The Guv'ner Gets Creepy

Someone called me out recently because I happened to mention that I don’t watch much in the way of TV shows. “Are you some kind of pervert?” they wanted to know? “Who doesn’t watch TV? What do you have to do in the evenings that's so important? What are you, a serial killer?”

I can’t help it. I have never seen “Heroes” or “Lost” or “Gossip Girl” or “The O.C.” or “Will and Grace” or that abominable sit-com that Charlie Sheen is in, or "American Idol" or "Survivor" or that tart Tila Tequila, or a multitude of other offerings from recent years. I just don’t watch many current shows mainly because they are either reality shows, which I hate, or they are ridiculous dramas featuring overly pretty people in designer clothes and perfect eyebrows, emoting all over the damn place without their make up even running.

If it’s not one of those it’s guaranteed to be a law enforcement show about some police types or government agency, running around being angsty with guns and still sporting the perfect hair and make up.

I don’t have much patience for all this perfection. Therefore, my TV viewing is restricted for the most part to older quality shows, because I am a TV snob. My favourite shows are quite lovely and apart from being quality, well-written dramas, they feature some quite bodacious gentlemen. Not that the Guv’ner watches TV shows for the men, of course, but she is certainly not complaining if some happen to find their way in there. And none of them are perfectly coiffed and wearing Armani thank you very much. Think of the eye candy as a bonus. Like the frosting on the cake. The cherry on the cocktail.

One of my very favourite shows ever made is the outstanding Baltimore detective show, “Homicide: Life on the Street” and I fully believe if you don’t like this show, you are missing a chromosome and should just end it all now because there is no hope for you to ever win at life. I mean the show is real, gritty, funny, disturbing, haunting, hard-hitting and if I can just throw it out there for a moment – hosting some prime eye-candy for the Guv’ner’s discerning gaze. I mean I can’t help but notice. Sue me.

Take Detective Lewis here. I would certainly like to! A mere photo doesn't do him justice, but what a prime hunk of big, black, sexy, manly man. The way he fingers his big, steel Glock with a glint in his eye. The way he bites into a doughnut. The wicked grin as he’s joshing with the scary, rubber-faced Richard Belzer. The aloof leather fedora he likes to wear to crime scenes. He just oozes sex. The raunch is just enormous! Get me to a nunnery.

Then there’s Detective Bayliss. There’s a lot a lady can do with a tall, lanky, white guy with brown eyes and floppy hair and a penchant for complaining and trying to be deep. Because honestly, the more neurotic he gets the more the Guv’ner would like to teach him a few hard lessons on the floor of her living room. Yes ma’am! Look at him. He’s just asking for some Guv Luv. You know it’s true.

Moving on in a timely fashion, my other all time favourite show is the X-Files. Contrary to what you might believe, I did not have the hots for David Duchovny at all even if he did look cute in a suit. That was more my sister’s domain. She made it clear that if I stole her love for Agent Mulder she would cut me. No, I loved Mulder in purely an innocent, sisterly way. If I was alone with him I’d make him play Scrabble and watch a chick flick and we’d braid each other’s hair and eat nachos.

The X-Files was an amazingly atmospheric show with some inventive storylines. It was a great accomplishment of film making for the small screen.

Naturally, I must also add that Alex Krycek was totally smokin' hot for an evil, double-crossing agent dude. Look? Did someone turn the heat up in here? If I got him alone in a room I’d chain his wicked ass to the radiator and do things to him with a feather, chocolate pudding and evil intent until he was my slave forever. I mean the Guv is only human after all. If he didn't want such treatment, he shouldn't be looking all leather clad and brooding should he? No!

“But do you like any current shows at all Guv?” you may ask. Well heavens child! Of course I do. I love South Park and the fact it pushes the envelope to the limit every year then proceeds to outdo itself in the next season. Of course it doesn’t host any eye candy unless you count 9 year old boys made out of construction paper. That would just be wrong even for the Guv.

I also love “Medium” but Patricia Arquette isn’t my type, mainly because she has a vagina. Therefore, that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Wasn’t that enlightening? It's like you can see into my soul.

Can You Feel My Love Buzz?

Hey there! Yes, you! You're looking FANTASTIC. Yes, really! No, don't listen to that guy, you're beautiful. I might kiss you.

The Guv'ner is a little TANKED right now having succumbed to the evils of tequila finally. Icy, frozen, made with fresh strawberries tequila. It just took me five attempts to type "strawberries" because I HAVE RUBBER FINGERS! And a serious buzz. Typing with rubber fingers and a buzz on is laborious and dangerous all at once. But you people...you are worth it. The Guv'ner loves you all.

Myself, and my lovely boy-toy El Codo, put on our party pants and went to my fave Mexican bar which coincidentally and quite conveniently, is just across the street from my apartment. Within handy staggering distance, one may say. Their margaritas are frozen, gigantic (they come in a freaking sundae glass) made with fresh fruit and potent as holy shit. Is holy shit potent? Can shit even BE holy? And does it matter?

Anyway, I am out of practice with the old alcohol consumption due to recent financial hardships, therefore, it doesn't take many of these colossal beasts to push me over the edge into the drunken void. There must be eight shots in those suckers. I'm not even kidding. My tongue just quadrupled in size and gave me a lisp! And I think it's possible I have no toes. Or someone replaced them with french fries! And I love everybody!

