Saturday's radioactive offerings.

I have been sorely remiss this week in my gym attendance, an unusual state for someone like me who generally likes going to the gym*. But remiss or not yesterday was kickboxing and there was no way in hell I was missing that. So I took myself to the barn, ran 5k as a warm up, and...nothing actually, I was banjaxed after getting off the 'mill. Stupid fitness levels not magically sustaining themselves while I sit at my desk and eat mini snickers* for days on end.
Some days I think Non Memnoch gets a kick out of torture, perhaps it is an instructor thing. Certainly he can sniff when you're low on energy and punish you accordingly.
He had us sparring in three minute rounds yesterday, adding points for good strikes or good combinations, deducting points for dropping hands or leaving a hand out, anything in fact he deemed a false punch.
Three minutes can seem awfully long when you're going at it hell for leather.
Then to make sure he finished us off good and proper he made us sprint, round house, sprint, double round house, sprint, and so on until we were at ten. My legs were like jelly after.
This morning finds me ouchy, but at least I'm not skiing, like Finn, who has lost her will to live as well as the skin from her elbows.
Today I will take CG's dog for a hike. He will chase squirrels and get soaked, I will poodle along behind him, waiting to see if he ever feels tired* and hoping I don't run into a radioactive paedophile.
Oh yes, there is a radioactive paedophile loose in the country. Thomas Leopold absconded a few days before his child porn trail in the UK and police believe he hotfooted it here. Why do child touchers always think Ireland is a good place to hide out? Who knows, but he's thought to be here and like I say, radioactive from a bout of cancer treatment. I immediately thought 'watch out fall out boy' but I am sad that way.
Now breakfast I think, bacon and eggs sounds about right. I mean I've put on a kilo this week alone, I might as well. Who knew eating mini snickers, drinking all the beer you like and not going to the gym would make a body gain weight? Oh right, I did. Pfft.


*I keep telling myself that.
*I don't know what this is about, I don't really like chocolate.
* As far as I know he doesn't get tired, not really. His tail might dip slightly.

The calming power of Ginger

This man is a true Ginger god and I would marry him in a heart beat if it wasn't for the whole paramour and his wife and I"m sure various other bit and bobs.

In Death, the Vultures have no Shame.

And lo, on this most Gingerest of days, the bubbling cauldron of Reiki hatred is once more stirred with the ladle of earthly contempt. For verily it is with the greatest of stink eye that I read the following story.
Observe how the pilot fish bottom-feeding scum-sucking leechy mumbojumbo fraudulent quackular charlatan CUNTBUTLERS that are Reiki Practitioners have slithered their way forth and into the mainstream media. Quelle Surprise, SHOCK horror. Pass me my fainting couch Doris.
Oh Reiki- spit spit- How I hate you so. I hate that no one can be angry about you without immediately being accused of being negative. I hate how you lie, I hate how you convince sick people you are helping. I hate that you take their money. If you just said, 'Look, I can't heal you but you might feel better about talking to someone.' I would let you slide by like the stinkiest of runny shit you are. But no, you must use 'energies' 'blockages' I hate you, I hate you with every fibre of my being, with all of my liver, every part, even the bad bits.
And it is not negativity, it is scorn, it is unbridled passionate derision. You fraudulent abuser of the sick. You deathbed viper. If I could blunderbuss Reiki and all the silly 1/2/3/ master idiots who dabble in its clinging slime I would. Were you corporeal I would rip your head off and piss on your spine, you worthless piece of sceptic pus filled junk. I would hack you into a thousand pieces, pour rock salt on you and then douse you in petrol and light a match.
This kind of shit, I am against it.

Barking Dog.

"It's a ferocious, continuous, high-pitched noise, it's been going on for nearly three years," she said. "I don't dispute that there are plenty of dogs in the area, but he has a very prominent bark and I have seen him. It's very disturbing. I am a dog lover; I had a dog for 12 years. This dog is just on his own most of the time and is obviously in distress."

