Spirit Animal

Rules

According to SOME I'm not allowed to 'waste time' anymore by watching things like Space Buddies for amusement. Therefore I would like to inform you all of my new hobby which is watching guinea-pigs eating watermelon videos on youtube instead. I'm sure that's what he meant.



[Via Lolcity aka]

You crazy for this one Nic

2010 is clearly the year of the photobomb

Gurl

I know how you feel

Fancy that!

Dude, I am so fuckin bored. Got everything I need done work-wise before going on Xmas break completed by 10am. Which leaves me no choice but to send abusive emails to my mother (see below) and look at covers of Cat Fancy.


Fancy! (Is your cat a therapy pet? Well, is it? ANSWER ME!)


Fancy! (Health & Fitness Issue! Amazing breeds that CHANGED HISTORY!... Um... Sure)


Truly we live in the Golden Age of literary publications.

This is a thing that exists also:


Somewhere, in a dusty parallel universe*, there's an irony-free version of Sazz walking round that is loving this shit sincerely.

*Yeah, so I spent last night watching kids films and drinking non-alcoholic ginger wine SO SUE ME

SHUT UP

You know how Howard looks at pictures of kittens called Phillip to calm himself?

I've found my calming picture:


(Except it doesn't so much calm me as make my heart beat faster with a wild abandon only a puppy in a Winnie the Pooh outfit can engender)

Haha

Racism and dogs: together at last.

I find this adorable and funny in amounts that I wouldn't ever like to admit to publicly.

Happy Birthday Me

It's the present every 27 year old dreams of getting:



His name is Nicolas

Snoozy suzy

Sometimes having a job where you work from home has it's benefits.



I have never seen her chops do that before.

Hapologies

No podcast till tomorrow. Apparently SOME members of ADOAA think it's more important to be sitting in a beer garden than editing our pearly words of comedy wisdom for a podcast (other members think it is important to lie on the sofa watching Amanda Bynes movies and feeling a little sick after a Saturday night involving run-ins with Nick Grimshaw and Shia LeBoeuf lookalikes - relax, they were basically children, nothing untoward happened except me correcting them on it being 'Josh Hartnett' not 'Jake Harnett'. I school the young on the important things in life).

Instead I think you should watch the trailer for G-Force. My boyfriend Zach Galifianakis is in charge of an elite group of crime-fighting guinea-pigs and Gob Bluth sends them to a pet shop and then they have to get the old team back together to stop Bill Nighy! Or something! It's definitely something along those lines! This film basically has the potential to knock Citizen Kane off all those 'Greatest Movie of All Time' lists (*spoiler alert* Rosebud is his sled. That's pretty gay on it's own but when compared to crime-fighting guinea-pig? It's the Carson Kressley of movies. Which is a totally relevant pop-culture reference. Particularly when you consider he was in the running for the 'Not at all offensive. Shut up! Gays! Aren't they just Magical?! Fab-u-lous' Teen Choice Award*). I might have to break my own rules about CGI animals on this one.

*This really is a real thing that exists. How can I transport myself to one of those parallel universes where homosexuality isn't fetishised or reviled and just accepted? For time travel you need a DeLorean so what is it for parallel universe hopping? A tugboat? Station wagon? Horse Bike? What?

Beavers are fun

Aren't they just?

WHY WOULD ANYONE PUT THAT ON A MUG?

(Really though why?)

Is your dream to be gay?

Sometimes there ain't nothing for it.

You just have to buy the wolf sweatshirt.*



My brother and I have a thing about wolf t-shirts and sweatshirts. When you pass one of those stalls in the shopping centre that sell those dreamcatchers and shit (OBLIGATORY DEMETRI MARTIN QUOTE: 'A dreamcatcher works, if your dream is to be gay') and they always have at least some items with wolf pictures on them, there's always that moment where we go, 'shall we?' But then you have the issue of where does the joke stop and the real desire start? Do I want a wolf sweatshirt because I think it's funny or am I, deep down, the sort of person who just really wants a wolf sweatshirt?

I do have a cat sweatshirt so maybe I've already answered that question for myself.

*Actually, I didn't buy it. It was in Urban Outfitters and they charge £467 for something that cost them 89 pence from a charity shop down the road but still. Wolf sweatshirts are the best. Science.

Questions to occupy and enrich one's existance

I spent yesterday morning surrounded by baby goats, baby sheep, baby pigs and a bunch of toddlers. It was like the live action version of 'You've Been Framed'. Or maybe it was more like the interpretive, interactive stage version of 'You've Been Framed' done by an experimental art group who perform in public places like 'Improv Everywhere' do, but made up of 2 year olds instead of out-of-work actors that spend their days getting stoned and coming up with increasingly elaborate ideas about how to freak a load of people out?

Or maybe I should stop thinking about 'You've Been Framed' quite so much?