But I am in control, people. The past will not be repeated. I will not wake up tomorrow still wearing one shoe because I got exhausted half way through undressing and gave up. Ahem, not that that's happened before, you understand. Well, not more than twice anyway.

Hey, it's the weekend goddammit.

Long Meme Makes the Guv'ner Flippant

I stole this excessive meme from Miss Wendy B. so you can blame her for the tedium. Thank you.

Do your closest friends have any nicknames for you?

None that they’d dare tell me about to my face. I have a feeling the words “psychopath” and “delusional” would feature quite heavily.

What would your ex-(boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse) say about you in one sentence?

He’d say “Man, I really let the most wonderful woman in the whole world go, I am a peckerhead of the highest magnitude and a first class moron!”

What is the greatest achievement of your life so far?

I’m still here. Maintaining an astounding level of immaturity that will probably continue until I’m 92.

How should people think of sex in this, the 21st century?

A little like jogging only without standing in dog shit.

Where would you live if anywhere was possible?

In my vivid imagination. You have no idea the magnificent scope of my imagination.

Is there a sex toy that you would endorse?

I don’t know…is there a good looking RealDoll type of male figure that cooks, tells good jokes and vibrates in all the right places?

Is there a religion that's fulfilling for you and/or the masses?

The Religion of Cheese. I invented it. We all gather and drink wine and worship a wheel of Dutch Edam. We get a tax break and everything.

What inspires awe in your life's experience?

Nature. I’m really a tree-hugger at heart. Save the Earth! Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?

What and when is the most potent emotion you've ever experienced and why?

Lust and anger. If you say otherwise you’re lying.

On what occasions do you act self-absorbed or just plain selfish? If someone assigned you a quest, or if you decided your own, what would you be looking to find?

Selfish? If there are two people and only one chocolate I can see that happening. As for the rest of the question, say what?

If you had to choose between them, would you live in Hollywood, Washington D.C. or New York, and why?

Well I’m already IN New York and have little desire to live in either of the other two places I’d have to say….Santa Fe.

Who or what makes you feel "whole”?

Big, open scenery like the ocean or the desert or the Scottish Highlands. Or a good margarita (frozen, no salt).

Where is your greatest opportunity for change?

I'd say the best place to get change is a bank. Drumcrash.

What do you consider to be the greatest opportunity for humankind?

I’m all about space travel. We need to know what’s out there and more importantly, who. And if their ears are pointy.

What surprises you about getting older?

That you don’t feel any different than you did at 21, you just KNOW more.

What or who makes you feel younger or rejuvenated?

I think I’ll always feel like I’m 25 inside. Music is a good one though. Music can take you anywhere. Even Iceland.

Where or when do you feel most alone?

In a crowded room. I know it’s a cliché but it’s true. I only ever feel lonely in a crowd of people. I don't really feel lonely much. I like lonely.

Where or how is society most ripe for change?

Well wherever people don’t change their underpants regularly, certainly.

Do you think of yourself as attractive to the opposite sex?

I’m more of the girl-next-door, tomboy type whose shoulder they cry on when their girlfriends dump them.

When or where do you feel the most free?

On a sunny, deserted beach or in Death Valley. Or when I’m driving.
.
What is the greatest memory of your life to date?

I don’t think I can pick one thing. My most vivid and traumatic memory was the death of my dog. I’m more of an animal person than a people person so it affected me a lot. I think I started getting cynical after that. Before I was all angelic and stuff.

Where and when did you find out who you really are?

Well I have my birth certificate! I mean DUH.

How and when do you collect your thoughts and why?

Seriously, do I seem like someone who collects their thoughts ever?

If someone told you when and where you would die, what would you do immediately after being told?

Well first I’d drink till I fell down. Then I’d inform all my friends never to let me go to that place. Then, assuming my death date was many years in the future I’d party like a monster and do all sorts of crazy stunts knowing I would be fine since I wasn’t going to die for many years. See? Logic at its best.

What are the best parts of being in love?

Anticipation. When that person is the most exciting person in the world.

What's your favorite libation (a drink offered to a god)?

MARGARITA of course. Again, frozen, no salt.

What "life philosophies" have you adopted since you've become an adult?

“Adulthood is seriously overrated.” Oh yes. And "Never lick your own or anyone else's arm pit."

How would you like to be remembered?

I think a bigger than life-sized statue of me in a bikini would suffice.

7 Random Things About The Guv'ner You Have No Desire To Know

That mischievous beeyotch, TERI has tagged me to do this meme thingy, and since this blog lately seems to be all about the meme, here it is! Try not to faint with the joy.

Seven Random (or Weird) Things About Me. (only seven??)