I admit I felt a bit sorry for the man who has been ordered by the courts to hand over his dog to the warden. It appears he tried to do something about his animal's noise. Short of him quitting his job I doubt there would be a whole lot he could do in this particular case. (Although maybe a second dog might have kept the animal company, or a whole lot of exercise. I don't know, sometimes animals have such separation anxiety they never stop barking, but tired dogs are frequently quiet dogs)
Also, as this dog is a hand over and not a found animal, the most likely outcome will be the animal being put to sleep.
But honestly, taking everything into account, I can fully sympathise with the neighbours. I have lived beside a bored barking dog before, they bark in a repetitive high pitch and after a while it can drive a person stone raving mad.
German Shepherds are beautiful dogs, but like all dogs they are social creatures and don't do well spending upwards of eight hours alone everyday. Plus they're a working breed, intelligent and energetic. Intelligent energetic dogs like things to do.
I do wish though folk would put a bit more thought into their situations before they get a pup. I hate hearing about dogs being sent to the pound. At the dinner thing I went to with CG last Friday the couple beside me told me they were thinking of getting rid of their collie ( 18 months) because the dog was constantly nipping and chasing children, and- quoth the husband- 'it was doing their head in.'
I pondered this while studiously, ignoring my over-cooked lamb. Collies, working breed, likes to nip the heels of cattle to keep them in line/moving. Energetic, likes herding.
Yep, I see the problem there.
The owners.
Seriously, they were both working long hours and instead of walking the dog in the morning and evening they were letting the animal run its energy off on a communal green where kids played. The kids, who were afraid of the dog since it nipped, all ran when it came out and the collie, being a herding dog, corralled them all into one play area nipping cheerfully as it went along.
Apparently the parents of the children were none to happy about this, which seemed to irk the collie's owners who said the dog 'wouldn't hurt a fly'.
'But he bites their children' I said.
'Oh but he's not vicious, he's just playing.'
'But...they're all terrified of him?'
'I've told them not to run when he's out.'
'But surely it is your job to control your own dog when it is in public?'
'But he's friendly. Honestly, he wouldn't hurt a fly.'
I stopped trying to understand their excuses after a short while and concentrated on my undercooked veggies instead. Truth is, having been confronted by a large and aggressive dog before while running, I can only imagine how frightening it is for kids to see a speeding black and white bullet heading in their direction as they played. Truth is, you might find your Fido or Rover friendly and funny, but not every person will, and as a dog owner your job is to understand that and have your dog behave accordingly. Truth is, some dog owners are idiots.
I doubt these people will address the problem, like the German Shepherd owner could not, this means there will be another beautiful dog sitting behind wire mesh, waiting to become someone else's problem or dead.
Dogs are wonderful creatures and can be exceptional companions, but they're not people and they have a doggish way of looking at things. It's not their fault if they act like dogs, but it is OUR fault if we don't take the time to correct and train our animals so that they slot comfortably into a social and civic life. Well trained well exercised dogs are usually happy creatures and a pleasure for all. Sad, lonely barking high energy untrained animals usually end up in the scrap heap. Poor things, they deserve much better.

Happy Birthday Beloved Stud Muffin.

44 years of sheer hawtness! Someday I will stumble across the holy grail photo of this lovegod. And THEN will we have a feast for the eyes.

Smoking in Cars.

Ash, the anti smoking folk, are trying to bring about legislation that would make it illegal for anyone to smoke in their car while transporting children under the age of 16.
Now, I don't smoke and forcing your children to breathe in second hand smoke is clearly a very poor idea, But smoking is not illegal. And your car is your car, it's yours. What might be next down the line? No smoking in your home? Where does it end?
If you keep chipping away at what people can and can't do eventually you're left with a police state. It should not be up to the government to tell people whether or not to smoke around their kids. Most parents will be aware of the dangers of second hand smoke and even though they smoke themselves they won't smoke around their children. Dandy. But to make it illegal to do so smacks of Big Brother. Also who is going to enforce this law? The Gardai? Sheeeeee-eet, they have enough to be going on with.
You cannot legislate for personal choices. Or rather you should not be able to do so. As long as smoking is legal the actions of the smoking parent should be none of the government's business.

Awards 'n stuff

Top of a hungover Monday to you and a hearty congratulations to all the winners from the blog awards, with a smoochy Mickey Rourke styled kiss to Sweary in particular. Much deserved.
In non blogging related whimsy, Meryl Streep was robbed.

Policing.

Gardai! Ur doin it wrong. You only need to go up to criminals and ask them if they are who you hope they are. Like this.
See? See how easy that is?
'Are you the shooter of the latest gangland shooting?'
'Yes.'
'You better come with me so.'
'Are you on the board of FAS? With all those lovely unlimited credit cards and trips and lovely lovely money?'
'Why yes!'
'You're under arrest for fraud you cheeky fuck, if it's good enough for Martha Stewert it's good enough for you.'
Oh it would be just so twinkly and delightful if they adopted the FBI route of just asking.
Anyway, happy Gingerday you. I'm going to some black tie gig with CG later this evening. This apparently requires me to take ANOTHER trip to the hairdresser to have my frankly wiggy wiggy wild wild west hair tamed into some sort of updo. I hold no confidence, specially since the lass who is doing it seemed rather appalled too. Oh it should be fun.

Metaphorically Yours.

"Asked by the judge whether he himself had executed the deed of sale in relation to the house, Mr Byrne said he could not answer such questions “on the basis of legal advice that I might incriminate myself”. When asked by counsel for Ms Byrne whether he derived anything personally from the sale, he again said he could not answer on legal advice. Asked who was the rightful owner of the home, he began to cry and said: “My mother, Philomena Byrne.”"