Except I can't. Last time I saw it there were a load of baby piglets who were all scratching their asses in a fashion that one couldn't avoid comparing them to this lady, however much one did not want to. (Although both are cute and delicious). (I hear). More than anything I want to know why 17 baby piglets had itchy asses simultaneously, is this like a 'thing'? Do baby piglets often get itchy asses all at the same time? Like how twins are supposed to know when the other is in dire straits (not Dire Straits - if I had a twin, which I do not, they would be dead to me if this did indeed occur - just so we're clear imaginary twin, just so we're clear), or some men have sympathy contraction pain when their partner is giving birth? Except with baby pigs they get sympathy bum itch if one of the litter has a bum itch? If it is a 'thing' then it' I have certainly not ever witnessed this phenomenon before. The baby pigs yesterday did not do anything except eat grass for approximately 3 hours non-stop (I did not see their faces once as they were too consumed by the quest for MORE GRASS). I've been to Marwell more times than you've even DREAMT about going to Marwell (probably. Actually, I've been an average amount. You might have dreamt about going to Marwell more times than I physically went there, I have no way of knowing that. Who am I, your mother? Mystic Meg? Jeez. Leave it alone will you?) and I never saw 17 baby pigs scratching their asses simultaneously there neither. So 'what up' You've Been Framed baby piglets? Why all the bum scratching?

I will not rest until I get to the 'bottom' of this (I will probably rest before I get to the bottom of this. Also, oh snap).

Smells I have smelt

Last night, as my gay husband was escorting myself and my heterosexual life partner (HLP) home after a gig we had all attended (that I think we might have accidentally, and without our knowledge, been sucked through a wormhole at some point on the 'to' journey and actually witnessed an event from 1993 - or maybe acoustic singer/songwriter evenings always have and always will have that Jeff Buckley/Ani DiFranco-knockoff vibe about them - either way, beards, caterwauling and dyed red hair a-go-go) we smelt a curious, and distinctly unpleasant smell emanating from somewhere in the nearby vicinity.

I was the first one to notice the foul odor. Unlike my hearing, my sense of smell is particularly acute. It's a blessing and a curse, namely I'm good at identifying when I really need a shower but I also can't stomach milk that's 'on the turn' like the rest of my family (who appear to have the constitution of wild boars and will eat food way past it's sell-by-date as some sort of test of their man/woman-hood). Both my mother and father are like this, 'it's fine! It's only a week past the use-by date!' was a familiar refrain in my household growing up. If you want to impress them then going round either of their houses (them not living together and all) and chowing down on a piece of bread with signs of mold starting on the crust is probably your best bet. If you then agree to finish the yogurt that's been hanging around for a week too long at the back of the fridge my mother will probably insist you marry me or my brother immediately due to you demonstrably being of 'good stock' (my dad would be less impressed with that as he was probably saving that yoghurt for himself). Being a wuss (or 'woos' as my mother insists on spelling it) when it comes to food that's edible-but-yet-not-really-edible is another reason (and possibly the main one) for me being the black sheep of the family.

Anyway, the smell.

'It's probably just the magic tree. It's been stinking my shit up for days. That's all I can smell on myself lately' said Gay Husband.

It was not a magic tree smell.

To me it smelt of really strong cheese left over an open drain for a few days. HLP just thought it smelt of poo. Gay Husband insisted the only thing he could smell was the magic tree until, five minutes after the initial smell was smelt by moi it wafted over to his nostrils and he reacted like someone had punched him in face. 'FUCK. ME' he exclaimed 'I get it! I get the smell! OPEN YOUR WINDOWS!'

'That's making it worse!'

'Is it?'

I don't KNOW!'

'Do the windows up then!'

'No! It's even WORSE now!'

'TURN OFF THE HEATERS, TURN OFF THE HEATERS!'

'Oh god, it seems to be clearing. I can't smell it so bad now'

'I can! Jesus wept!'

'Oh fuck. I can too! SOMEBODY HELP US!'

We just couldn't work out if the call was coming from inside the house so to speak. Windows up seemed to incubate the smell yet windows down appeared to exacerbate the issue. However, it wasn't until I got home that I was able to verify that that's not 'just what Portsmouth smells like' which is what the consensus had agreed upon...
'Maybe this is just the smell of Portsmouth?'
'That's make sense'
... but was in fact dog poo on my shoe. I think I should feel more guilty for accusing Portsmouth of smelling like dog poo but I don't. People who have been there will be able to explain why.

It sort of reminds me of the time I smelt the foulest stench of my life, which was in fact originating from the newest garbage heap built on Portsmouth's border, but because it hit my nose precisely five seconds after my friend Farr ran over a dead swan ( :( faces all round) now, whenever the breeze is blowing my way and I am unfortunate enough to smell the garbage dump, it just smells to me like dead swan. As far as I am concerned that's what dead swans smell like. Like 15,000 tonnes of waste piled on top of each other.