1. I don't burp. Really. It's not an etiquette thing or some noble reason like that, it's just that I can't. I try really hard. I want to be able to burp words like my sister Ahnnie. She can say things like "BOLLOCKS!" while burping and this is a talent I long for. She got all the talent in cool stuff and I got none. (She can also do that wolf whistle thing with two fingers that can hail cabs two miles away. I can't do that either.) I only burp maybe once a year if I get taken by surprise by a super gassy soda or something and even then it's a weak yelp that no one can hear and I'm more surprised than anyone. So surprised in fact I have to advertise it to anyone in the vicinity. "Did you hear that? That was me! I let rip with a mouth-fart!" I do make up for the lack of burping prowess by emitting gasses from my rear at regular intervals and blaming the cat.


2. I have fantasies about moving into one of those perfect showrooms at IKEA full of furniture called Krav and Hub and Stankar.


3. I secretly like mariachi music. The simplicity. Harmonies and Spanish guitar. Perfectly melodious. Big-assed sombreros and sequins! Ahem...yes.


4. Sometimes, at home, I talk to myself in French.


5. I wish all my neighbours would move out and disappear and that the new people moving in would all be older, quiet, childfree, enjoy solitude and have no urge to party or play loud music, but not be too old that they'd fall asleep soaked in gin and set the house on fire with a stray candle.


6. When I was three I fell over, hit my face off a shop window and split my lip open, requiring stitches. I can still remember every moment of this incident including the sewing of the lip and having to eat custard and soup for a week. I know, how interesting.


7. I once recorded an E.P. of "comedy" songs about British celebrities I hated and sold it at my band's shows. I recorded it on a four track in my bedroom and produced a fanzine to accompany it. I had a lot of free time on my hands in those days. No I don't still have a copy.

Well that was sort of anti climatic, no? Oh well. January is sort of a blah month, what do you expect? Happy New Year!

Are you There God, It's Me, The Guv'ner

Dear God,

What have you done with Bert and T.? I don't actually believe in you, God, but if you do exist I'm sure you believe in me, therefore, please let me know where Mr. Bananas and Big T. are because I'm getting kind of worried, ya know? Are they being held hostage by wild coyotes in the desert somewhere, unable to crawl to a water pool for sustenance, limbs hanging by a thread, throats parched like sandpaper? Did they elope to Mexico and not tell us and are, even as we speak, living a life of debauched luxury in Acapulco surrounded by Latin lovelies? Are they looking for Lord Lucan? Please God, I'm worried for their balls. It's golf season in SoCal you know.

Love,
The Guv'ner

Kat Rocket Gets a Year More Fabulous

Saturday was the fabulous Miss Katrocket's birthday and I assume Canada was awash in Labatt's and frosting and hot car-racing men in tight leather, carrying chilled champagne in celebration.

Myself, I wrote a poem in commemoration of the lady who just proved that even cool, popular, cutting edge gals possibly once sported a mullet.

BIRTHDAY OF THE KAT

There's booze and there's cheer
For Kat's birthday is here
And Canada's back in the race
To head south, I must mention
You have no intention
But the border is closed just in case
There'll be wine there'll be cheer
Naked men toting beer
There'll be cake full of frosting and glaze
There'll be glamour and glitz
Kat screams "LOOK AT MY TITS!"
Before falling down flat on her face

OK, I never claimed to be a poet. But (belated) happy birthday miss Kat!!!! I hope all the cake/booze/men came true.

The Gland...It is Watching You

I have a gland of death.

Before anyone thinks that would make an excellent concept for a horror/porn movie, the gland in question is in my neck and it hurts!

I've had this pesky pestilence since before Thanksgiving and it keeps mutating and infecting other parts of my respiratory system. Last night my breathing sounded exactly like Darth Vadar! And smelled just as evil. The cats dove for cover under the bed and the neighbourhood quaked in fear, but I was high on Robitussin so I merely waved an indifferent hand and went to sleep.

I have had sore throat, scratchy throat, red throat, dry throat, phlegmy chest, coughy chest, bronchitis nastiness and now the wheezy breath and the gland of death.

OH...

That should so be a band. Coming to a Heavy Metal Hair-fest near you: Wheezy Breath and the Gland of Death. It should feature a tiny geriatric rocker like Brett Michaels and his walking frame and there should be oxygen tank refills between songs.

Everyone is sick. The world is ending.

Talking About Boobs With The Guv'ner

I don't wish to imply I think about boobs a lot (my name ain't "Pistols"). However, as the owner of a pair, I was just thinking about men and their unnatural preoccupation with all things boobular and I can't really figure out what the attraction is. I mean, they're just fleshy bags with a tiny bump on the end, they don't really do anything magical except feed babies and although I'm sure that's quite beautiful it's also not sexy particularly. The only other use they have is as a coat hanger when it gets a bit chilly and you're wearing a thin top.

Really boobs just sort of sit there looking either perky and interested or suicidally depressed and floppy. They also like to jiggle up and down while you run, get in the way during sports and sometimes attempt to make a break for freedom out of your tank top if you're in a particular hurry and wearing a somewhat compromised balconette or demi bra.

I can only figure they must be the equivalent of those deluxe stress toys that you keep on your desk and squeeze when you feel a little agitated. Those siliconesque lumps of gel you can prod and squish and pull into long stretchy things, sort of like Stretch Armstrong.

And if anything puts a man thinking about boobs off his stride it might just be thinking about Stretch Armstrong.

26

The perky and sexy miss Catherinette made me do it. I didn't want to, she made me. 26 random facts about me (as if choosing 26 as the number of facts wasn't quite random enough).