When everything you own is built on sand your foundations are at risk. If you then play with fire you're likely to get burned, a bit like Icarus. The grass is not always greener and all that glitters is not gold and it has to be said that fools and their money are easily parted.
It's a steep learning curve, but when you think outside the box it might suddenly dawn on you that there's no fire like the home fire, bearing that in mind, folk should understand that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. If you don't, you'll soon have the devil on your back, and there's no use crying over spilt milk AFTER you lie down with dogs and get up with fleas.
Hopefully lessons will be learned, be they the hard way or not. Life is a game of two halves, and though the goalposts are often moved the occasional spoonful of honey helps the medicine go down. It's a hard knock life, but some one has got to pay the piper. Maybe blood will be thicker than water, and although sorry is the hardest word, the night is darkest before the dawn and tomorrow is a new day. Step up to the plate, take it like a man, hold your head up high and keep on trucking.

'God Help Us All'

Oh I CANNOT wait to see this film!

Jade Goody's Reality Death.

'I feel sorry for that girl.' The Paramour said in a compassionate bout the other night, during the adverts.
'Who?'
'Jade Goody.'
'Why?' I said, picking through the popcorn. 'She's not a particularly nice person and if she wasn't dying you wouldn't give a toss about her.'
'But she is dying, I'd be surprised if she doesn't die within the next few months.'
'Everybody dies Paramour.' I replied, 'Just not quite so publicly.'
'Still, I just feel a bit sorry for her.'

And then we went back to watching Let The Right One In.

But truthfully I do find myself thinking about reality television überstar Jade Goody this morning. How can I not think about her, she's everywhere. I see her swollen tearful face staring out from every magazine cover on the supermarket shelves. The wenches in the shop were all yapping about her when I went to get the milk. Someone was waffling about her in the gym yesterday, actually wondering ALOUD if she'd lost a lot of weight due to her cancer and what size dress she'd wear now ( oh women, we are quite hard nosed when we want to be, perhaps someone can market this? Cancerslim! The new weight loss product, yours for 65.99 per week, CancerSLIM!)
She's all over the press, I know more about her cancer- its retractions, its spread, its development- than I do about ANYTHING on my own body. People talk of her dignity, how she's doing right by her boys, her upcoming marriage to 'Jack' the lovable jailbird scamp currently wheeling her about. ( GET A PRE-NUP). She's all over our tellies, crying, being brave, crying, being brave, crying. I mean, it's all Jade, all tears, all the time!
Reality television is a weird planet. It takes a hodge podge of folk and shovels them into 'realityville' before our eyes for our perusal. It's almost like pantomine in a way.
Of course reality television is not reality, we are shown heavily edited snippets, our approval and disapproval hinges on our being shown the good and the bad and the down right ugly. Boo hiss, we might think when a loud mouth gobber calls a beautiful Bollywood star Shilpa Poppudom, yay hurrah, when tearfully remorseful the teary gobber says 'sorry, I'm an ignorant half wit, but my mum is a one-armed lesbian.' Getting Lipo? Live on air? Hmm, boo, no wait, hurrah, cry first though would you dear? Oh PLASTIC SURGERY? Yay, I mean boo, cry for me would you dear? That's it, mmmsalty. Wot? You woz abused? YAYY! Here, my heart string, pluck it for me.
It's a mendacious manipulation of emotions and subjects. And surely the apogee of reality television is about to be scaled. The death of its überstar. I mean publicist Max Clifford will milk this one for every tearful cent there is to be squeezed from the teat of viewerdom. The golden goose is dying of a protracted disease after all, excellently for him it appears to be fatal, long enough to require our commitment to viewing Jade's tragedy, short enough that we won't tire of her death rattle. I mean it's the fucking holy grail of reality death.
So roll up rollup, get your viewing cards ready, unfurl the tissues of weepingdom. Brave Jade will marry her sprat Jack, she will kiss her two boys, there will be tears, tenderness, a spread in OK Magazine! We will share her joy of wifelyness even as we admire the bony shoudlers of her cancerliness. We will talk and witter and ponder. We will be entertained. Jade will entertain us. Right up until she draws her last camera ready breath.

Tears for the rapist.

Power put his two hands around her neck and she managed to scrape his face before he pulled down her clothes and raped her. She said her head was down between the toilet and cubicle and she felt pain as he raped her again.

The victim told Mr Justice Carney the rape had affected her as "a woman, girlfriend, daughter, sister, friend, work colleague and human being".




