decided no, because I'm not a chocolate lover so it would be too easy. Then I thought crisps, but I love crisps and given that I have roughly one meal per day they create a major part of my sustainance. I considered fizzy drinks (again too easy), fruit (I can manage on vitamins), meat (don't eat much anyway), milk and/or cheese...but since I was told I shouldn't take calcium tablets that would be dim.

What then if no substances are a true thing to be given up? Objects!

Satin sheets, cats, plants, floors, ceilings, books, Warcraft, newspapers, turning up the heat...YES! I will not turn up the heat for Lent!

This doesn't mean I won't make myself innumerable wraps and be sat here at stupid in the morning wearing a sweater and scowling, but I shall not turn up the heat for Lent.

Fun Felidae Fact: I'm going to be cold. I'd better be getting points.

Notes From My Youth.


When I was significantly younger (give me a decade at least, if not two) I received a Sonic the Hedgehog comic which had a bunch of stickers, one of which said, "R is for Robotnik and Rotten." I put a smaller sticker over the Robotnik bit with my brothers name, Richard, and stuck it onto his bedroom door. Lo, the war commenced. The only problem with this war was that whilst there are any amount of derogatory things beginning with R, there are precious few beginning with K. The rules were unstated but generally given that you weren't allowed to tape up one you found in the dictionary. I made up almost thirty for my brothers door over the course of around a year, he managed five, the most creative of which was, "K is for Kat and Knitting Kit". Eventually we managed to blow my Mothers last remaining fuse and the doors got repainted, but my brother removed as many of his insults as he could and mounted them onto a piece of card. Whether or not this still exists is a mystery. Many, many, many years later we are still happily insulting each other, and long may the trend continue.

Fun Felidae Fact: We always sign the back of any envelope sent to each other with "SWALS". Our Mother fondly thinks it stands for "Signed With A Loving Slap", but sadly it's "Signed With A Loving Shit". We're never going to enlighten her.

The Demise of Proper Chocolate

Since Cadburys has been sold out I'm really rather pissed off. Nobody needs to know that their favourite chocolatiers will soon be banished from the landscape. I don't really even have a sweet tooth at all (the result of after a year sat typing realising I couldn't fit into my pants anymore - incidentally I now have the opposite problem); however I threw a fit of sulks because DAMMIT I WANT CADBURYS!

In lieu of this when I went randomly shopping the other day I browsed my way into a second hand shop that had a Cadburys mug sat on the shelf. The owner was haggling with some second hand stranger over some equally second hand goods. He was busy and said I could have the mug for 75% the asking price. Great. "I'm busy right now, you take it, come back tomorrow." This is not normal selling spree technique.

The next day I had a crisis of conscience and called back in at the shop because I had some ridiculous nagging doubt that karma would let me get away with it. "Hello, I bought this mug yesterday and the seller told me I could pay for it today."

The guy behind the counter looked like I'd just exploded. "Uh, okay...two pounds?"

"Great." And I forked over two pounds. Original price? Four fifty.

Two pounds is apparently what it costs for being honest. Turns out nobody on the planet has honesty anymore.

Fun Felidae Fact: I just made a sword. Go me!

Today's The Day


National or international, days are odd. Yesterday was National Book Day. I wanted to celebrate this but as I looked round my library of a bedroom I thought it a tad redundent. Every day is National Book Day for me. Ah well.

Apparently today is International Womens Day. I feel good about this day. I want to go out into the street and be clapped on the back because I'm a woman, and dammit, I've been being a woman for a good few decades by now so anyone with that sort of commitment deserves praise. I've only once considered an alternative option - somewhere around puberty and for rather unpleasent reasons - but after training as a girl, the woman option was the obvious way to go.

I rather like being a woman on Womens Day. I have a fond mental image that the remainder of my day will be spent getting flowers and the Queen giving a speech on behalf of 50% of the British populace (whilst being serenely smug that she's congratulating herself too).

In any case, whilst the Queen of England is unlikely to offer the Suicidegirls praise in person I shall speak on her behalf and say:

"Well done. You've been a woman for this long, don't give up now. They say a womans work is never done and damn right it isn't. Every day you wake up a woman, every night you go to bed as...a woman. Be strong and remember...you're a woman."

Fun Felidae Fact: My other favorite day is Talk Like A Pirate Day.



Fun Fun Felidae Fact: Told you. I had a wench and a sword and stupid Jack Sparrow hair n all.