1. My right foot is one size smaller than my left and a whole width wider.


2. I once tried to take a whiz in the woods and while squatting, fell over into a patch of stinging nettles and got nasty white bumps all over my butt.


3. I am left-handed therefore much more intelligent and fabulous than you.


4. I'd secretly like to own a handgun.


5. I once kissed some guy with a moustache while severely intoxicated in a student union bar.


6. I once sent my ex-boss an "official" letter on Photoshopped, very authentic looking letterhead, telling him he'd won an award in his field. It was a very serious letter and it asked him to call to find out when the award would be presented and the number on the letter was for a help line for people with severe adult incontinence.


7. I hate Ben Stiller and fantasize about bashing his stupidly expressioned head with a frying pan.


8. I hate tea.


9. I have never smoked a cigarette. Not the kind you buy in a store at least...


10. I have eaten cakes in Amsterdam that uh...made me feel "special".


11. I loathe soccer/football.


12. I once attended a garden party with my dress tucked into my underwear.


13. Once, for a joke, a friend and I bought a third friend a rather frightening looking vibrator as a birthday gift (birthday friend was a boy). We were there when he opened it. Unfortunately, so were his parents. Excruciating.


14. I can say the alphabet backwards super fast.


15. I think Al Pacino and Robert deNiro are overrated.


16. Secretly, I'd love to work for the FBI as a profiler.


17. I get a lot of Kelly Clarkson's phone calls.


18. My favourite fruit flavour is lime.


19. I like lonely, desolate landscapes like the Scottish glens and the American desert.


20. I spent months traveling in Europe with a balding, straight guy who liked to wear granny nighties to bed and who wore bras and fishnets under his clothing.


21. If I won the lottery I'd start a no kill luxury animal shelter so all those abandonned, misplaced and abused animals could live in peace and comfort.


22. If I could pass one law it would be making garroting irritating or cruel people, legal.


23. Cake!


24. My land line phone is a rotary phone with a dial. Pray you never have an emergency in my house. I call my mum in the UK once a week and half the time I have to quit half way through dialing the number because I fall asleep.


25. I don't get why anyone thinks Orlando Bloom is hot.


26. I have a birth mark on my bum that feels like a third nipple. (it isn't)

Eight (Part Three)

I say lots of things, mostly nonsensical. These are fairly common though for me.

Eight Things I Often Say

1. I just ripped one: I say it so that people around me don’t think the boiler’s exploded and start making for the fire escapes.



2. Will there be cake?: If you want the Guv’ner’s attendance anywhere, there will be cake…oh yes, there will be cake.



3. Do you want to see my finger?: Because ingrate, I will show you my finger.



4. Get out of my office: You have no idea how many times I say this. Sometimes I even say it to myself!



5. See anything you like?: People are always staring at me. I’m pretty sure it’s not my fabulous serene beauty so what? Do I have a booger? Is my top on backwards again? Did I pull a “Britney” and forget my underwear and indeed my skirt?



6. Where is my machete?: Seriously, do not fuck with my machete.



7. Where is my Diet Pepsi?: Let me make one thing crystal clear. I don’t do a single thing till I have my Diet Pepsi. Don’t even try to make me. No I won’t Xerox your document, not until fizzy, caffeinated, faux-sweetened goodness is in my tummy. And it better not be Coke. The Guv’ner does not do Diet Coke. If you bring me Coke I will heat it to boiling point and pour it in your pants.



8. Fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck! . There’s always a reason to use this. I live in New York City. Whether it be a rude commuter slamming their bag/child/crotch in my face on the subway or a fucktard on a cell phone wandering all over the street in front of me like a lost chicken, while I'm trying to walk home, or a demented fuckstick on a phone, driving an SUV through a red light in the crosswalk and almost sending me into orbit. I once had the distinction of uttering this phrase at a raised volume while kicking a yellow NY taxi cab that tried to kill me when I was crossing the street on my light. Fuck YOU you fuckin’ fuck!

Eight (Part Two)

Back due to no demand, whatsoever...

Eight Things to Do Before I Die

1. Live in a desert town. See last entry. I think I've made my desert love perfectly clear.



2. Swim with dolphins: Preferably not overly amorous ones who would try to do it with me using their stupendous marine appendages.



3. Go to Antarctica: Do you know the movie “The Thing”? For some bizarre reason, despite that movie being about alien life forms and its starring one (i.e., a bearded Kurt Russell), that movie actually inspired me to want to go to Antarctica. Now how screwed up do you think I am?



4. Finish writing a book: Again, see last entry. One day I will finish it damnit. And I will tie people down and force them to read it too. And don’t laugh because it might be you.



5. Go to Key West: OK I know what you’re thinking, “How hard can that be?” but honestly, you don’t know me. Every time I try to go to Key West I get my ass evacuated before I get anywhere near it due to various Hurricanes. I’ve gotten as far as Islamorada in the middle Keys to this point. I’m pretty sure someone in the Keys hates me and plans all this evacuation nonsense the second I book a ticket to any place in Florida. Bastards! They’ve obviously heard of my legendary capacity for tequila and are aware of the very real possibility I will make Key West a dry town within hours.