I was standing in the kitchen this morning with a cup of coffee listening in amazed disbelief to the mother of convicted rapist David Power as she wept over the lack of help her son received before he raped his last victim.
Power, who savagely attacked two other women before, was abused as a child she said, his sentence was too severe, she said, 'he had been failed by the system', she said.
Poor thing, my heart bleeds for him. I mean it's so obvious that he's a victim here, his pain drove him to hunt down, beat, choke and terrify women before raping them. His inner agony caused him to brutalise and rip apart lives.
Naturally he is now appealing the severity of his sentence, for nothing says remorse more than looking for a lighter sentence.
"He pleaded guilty to the rape, which took place on January 28, 2007. He had consumed 15 pints of stout, six shots of Aftershock and a "cocktail of ecstasy and speed"."
A few minutes after his mother was dribbling snot down the phone line a friend of his last victim texted the show, critical of Newstalk for giving her the interview.
If that was my daughter attacked in a bathroom of a fast food outlet I'd be pretty fucking angry too, as a woman it angers me to hear another woman pleading for understanding for a serial rapist. Everyone has a mother, being a mother does not allow you to excuse abhorrent behaviour nor seek excuses for it. Being abused does not excuse savage monstrous behaviour, being male or female does not excuse it. Being a risk to the public- that would be me and you- should mean you need to be locked away. He's been jailed twice, he raped again. Why should the public take the chance that he won't do it again? All evidence points to the contrary.
Tears are wasted on this man, but sympathy for his victims is not. This man does not deserve a fourth chance to rape again.

Roll that Spliff and burn that Dosh.

"Cannabis is a destructive drug. What can start as a few giggles and being part of the crowd can have serious and long-term health problems," she said. "Young people need to know cannabis isn't a soft drug."



Interesting to see out neighbours are spending 2.2 million on a new advertising campaign warning teenager on the 'dangers' of smoking cannabis. And by interesting I mean completely not interesting at all. They might as well collect that money and burn it for all the good it's going to do.
Since I am a non smoker I'm probably not overly qualified to make pronouncements on weed puffers, but my experience of folk who smoke- and that is legion- suggests to me that your average smoker is no nuttier, more violent, less functional, more insular or indeed any different than me and thee. Most smokers I know, roll the odd joint and relax, much like I'd pour a glass of Bordeaux.
Furthermore, I doubt adverts make any difference. Certainly ads like Diageo's 'drink sensibly' don't make the slightest bit of difference to me. I'll drink how I like thanks, sensibly sometimes, rather stupidly on other occasions. I can't imagine smokers are going to feel any differently.
I wonder how much money is spent on the 'war on drugs'. I wonder how better used that money could be? It's all seems rather pointless to me. But then it's Monday and I am a grump and frankly a bit down in the dumps.

Cats and carpets.

I like cats, I do, I have three of them so I must. But every so often this responsible pet owner feels like throttling her charges.
The Marklar, for no apparent reason, decided to pee on the large deep pile rug in the living room. said rug is now outside while I work out the best way to clean it and ensure the fragrant stench of cat wee is removed. For if not removed fully it's like an open invitation to reuse it as a bathroom.
Where is the Marklar now?
Sunning himself down the bottom of the garden, without a care in his one eyed bonce. Bah, a fine start to my Sunday.

Happy Valentine's day to you.

14th innit? You're all fighting your way free from roses and chocolates and cards and teddy bears clutching sateen hearts. I know, I know, of course you are.
And how am I going to romantify my Satdee? Why I'm going into town with the paramour to buy football boots. Ah yes, nothing signifies deep and abiding love more than shopping for football boots, why it's enough make a gal weak at the knees.
I've been dithering about this year on what challenge to set myself. I know I can run a marathon, I'm in the process of learning another lanuage. Oui, une autre langue, la langue de l'amour. My accent is pure Pepe le Pew, my hands do most of the talking for me. Bon, it is how it should be, just like my street Spanish-everything in the present tense, much snorting and looking offended. (The Catalans treat me as one of their own such is my gruff haughty delivery in Spanish, yes they hates it and love to hear it mangled. Bon dia!)
But in terms of goals, well I needz them. I am too old and too lazy not to need competition. Fortunately I am quite happy to compete against myself in my own head. Ah yes, a gift no doubt inherited from The Lilac One. Once we decide something, it is so. It's like clapping our hand and wriggling our noses at it.
So this year I have decided to devote myself- as I said to Finn- to the art of getting really bloody strong, and running slightly faster, possibly by cursing in French too.
To wit.

I FatMammyCat, gym goer and high heel wearer, do somewhat solemnly swear to attempt to master the following over the course of this year. 2009.

A dead lift at 100k ( that's kilos none of your sissy pounds malarky)
A bench press at 50 k
To squat 70k
To Push Press 40k
To Military press 30k
to perform one set of over head squats carrying 30k with falling over backward or forward.
To perform 10 ( count 'em) Dead hang pull ups, no kipping, no swinging of any sort.
To row 5k in 20 mins.
To run 10k in 50 minutes.