Anyway, that concludes my discussion of 'bad smells I have smelt'. Tune in next week for 'gross things I have seen' (*spoiler alert* pus is involved!) that will conclude the series of lectures on 'shit no-one really wants to know about but you seem compelled to tell everyone anyway'*.

*Maybe that's just what I should rename this blog?

Horse bees

I don't think I've ever been this tired (I say this a lot. I have probably been this tired before).

So... this is having a job huh? One you have to put effort in to and get up at 5am to get trained on stuff in London for right? And I end up unable to think or speak coherently because of the clock change fucking my shit up as bad as it normally does when I finally thought I was able to escape such horrors these days?

I see.

I do like the money aspect, and the 'doing a job' aspect as well. It just it seems to be interfering with my ability to nap whenever I want which is pretty important to me in the grand scheme of things. Despite my grumbling, I even like the 'feeling tired for a reason' aspect. When you have fuck all to do you feel tired in a different way - more lethargic than anything else. When you're busy you find you still have energy to do shit up until the point where you have to stop and then you're body withers in upon itself and you can manage no more than watching 5 episodes of The Wire in one go.

Having said all this, I spent an hour playing the 'what will she eat next?' game with three ADORABLE 3 year olds this morning. Not technically part of my job (I totally didn't do my job today) but if the opportunity is there I suggest that when a group of 3 year olds offer for you to sit down and play with fake food you take it.

Good grief. This is even more self-indulgent than usual (judged on a different scale due to it's nature of being a blog entry and therefore already off-the-charts indulgent). Have a horse bee and let's be done with it.


Horse imitating a Bee! - Watch more free videos

No place left to hide

I've had nightmares the past two nights and it's freaking me out.

The first, I'd rather not talk about but let's just say it's not too difficult to work out its genesis as people have been RUINING my denial mantras by discussing my ex on facebook and making these discussions appear in front of my eyes where my eyes INSIST on reading them. Stupid facebook and it's stupid smug facebook face needs a good face punching and needs it fast. Thinks it knows what's best for me by sending me email notifications about stuff I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT. I guess I could turn these notifications off but that would mean logging on to facebook which leaves me with a vague feeling of self-disgust at the best of times. But anyway, icky dream with obvious characters being icky I can work out. That's fine. But the second dream is horrific BEYOND BELIEF*.

I was having a normal, fairly enjoyable dream. Sex had been involved at one point. It was nice. It bordered on lucid without it being completely lucid which is the best balance I can have as my lucid dreams make me more exhausted than when I went to sleep. After a bit of adventuring through the streets of not-London-but-London (you've had dreams, you know what I mean), I found myself walking along in a shopping centre with my mother and suddenly a flock of pigeons flew towards us (this would normally be bad enough on it's own but wait, there's more). She ducked and pulled her jumper over her head and, for whatever reason, this made me the target of the pigeon's wrath and they attacked my lower back with their ugly pigeon beaks (!) and then wouldn't let go (!!!!!) despite me trying to beat them off as best I could. I had to wake myself up to get out of that one and my back really hurt. It felt like I'd been pinched loads of times and every time I've closed my eyes since then I've felt the pigeon beaks grabbing hold of my back fat and refusing to let go. Leaving me to ponder, WHY DOES MY BRAIN HATE ME? This is what it conjures up when I'm not there to keep an eye on it. You've got pigeons (my mortal enemy), pain, and back fat. The three things I would rather live without were I given the choice. I don't even get where the pain came from, I was sleeping alone on a soft mattress. I'm not even a princess so, even if there were a packet of Birds Eye Petit Pois underneath aforementioned mattress (and I'm obviously not ruling that out), sleeping on top of them wouldn't cause me to bruise my delicate princess skin. Because I'm not a princess (just a bitch).

I wouldn't mind so much were dreams not one of my favourite things ever. I love going on dream adventures, or watching my dream movies (I have seen both There Is No Blood and Milk in my sleeping head before getting to view them at the cinema), or getting to have dream sex (I seem to have quite a lot of dream sex. My dream brain is even more of a slut than my waking brain). My dreams are always really vivid and I always remember them really well. It was one of the few joys I have left in life. And now I can't even close my eyes without feeling like a pigeon has a chunk of my lower back clamped between it's pigeon jaws.

The pigeons have invaded my dreams. There is no place left to hide.

* Not to be confused with 'Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction' presented by 'Commander William T Riker'** aka Johnathan Frakes
** I swear on Paris Hilton's chihuahua I had to look that name up. But then, if I'm honest, it was just to double check he was a commander and not a lieutenant so maybe I'll just shut up.

Shizz

Someone has already made the movie I was going to write and change the world with.