6. Drive across the U.S.A. and Canada: I’ve always wanted to drive across the country and now I want to do the same to Canada (I have no shame). There are so many places to see and no time (or money to do it). This makes me very sad. I like to drive. And I like to go places. This seems the perfect combination to me, why won’t my life cooperate? Won’t someone give me a grant?



7. Own a Vespa: I love Vespas. The closest I’ve ever come to owning a Vespa was an old Honda, 49cc Moped that used to belong to my room-mate’s dad. This was back in the 1990s, and I used it to zip around my town at a whopping 30mph (35 if you could find a vertical hill and coax a gale force wind to blow behind you!) The thing was fun but not very cool. I mean it had pedals, for the love of God. Pedals! The idea was you can either ride the bike with the engine or pedal it like a bicycle. In theory yes. In actuality? Don’t even go there. I once broke down a mile from home and tried to pedal that sucker home. It was like pushing a military tank with a feather. Oh you can pedal ok, but I defy anyone to make that sucker actually move. On the upside, I made three local teenagers practically laugh till they vomited.



8. Quit Swearing: Because I’m a potty mouth and it has to stop. I won’t though because swearing is funny, goddamn it. In print at least.

EIGHT

The lovely Mr. Radloff tagged me to do this meme thingy. If I ever meet Mr. Radloff face-to-face some day, I will have to kill him.

Naturally I can never just dole out one word answers I have to post a diatribe, so here's what I'll do. I'll post the first part today. And subsequent parts (rants, all of them) in following days. No? Believe me I'm doing you a favour by not killing you with words.

Eight Passions In My Life

1. Food: Who doesn’t love food? An idiot with no taste-buds, that’s who. Sadly good food is fattening so I must reluctantly limit my consumption of it and sacrifice my “all cake all the time” mantra, for a few carrots or accept that I may just be mistaken some day for the Goodyear Blimp. If a genie granted me three wishes, after the obvious “world peace” and “Get Britney a Decent Weave” my main wish would be that I could just eat food 24 hours a day without putting on an ounce.



2. Animals: Honestly, I love animals. People can bite me most of the time but animals are special. They provide unconditional love and trust. They live by instinct and are non judgmental. Me, I can’t even read animal cruelty stories on the news because it would ruin my entire week or send me into an axe-wielding homicidal frenzy. When I'm in a position to donate to charities it’s almost always animal shelters. I think being a crazy old cat lady one day sounds appealing.



3. Men: Men are nice to look at. You know, in theory. Naturally not all men. I mean look at Fabio. Or don’t, might be a more prudent idea.



4. Travel: The Guv’ner loves to travel. I would travel full-time if I didn’t have to do tiresome things like work and care for cats and men. I love to visit new places. I really want to do a lot more tropical traveling and maybe some sliding around in the Antarctic too. I would like to be one of those eccentric people who just live in an RV and go where they please.



5. Photography: I love photography. I love taking pictures and I love looking at pictures (again, not pictures of Fabio). I would love to be in the position to travel and take pictures and therefore kill two passions with one stone. Or something...



6. Music: I love music like everyone else. I play it too and have done since I was six and took up the recorder. I can read music, I can write music, I have written hundreds of songs, played in three bands, recorded for the BBC and played live in the UK and Europe. (Yes, I am aware the UK is IN Europe, thank you). I love having a fresh new song to listen to – those first few moments of aural delight, before it becomes familiar, are magical.



7. The Desert: Not to be mistaken for “The Dessert” which I’m also quite passionate about, particularly Lemon Meringue pie!
   
   I love the desert. I can only fathom that this is because I grew up in a cold country with long dark hours in winter and often extreme snow/wind/fog/rain. Really though I truly believe I was born to be a desert dweller. I just have a fascination for it and I feel a pull towards it. I love heat, sun soaked landscapes and sparse terrain. I am over the city.



8. Writing: Sure I’m passionate about it, but I’m also lackadaisical when it comes to actually doing it. I have started about eight books and haven’t finished a single one. I aim to rectify this, I really do, but you know, you have to have things aligned just right to be that creative.

Next up, 8 Things to do before I die. Boy, I bet you can hardly wait, huh!

Silly Britain

Apparently The Kingdom of Great Britain, of which I am a vexed citizen, has some rather antiquated laws, still on their books. They just published a list of the top ten ridiculous ones. You'd think maybe instead of publishing them, they might just go ahead and abolish them but whatever.

1. It is illegal to die in the Houses of Parliament.
   
   That’s a hard one because YOU want to try staying awake and indeed alive listening to some of the claptrap that they talk about in that place. Besides does this mean if Guy Fawkes had succeeded in blowing up Parliament, he’d have made criminals of all those he murdered? Tsk!



2. It is an act of treason to place a postage stamp bearing the British monarch upside-down.
   
   Firstly, why would the Queen be upside down? Does she hang by her knees from the parallel bars? Is she secretly a bat? Also, note that there is nothing in there about not being able to draw a moustache, glasses and horns on the Queen’s portrait. So long as she’s right side up you can have her brandishing a golden dildo and you'd still be rocking.