And that is this year's goal. Probably does not look like much, but it is plenty for me to be getting on with. For example, I currently cannot do ONE dead hang pull up. Not even one. Neither can I run 5k in under 25 minutes, let alone 10 in 50. I came in at 27:20 the other day and thought I was going to vomit getting off the blasted treadmill. No really. But I'll give it a bash. I can row 1k in 4:20, so that needs ample work too. The rest is pure graft and good form. I have good form-I am loath to get any kind of injury and you can minimise that by getting form right. The only one I'm really looking forward to is hitting the 100k on the deadlift. I can already lift 82.5k see, so 100k doesn't really REALLY seem that daunting.I don't need these hands, right?
Hurrah for challenges! It makes getting dressed and leaving your desk more entertaining.
Bring on the DOMS!

Children having children

I believe I am very much against it.
The rest of the article is here, but basically this 13 year old boy and his 15 year old girfriend have welcomed their new baby into the world. The next big problem facing them is how to raise the child on Dad's 10 pound a week pocket money.
Seriously.

Bleeeeeee!

Lee Redmond's nails hadn't been cut since 1979. But she lost them Tuesday in a SUV crash, she survived with out serious injury

"The Salt Lake City, Utah resident was listed in the Guinness Book of World Records, which claimed her nails measured a total of more than 28 feet long in 2008."

The longest nail - on her right thumb - was a sickening 2 feet, 11 inches.

In an interview in 1995, Redmond, 68, said she once turned down $10,000 to trim her nails on Japanese TV.

Salt Lake County Sheriff's Lt. Don Hutson says Redmond was ejected from an SUV in the crash and taken to the hospital in serious condition.

Redmond has been featured on TV in episodes of 'Guinness Book of World Records' and 'Ripley's Believe It or Not.'"

( daily wail)


Seriously, bleee, how did she cook? How did she eat? How did she wipe her bum? Zip up her pants, take her make up off. How How WHY? WHY?
After the sad and tragic loss of Ted earlier in the week, articles like this certainly put things into perspective. I must go now and do the dance of yackiness.

Ginger Day Dancing.

Top of Ginger Day to you. I am delighted to discover on the interweb, 'angry dancing'.
I love the idea of having a dance to express how you feel, although not interpretive dance or any of that bollocks- 'Quick Charmaine, you are a tree, a tree on a moor, and there's lightening, and fog, and howling wee beasties! Now Dance it. DANCE IT LIKE YOU"VE NEVER DANCED IT BEFORE!" ( I was in drama school, I know this sort of thing, I did mime for chrissake. MIME!)
I already have a 'spoiled brat' dance, where I do skippity hops in a tight circle when ever I don't get my own way. This is a left over move from my much ignrored younger self, where twirling twirling always twirling was the only way a cat could stop herself from poisoning her assembled female family members. Verily there is a lot to be said for twirling.
I also have a very fine dance for when the phone rings too often in the house, sometimes that dance ends with the phone sailing in a magical arc to the bottom of the garden. True story- the phone has been chucked out the back door so many times now it doesn't really work any longer, leaving the paramour to frown and say things like, 'These portable phones are really rubbish, how many is this we've had?'
'Dunno lovely person' I will say, twirling from the room. ( Avoidance dancing)
Phones! Highly over rated tools. Dances for emotions, highly thumbed up this fine SPRING like morning.

Mobile minivan of bee-bees!

No really, I know, I know, I'm a woman, I get it, I do I swear, life, birth, beautiful, mystery of life, beautiful, natural, yep yep, all of that...
And yet when I looked at the photo of Nadya Suleman, taken a scant 8 days before she popped out 8 babies, I'm convinced I could actually feel my hymen re-growing. Either that or it was my womb pulling down its shutters and loading the double guage.
I'm going to the gym.

Murder, how shocking.

"McGovern told gardai that he was shocked that he had pulled a knife on somebody and had only taken out the knife to scare Michael Doherty and didn't mean to make contact."
Yep, shocked. That's the line that struck me the most in this case.


Forethought and malice are factors to murder and murder is often defined as "to kill intentionally and with premeditation"
So, bearing that in mind, how is it even possible that John McGovern was able to skate on a manslaughter charge? Because he says he was 'shocked' to find a knife in his hand? 'Shocked' he swung it and stabbed his victim? 'Shocked' he gloated over his victim's death later? Lucky he wasn't carrying a samurai sword eh? Then he'd be super shocked, and probably in big trouble to boot.
John McGovern insulted his victim, goaded him into fight, then when bested in the fight by Michael Doherty, a young man no stranger to boxing, he pulled a knife on him and despite being held back he managed to land a fatal blow, killing the 14 year old.
Must have been the most shocking night of his life.
How is that not murder? No really, what did he think might happen when he struck the boy with a dangerous weapon?
'He was a knacker, he deserved it.'
Wow, I wonder was he in 'shock' when he said that?
"Mr Gageby said that there was no intent by McGovern to kill or even cause serious harm when he swung out with the knife."

Hard to prove intent- I get it. So what was the intention of this youth? He starts a fight with a 'knacker', is furious to shown up by a younger boy and then -despite being held back- manages to kill him using an offensive weapon. What was his intention I wonder?
I'm guessing it the outcome wasn't too far off what he had in mind, but then I'm not the law and I obviously don't understand 'shock' as well as some. See, in my stupid head I reckon any hot head pulling a knife has to factor in the likelihood of fatality, but there you go. I'm silly like that.