LF Heeler.

I got forwarded a text regarding a small catwalk modelling session in Manchester. It's nothing major, just someone looking for a few girls about my size, and I'm going to send back a couple of pictures. However the more I think about it the more nervous I am.

It isn't the job itself that bothers me nor the fact that if anything I'm actually rather under-proportion right now. What really bothers me about the whole thing is the possibility of heels.

I used to be excellent in heels, and have gotten far better recently, but given that I used to be able to dance in ones six inches high and now require some considerable amount of prior thought into getting up after picking something off the floor this could be a recipe for disaster. I'll wind up shambling along like a bad transvestite and falling into the front row.

Most men have not the slightest clue as to how difficult it actually is to learn how to be elegant in heels, and I'm not talking wedges, or sissy-ass kitten heels, I'm talking rapier thin stripper heels requiring the poise of a ballet dancer to avoid a broken ankle. I have a lot of these sort of shoes and am going to pray to all gods that they don't make me do that whole, "stalk stalk stalk look straight forward turn pose stalk back" or they'll be carrying a girl in a bridal gown into accident and emergency.

Fun Felidae Fact: I have never worn a wedding gown, but given that it's one of the three categories it would be fun to try...oh and it'll hide that I'm possibly going to insist I wear flats.

Rakes, My Arch Enemy...*Sideshow Bob Grumble*...Wait, I Meant Insomnia.



So I've been through several countries, done a lot of things, and found myself once again sitting at home writing. This time I'm writing because my brain aches courtesy of the insomnia I've had off and on for years. In lieu of this and my sheer boredom I'll post one of the more latterly timed pictures of me, for the only reason that I just started corset training - yes it was sadly taken with a mobile phone and yes for that reason it's not such a great depiction of the "before" status. Also yes I look different. I suppose I'll come up with something less dull when I'm not about to keel over like a crap boat.




Fun Felidae Fact: The "Carpe Omnius" sign is my Warcraft guild. I was representing.

"Threesome Anyone?" Great Introduction...


Occasionally when spending time with my gorgeous friend Twaz I feel as if involved with some sort of Dickensian play entitled, "Tale of the Housemate That Wasn't". Take that as you will - we don't parade about in enormous black skirts (much), wear corsets (often), or…oh fine, we're under each others feet so much I may as well be a rug.

Thing is, I've actively gotten into Twazs life so integrally I almost feel like I live here like a parasite. As a result of which last night I was around in the evening when she came home, and we went on a cleaning mission for an hour together (okay, not quite a parasite, I do have uses) prior to the latest prospective housemate putting in an appearance. He seemed nice enough; Indian in fitting with the area, well spoken and to his own words hailing from Leeds. Seemed polite, got shown around and then myself and Twaz sat him down with a cup of tea and grilled him. Thence problems arose.

Twaz asked me specifically not to help with the grilling. I know (and after the better part of a decade of knowing me she knows) that I can be way too in peoples face with the weirdness. Truthfully though, if you have a Moulin Rouge book sat prominently facing the room then frankly whoever is weirded out by me is going to die the first time other people show up for even the most light of our social circles affairs - "tea and cucumber sandwiches" is not in line. In any case, I wound up doing some grilling. Sorry Twaz, but in essence it helped. I could have stayed in the bedroom and tooled around on the computer, but…well, kind of glad I stuck around, because some time later after he left (and he seemed perfectly sweet - if a little scared of me) he texted Twaz back with a conversation that was surmounted by, "Anyway, would u and ur frnd like 2 have a threesome?".

For the record this isn't taken out of context. Twaz introduced me as her friend, we were on separate pieces of furniture, and for ONCE nobody could have accused us of seeming as if we were an item…even though I do come across as…well…me.

But…seriously…

Honestly, I'm kind of glad I was around. Because that was creepy. Oh, and the text was preceded by a question about sex parties.

Actually, in retrospect, what might have given this noob the idea to ask about it was that we sleep in the same bed, rather than my messing up the housemate en potentias room. Oh well. If you're going to be creepy, do it properly.

Fun Felidae Fact: I just burnt microwave popcorn. How did I even BEGIN to manage that? I can cook better than a lot of TV chefs and I took the instructions on the bag to the letter - admittedly it came out alright, but the whole of downstairs smells not so much like the counter at the cinema as it does a fire in a bakery. HELLO OPEN DOORS!