3. In Liverpool, it is illegal for a woman to be topless except as a clerk in a tropical fish store.
   
   Really, I would like the job of the person who comes up with these laws. WTF? I mean really? Do the piranhas react better to a topless woman? Was there some lady of the past (or of the night) who declared herself and her tropical fish shop her own country or something and this was the resulting law.



4. Mince pies cannot be eaten on Christmas Day.
   
   Well I break this law every year and I didn’t even KNOW I was breaking a law or I would have enjoyed those pies EVEN MORE. Mmmm mince pies. Contrary to what you American types might think, mince pies are nothing to do with meat. They're fruit pies. Mincemeat is a fruit filling. Don't say the Guv'ner never teaches you anything.
   
   Apparently this law relates to regulating "gluttony". But why single out the mince pie anyway? You can stuff a whole pig in your piehole but that’s ok? A turkey dripping with grease and stuffing? But have a mince pie and you’re pushing the limits, pal.



5. In Scotland, if someone knocks on your door and requires the use of your toilet, you must let them enter.
   
   Being from Scotland, I have never heard of this law. I wouldn’t be letting any of you compromised bladdered riff-raff use my lavatory with your germed up derrieres. The thing that worries me slightly about this law is, it doesn't exactly state what it is you are permitted to enter. The toilet? The house? Your no-no place? What?



6. A pregnant woman can legally relieve herself anywhere she wants, including in a policeman's helmet.
   
   …I’d say that’s called justice only if it was a policeman’s “helmet” that got her in that state in the first place.



7. The head of any dead whale found on the British coast automatically becomes the property of the king, and the tail of the queen.
   
   I just…firstly does the Queen HAVE a tail? Is it a royal trait? I mean all that in-breeding must have some consequences, surely? But then the question arises, what does the Queen’s tail want with a whale part? And do the whales normally wash ashore in parts? And what does the King do with the head, does he make a nice chowder? And do we actually have a king?



8. It is illegal to avoid telling the tax man anything you do not want him to know, but legal not to tell him information you do not mind him knowing.
   
   “I’m 72 you know! I have measles. I like blue! This survey is pants! My son is called Graham. I live in a tree!”



9. It is illegal to enter the Houses of Parliament in a suit of armour.
   
   Well thank you so much for ruining my next trip to London, pigfuckers.



10. In the city of York it is legal to murder a Scotsman within the ancient city walls, but only if he is carrying a bow and arrow.
    
    As a Scot and a Sagittarian I am staying the hell out of York for the foreseeable future. I wonder if honestly you could get off on a technicality should you actually murder a Scotsman carrying a bow and arrow in the city of York? Who wants to test this?

November Spawned A Monster

I cross posted this from Live Journal since I'm saucy like that. And I'm omnipotent. Get used to it, citizens.

I just realized, it's November. I'm not sure what I was expecting the day after the 31st of October, but still. November. That's like...the end of the year!

So because I'm bored and somewhat kind of heart, here are some interesting facts about November. You can pay me later. I accept food stamps and naked photos.

• According to Morrissey and his fey hair, it "spawned a monster in the shape of this child"! I wonder if Morrissey was born in November because, if so it would go a ways to explaining THIS photo of someone's dad going to the Bingo Hall Social. Aaaaargh!



• November 5th, we Brits celebrate "Guy Fawkes Night". Mr. Fawkes was some dude who, with a bunch of Catholics, tried to blow up parliament with gunpowder, back in the olden days and given the fact he had a ton of it he failed miserably and ended up executed by the Protestants.
  
  I imagine the night of the "incident" went something like this.
  
  "Are these gunpowder kegs in position? Yes? OK then. Light the thingy then on the count of 'one' run like your knackers are on fire. Which they will be if you don't pay attention to that last point! Wait... What do you mean you 'didn't bring any matches?'"
  
  Now we remember his "lack of win" by letting off fireworks, roasting marshmallows on a bonfire and setting scarecrows on fire. Don't knock it till you've tried it.



• Allegedly, it is somewhat customary for humans of the male persuasion in Melbourne, Australia to grow a big, furry mustache during the month of November. This is apparently known as "Movember" for "moustache" and "November". So if you're a fan of the Village People or the seventies, take a trip to Melbourne some nice November day.



• In Finland, November is celebrated as "Month of the Dead". That's Month. Take that Mexico. And let me tell you from the experience of one particularly blurry night in Helsinki, the Fins know how to throw a fucking celebration. Those people drink like prohibition is just over the horizon and barreling towards them. And I'm from Scotland so you know, don't go thinking the irony's lost on me here! So dude...don't go to Finland in November. As well as your balls freezing off you're liable to get iced in another way. Just saying.



• In Croatia, November is known as "studeni" which apparently means "cold one". I'm not sure if they are referencing the weather, Hilary Clinton, a stiff (Hi Finland!) or they want another hit of Karlovačko. Believe me, regarding Karlovačko? I imbibed that very Croatian beer while sitting in a square in Split once (at least I think it was square, it was spinning a lot though). For two days afterwards I thought I was the Russian prime minister. That stuff is dangerous. They say it's only twelve percent proof, but twelve percent of what, that's what I want to know...