I Hate PETA, part...erm, one hundred and eleventy-three?

I hate PETA. I hate them with the strength of at least eight kittens. They are disgusting a manipulative sexist pet-killing bunch of assholes of the highest order.
They equate feeding your child meat with child abuse. Wearing fur/leather/ suede with barbaric cruelty, owning a pet with slavery, buying a puppy with killing a shelter dog, and not being a naked slender photoshopped woman with...well something or other.
So bearing this in mind even I was mildly surprised to see them equating The American Kennel Club with the KKK, you know, that band of merry god fearing Christians who liked to oppress African Americans, women, gays, liberals, jews, and oh you know, everyone who wasn't an Oppressive White Christian Male (OWCM)>
See, dog breeders are = or > than OWCM or KKK.
Got that? Good.
Now excuse me while I carry on hating them for being a thoughtless bunch of pet killing jerks.

Disgusting things on a pefectly mild Wednesday.

Morning Pork Chops. I slept it in and have yet to peruse the papers. Frankly I'm not sure I want to read the papers today, I'm sure they will be filled with annoyances and irritations and sad things and since my day has started with maximum snorage I really don't want to feck it up. Ignorance is bliss and all that.
Plus I have my own worries.
Last night tragedy befell me. Tragedy that was LAUGHED at. I'm perplexed by it all.
I ran a marathon last October, same as the year before. And same as the year before I bruised my second toe-even though I very carefully clipped my nails short as hell the night before.
Last night I had a shower and was about to get into bed when I noticed second toe, or Ted* as I now call him, looked funny. Upon investigation I was horrified to discover my toe nail lifts up like the door of a DeLorean!
Bleeeugh! Four months? I thought I had gotten away with it, but NO! Four bloody months later it decides to squick me out.
I panicked, and in gibbering horror grabbed a plaster and wound it tightly around Ted, I know it's not going to magically fix it, but at least I can't see it. Although I know it's there, being disgusting and lifty.
'Boo hoo.' I said, flappingly.
The paramour laughed and said REALLY useful things like,'Honey it's just a nail, why are you getting so upset over it, ha ha ha.'
To which I could only reply, 'Stop laughing at me. I have a trauma.'
And this for some readon struck him as very funny, and he tittered some more, leading me to plot how best to have my revenge. So far I have come up with pushing him down a flight of stairs. Yes, that's how I roll in my head.
I have a thing about this sort of thing, double things. Teeth and nails, I don't like them. Well I don't mind them, but only as long as they work perfectly and I don't have to think about them. Now I have to think about this. How will I shower in the gym? I can feel it moving. It knows I'm thinking about it. It's going to have to come off isn't it? But how? Will I have to pull it? I'll squeee myself to death if I do. And then waht? What lies beneath? Oh yack, YACK! This is right up there with things I never want to think about EVER.
Stupid bits hanging off that should be not hanging off, I am against them.


* swings both ways.

Eluana Englaro has died.

I've been following the story of this poor woman, and her father's struggle to let his daughter die in peace for a while now. My interest in her was ratcheted up to the nth degree by that disgusting base foul Silvio Berlusconi's comments earlier in the week.
The Italian prime minister- after consultation with the Vatican- issued an emergency decree stating that food and water couldn't be suspended for any patient depending upon them, reversing an earlier court ruling. On issuing the emergency decree, Berlusconi declared: "This is murder. I would be failing to rescue her. I'm not a Pontius Pilate."

"Justifying his campaign to save Englaro's life, the prime minister added that, physically at least, she was "in the condition to have babies", a remark described by La Stampa newspaper as "shocking"."

Honestly, what a fucking cruel joke, 'in the condition to have babies.' How? How? By raping her? By impregnating her body when her mind is no longer available to give or refuse consent. What a disgusting clown that man is. Women are just baby making vessels to him. Alive or not, cognisant or not.
How can anyone look at this poor woman and her family and not see it as anything but a mercy to let her die. How can it be turned into a political circus?

The Vatican's "health minister", Cardinal Javier Lozano Barragán, expressed the hope that "The Lord would receive her and pardon whoever has brought her to this point." The Roman Catholic hierarchy has vigorously backed the Berlusconi government's efforts to thwart what it claimed was an attempt to introduce euthanasia into Italy by the backdoor.

Revive her? If such a deity existed he had 17 years to revive her and didn't bother to do so. The woman was dead. She died in a car crash in 1992. Poor Beppino, her father, I hope he is allowed to grieve in peace.
And as for that cretin Berlusconi, may his balls wither and die on the vine long before his brain.

When A Man Hits a Woman.

Ain't it funny, singer Chris Brown has a fight and hits his girlfriend, singer Rihanna-hard enough to leave her bruised according to reports- and one of the first comments I got to read was 'I wonder what she did to make him hit her?' Yep, chumlies, oh yep.

The Children Question.

A comment in the Guardian had me laughing up a gale.

"In general, if, at a party someone asks me whether we have kids I say
"we can't have kids"
If they press further I tell them that it is because
"we both hate kids"

I do like a well thought out argument.

The lilac one says, 'I like children, but I couldn't eat a whole one.' She's lying of course, twice.

Homeopathy, how to charge people for water and smile.

Wow, just wow. I'm nicking this from PZ because it froze the damn smile on my face this morning and now I have to go shopping for a dress with CG and I won't be able to smile while doing it. Imagine being a poor sick person waiting for help and having a fucking quack turn up and peddle woo at you. What's next, magicians without borders? Psychics without borders?
As they say on southpark, YOU BASTARDS!.

Shirley Manson is expertly cast AND a ginger.

Whilst devouring a ginger fruit pastille last night mid Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, it occurred to me that Shirley Manson is not a truly appalling actress with about as much flare as my nostril and as much range as an anvil, no no, I was looking at it all wrong. She is in fact rather brilliantly cast as an emotionless stiff robot wth a Scottish accent send from the future. Fair play to ya Shirley, I thought, selecting a green fruit pastille next, you have restored my faith in ginger. Just goes to show there's a place for all of us out there if you just look at shit the right way.

Knife Wars and government powers.

Statistics released yesterday also show possession-of-knife offences jumped by a third between 2006 and 2008. Other startling figures included:

A third of knife crimes happen in public areas and over a quarter happen in the home.

More than one in six knife crimes occur in shops.

Nine out of 10 knife crime offenders are male and seven out of 10 knife victims are male.

Three out of 10 knife crime offenders are under 20 and one in seven victims are under 20.

Launching the campaign, How Big Do You Feel?, Garda Commissioner Fachtna Murphy said it was particularly aimed at young people.



That was from the Examiner.


It was with rolled eyes and a sneery tilt I see Dermot Ahern has decided to ban Samurai swords from being bought or imported into the country. Coz you know how folk are always getting attacked with swords, right?
This is not unlike the restricted dog act, knee jerk policy acted on with disturbing haste, mild mannered Germans shepherds, Staffies and Dobermans and Akitas all tarred with the one ignorant brush and now Samurai Swords. Dangerous you see.
Frankly- as I look out across my frozen garden this morning- I'm surprised the government hasn't considered banning ice. Dangerous you see. Or cars, dangerous you see. Or large televisions, I believe more than one child has been killed by them falling this year, dangerous you see. Are they next? Oh say it ain;'t so, the Paramour will be heartbroken.
Year after year after year after year more stupid things are being banned in this country and more iffy powers introduced. The Gardai can search you without a warrant now? Will they be able to come into your home next without one? How about schools? How about we just commit ourselves fully to a government run island where we can told what to wear, what to think, what to do and what to feel. Anyone objecting can be chased by a large white ball down a hill.
The bill will also ban the sale and importation of swords, particularly samurai swords, which have been used in a number of attacks. Mr Ahern said while homicides involving knives doubled from 18 in 2006 to 37 in 2007, they fell to 15 in 2008.
Yes fucking samurai swords are dangerous, but only in the wrong hands. Most Samurai swords I know of are gathering dust criss-crossed on people's living room walls. Why shouldn't they have them? Why not ban Stanley blades while we're at it. I know they're normally used as tools for cutting shit, but hey, they've been used in attacks- probably in way more attacks than swords, I'd like to see the figures on that. Ornaments, bad, tools good? You can be killed by both so where is the logic?
This is claptrap of the highest order. Most stabbings in THIS country are carried out by very ordinary kitchen knives in the hands of very ordinary idiots, usually with too much drink on board ( hey! Lets ban that too dangerous you see). Are we going to ban kitchen knives? There are several knives in my kitchen that could take your bloomin' head off, will I expect the gardai to come a knocking some time soon?
Of course with congestion charges coming and the government cracking down on 'non essential traffic'( who gets to decide what is essential and non essential, why the government) we the plebs will not be concerned with swords and searches, oh no, but we should be, because once again one more pointless rule has been forced upon us and we're just supposed to sit there and be grateful that our betters know what's good for us.
Bollocks.
Enforced stupidity, I am against it.

Stupid Weather.

I walked to the gym, it was snowing up a storm and I didn't want to take the car in case of more snow and drifts and the need for huskies.
Went in, worked out, decided arms are done for. Raced a 4:28 k on the rower after a 2k warm up. Did I mention I pulled a set of deadlifts at 82.5k yesterday? No? How unusually unboastful of me. ANYHOO after some rather pathetic push presses I gave up trying to kill myself and headed to the changing rooms, the weather forecast on the radio was snow and more snow. I beamed.
Feeling hot feeling good how are you?
After a long shower I dressed pulled my hat real low, do I look like a mind-reader sir? I don't know, put on my music, Threats, The Black Album, har de har.
Went outside and...
Where's the farking snow gone?
Sludged home, defeated and soggy.
This country gives me smegma rot.