• November is the most boring month of the year because I can find almost nothing interesting that happened during it, probably because everyone's getting either hammered or murdered. Even Wikipedia was like, "Dude, that is SO all I have, go find a life or something, please!"

So welcome to the Inebriated Month of the Dead Mustaches.

Brain In Trouble - Send Help

I'm exhausted. My brain is thinking this:

Goddamn allergies, why did I take a double dose of Benadryl this morning and not notice it was the nighttime version? I'm going to fall asleep at the Photocopier. My eyes feel like they spent an hour looking at Carrot Top.

Why is my office phone clock an hour slow? Why does it not obey daylight savings rules?

Why was there no egg and cheese croissants at the cafeteria this morning when the only reason I came in early was to procure these beasts? A pox on you all, cafeteria people.

I have a headache too. Where is my sympathy? I get no sympathy.

And it's Halloween. That means a parade. In the Village. And I live in the goddamn Village. And every year I can never get my ass home without walking ten blocks out of my way to circumnavigate Washington Square Bloody Park which is closed to the public on Halloween - even for the drug dealers! And I can only get onto my street with ID (or if I show that nice policeman with the big gun, my boobs).

And my back neighbours who are fucksticks will throw an outdoor party till 4am full of screeching, inebriated ghouls and it will result in homicide (by me, after the egg throwing fails to hit any target).

I want a pumpkin to carve.

I want to sleep.

Just In...Work Can Make You Sick

From the current issue of Forbes magazine:

If you're a member of corporate America, chances are you've got access to a state-of-the-art gym, a gourmet cafeteria and an array of wellness services, including health risk assessments, telephone and Web-based consultations, and weight-loss programs.

Why yes! And we have a heliport on the roof and a little immigrant man who earns minimum wage to fan our corporate farts out of the nearest window. And did I mention the swimming pool and jacuzzi with cocktail bar on the roof (you know, next to the heliport?)

Um...no, no and hell no, Mr. McFancypants.

Don't get me wrong, we have some "stuff" going on. For instance, we have yoga. You have to pay for it but it's there, on the premises should you need to meditate out your stress. We also have things like 'Weight Watchers' for those wanting to be tinier and healthy living seminars and then we have a little mini university where we can do various software classes, etc. for free.

I even did a defensive driving course a couple of years back which everyone I knew found hilarious. "Like you could be any more defensive!" they snorted. "You beat drivers' heads with a tire iron if they so much as look at you funny at the lights!"

Haters.

Anyway, I took the course which saves 10% on your car insurance for three whole years, without even involving a gecko or a caveman!

OK, so I live in Manhattan and don't have a car, big deal. But at least I know that tailgating will get you a lot more up close and personal with some dude's pick-up than nature ever intended, thank you defensive driving! And you wouldn't believe the various suspicious practices people like to get up to while driving that really, they shouldn't. Yes, I mean you.

But really what I'm saying is, my company aren't so much state-of-the-art cool as, trying really hard to go from very staid and vanilla to something more youthful and creative. I mean we have an on-site pub once a week how's that for a start? Besides face it, nothing brings out the "youthful" in a group of executives quite like free liquor.

But despite a noticeable shift toward promoting healthy workplaces, your job can still make you sick. From uncomfortable workspaces to poor air quality to depression-inducing stress, there are plenty of opportunities to come home feeling worse than when you left in the morning.

Damn straight, Einstein. Sonny, I wrote the book on the coming home feeling worse than when you left. And I usually feel pretty bad when I leave, due to the fact I've just been forced to get out of a warm comfortable bed to do expense reports. Going home feeling worse than when you arrived comes from working with giant, IQ deficient assholes all day, and while my current employer has mercifully freed me from those for the most part, my last job provided enough of them to see out the next millennium.

[Berman] says that everything from mold spores to office furniture that off-gases formaldehyde to changes in humidity can affect a worker's upper respiratory system.

Whoa! Hold up one goddamn minute here. Did you say formaldehyde? The stuff they embalm dead people with? OK I know it's used for a lot of other stuff but really. My desk/dead people - two things I don't want to see in the one sentence ever again, ok? I don't suppose I can go home because I'm "allergic to my gaseous desk"? I didn't think so.

In fact, work-related stress has a powerful impact on employees. A study in the November issue of the American Journal of Public Health demonstrated a significant relationship between work stress and depression.

That's...no. Really? Stress at work is linked to depression? Tell me you are shitting me? It usually makes me want to buy the world a Coke.

I'm not sure I can accept that someone wrote that paragraph, seriously.

Five Lame Things About Me

At the request of The Lady...

Peoples, these are the instructions. I’m not going to tag anyone because then you’ll all hate me and say mean things like “God, the Guv’ner is a slave driver and is trying to steal information about us for the FBI.” Which, while possibly true, is quite unfair of you and I might cry.

TO DO: List 5 things you do, did or like that some may consider “totally lame,” but that you are totally proud of. Tag 5 others:


1) I like toys. Not little kid toys but theme toys. Like my X-Files dolls. I have Mulder and Scully and sometimes I pose them in compromising positions and take photos (see Exhibit A) and I think this is quite hilarious. They live in a cabinet in my living room with my South Park Dolls, my Dalek cookie jar and my giant imagination. I will even use props (See Exhibit B). This is because I have a) too much time on my hands, and b) I’m slightly retarded.

2) I often cut my own hair and think it looks great. I mean I do go to salons but in between it gets all annoying and odd and I’m not made of money so out come the scissors and then I think it looks fabulous and all those people on the subway are only looking at me out of sheer jealousy at my all-encompassing beauty.

3) I secretly like big, emotional soundtrack type songs that make you cry. I hate to admit this since I’m a former punk band member and formerly of the school of “if it’s not obscure it’s heinous” but soundtrack emotionally draining songs? Get me every time. Even that abortion of a song Aerosmith did for “Armageddon” with the really creepy video that intersperses Steven Tyler looking like the Grim Reaper with parts of the movie that make him look like he’s having a love affair with his own daughter. Ew! Actually, him having an affair with anything of the human species is kind of frightening to think about.

4) I watched “Rock Of Love With Bret Michaels” on VH1. Need I say more?

5) I like to listen to conversations on the scanner radio between pilots flying into the NY airports and the control tower. This does not make me a geek. They say the occasional funny thing like “This is American 509 Heavy, I just spilled hot coffee on my crotch and burned my berries, it was high-larious. Oh and yeah, there’s an Air France jet about to collide with us if you could do something about that, over?”

I am not lame!

For Future Reference

After a crazy, busy, grouchy day at work, as I was sitting on a bench outside my building scrolling through tracks on my iPod, a cherubic, blue eyed eight year old approached me with a smile and a piece of paper which she held out to me, practically begging me to mess with her head.

"No thanks!" I said. "I already have ten of those."

"It's for the fortune teller." she told me. "So you can find out your future."

"I know my future." I replied. "It involves homicide and a bong."

She looked at me not saying anything, probably because she didn't understand either word although she understood enough to know I was being a douche.

"I'm kidding." I said, feeling bad for her. "I don't have a future. And neither do you. We're all going to die, so you should ditch the paper and get a real job."

She blinked at me, unsure what to say. "I'm only eight." she pointed out.

I sighed. "Just gimme the flier." I said.

Poor kid. Who sends an eight year old girl out to hand out fliers to strangers?

The Guv Gets Her Serious Head On

So this crazy Iranian dude with the impossible name that sound straight out of "Team America" is a few blocks from where I am right now, being driven in police motorcades and wined on dined on the public's tax dollars. Hell there's nothing we like more than a genocidal, bigoted dictator hanging out in the city. Maybe Dubya would like to join him for an aperitif? I'm sure they'd have lots to talk about.

People are all pretty liberal and outspoken about it. "We don't like him, what he has to say or what he stands for but we support his right to say it."

Well fuck that. I'm a pretty liberal person myself and I say "Screw that guy and the plane he flew in on." You hate the west so much, stay the fuck in the middle east, asshat. Don't come to my city and spout your nonsense here. Can I come to Iran and tell you the multitude of things I find offensive about your country? I'm thinking not.

While I agree with people having the freedom to say whatever the hell they want, I also agree that I have the right to not donate my tax dollars to pay for him to do so on American soil.

Hell, my sister had a tiny glitch in her visa and was denied entry to the U.S. People accidentally answer questions on the visa waiver form incorrectly and get sent back to where they started. If you have previous drug convictions or sometimes a traffic offense they can stamp your passport "DENIED", yet this guy only wants to wipe out entire races for no sane reason; he only encourages people to beat women with sticks if they are caught holding a boyfriend's hand in public; he only wants to destroy the U.S., the Jews and the entire western civilization because he's a ranting lunatic and we, because we are so frightened of being categorized as bigots or dictators ourselves, are all for letting him come here and talk about it in the name of "freedom of speech". Screw you Iranian dude.

I'm sure the six zillion cops outside my building right now are all working for free though, right?

The Guv'ner Defends Scotland. Sort of.

Gosh it's hard to be Scottish.

I liked this part of the article:

Think of the worst possible stereotype of the Scot; double it, and you have got [Grounds keeper] Willie — a red-haired, bearded, foul-tempered, incompetent, haggis-eating, testosterone-filled boor who spends his private time secretly videotaping couples in their cars.

Jeeze they say that like it's a bad thing!

I'm not getting what we Scots are getting their panties twisted about. That's a fairly accurate description. Throw in hip flasks of Glenfiddich and a pocket knife and you practically described each and every one of us. In fact, I'm PROUD of my red beard and foul temper.

I did enjoy the parts about Americans wondering whether or not the Internet had reached Scotland yet (answer: No, we prefer the tried-and-tested 'two tin cans and a taut rope' for our communication methods) and did we know what microwaves were (midgets gesturing for attention perhaps?)? We prefer our cooking the traditional way - a Sassenach (English person) in a cauldron with appropriate seasoning.

Call me romantic (really, it'll be the first time ever) but I think most Americans when they think of Scotland are probably more likely to think of lochs, loch Ness Monster, castles, scenery and Sean Connery. Me, I think of butter tablet and soda scones and my beloved Irn Bru and the fact I could kick each and every one of your weak, pasty, American asses, ye bourbon drinking fanny-pack sportin' wee girls.

Huh?