Let's get Physical, And Pray, Not Weigh!

God bless Kim Ayers for opening mine filthy eyes up to new and wondrous possibilities! I mean a gal can go through life just blinkered yanno?
I thought I had the woo down. I thought my natural eyebrow arching was done diddly done. Pfft to reiki ( spit spit) point accusingly, nay mockingly, at psychics, snorteth with gay abandon at starvation diets like Lipotrim and assorted mumbo jumbo that people like to spend money on.
But what if there's a way to dance with the woo and keep a firm hold on your wallet AND lose weight at the same time? What then?
Pray away the fat or as Kim nicely titled it, Love God More Than your Stomach!


"You can live within normal and healthy weight limits if only you love God more than you love your stomach. Right now you use food to numb your emotional distress, and you fear that without using food as a psychological defense your life will be nothing but empty pain.

Therefore, to overcome the habit of constantly reaching for something to fill your stomach, endeavor to teach yourself to act in new ways. Recognize the urge to use food as a way to numb emotional pain, and then return food to its proper place in your life: not as a psychological defense but as a holy gift of nutrition. This takes considerable conscious effort—still, it is all possible through graceful trust in God’s help and protection."

Well blow me, the holy gift of nutrition is being abused. And if I'm reading it all correctly-and I hope that I am- lying fat women with daddy issues need only to turn to an invisible sky Daddy and admit to being sinful BEFORE a big meal and lo, their self worth will magically appear and a gentle and guiding hand will make her put down the cookie of Satan and lift the rice cake of Christ! Huzzah, we's saved. SAVED!

Get thee into the bathroom wretches! Stand upon the judgement dais of the lord. Pray wishfully as the poundage of salvation climbs ever higher. Repent, repent if thy BMI be high, or your fat doth jiggle, know ye that ye have cocked a snoop at the judgey sky lord and despite your best efforts he is frowning at you and talking about you behind your back to skinny minny Jesus.
For it is written, Invisible sky gods are really mean like that.

Cats and Dogs, Men and Woman.

Being a woman and a feminist ( ow, paws on mouth, she said what now?) it is assumed I like cats. Actually being a cat owner it is assumed I like cats, (I do). But did you know a person can like cats AND dogs!! I know, it's CLEARLY a fiercesome lie.
Oh yes I do. It's a right strange one is it not. Some feminists actually like cats and dogs, and think that liking both is rather easy and not a terrible chore, and they can even cheerfully recognise that cats and dogs have subtle and unsubtle differences. Raised right, cats and dogs often get along really really well with each other. No I SWEAR, it's totally true!
But first, let me roll out some cliches for you.
Cats- aloof, unfriendly, only in it for the food, aloof, they'd eat you if you died, aloof.
Dogs- loyal, friendly, don't care if you feed them or not, friendly, won't eat you if you die, friendly.
Got that? Dogs, friendly, loyal (and men like them).
Cats, aloof, will eat you the moment your dead back is turned, (women like them).
Now I know readers to MY blog are too smart to fall for this blatant fuckwittery, but over the rest of the blogosphere the peoples, well dey be less than enlightened.
Do we really need to attribute human personalities and quirks and sexist overtones to the animal world in order to disparage each other. Can't a dog be aloof and a bit of a bollocks? What the hell does the Dog Whisperer do all the time if not try to unbollox dogs who are vicious and mean and actually 'misunderstood.' Are all dogs affable fools who'll just love you if you just feed them and rub their bellies and let them play with balls every so often. Er, no. So are all men affable fools who....well you see where I"m going with this.
I can't remember ever being chased by a pack of territorial cats.
Are cats aloof? They can be, they're small animals so need to be on the look out for trouble. Are ALL cats aloof? Nope. Are they really plotting your demise while shedding hair all over the couch you worked so fucking hard to pay for? Will they be out on the tiles the moment you're back is turned? Maybe. So will all women eat you the moment you turn your back? Er, nope.
Know why?
Because we're not fucking cats and dogs, and cats and dogs are not folk.
We are all individuals! YES! WE ARE ALL INDIVIDUALS. (He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy.)
Anyone who wants to take the time to read between the lines on this one should open a Twix first.
In the mean time I'm off to gym where I will arch my back pleasingly and scratch some one's eyes out if they so much as wag their tail at me. Cause oh yeah, that's what mean aloof cats do to affable loyal kind hearted dogs.

Smugglers coos.

Now, there are some people who panic when faced with flappy boids like pigeons. I'm not one of them. I like boids. But some people are REALLY fond of them it seems.

This hairy lumox was caught smuggling two pigeons into Australia.

"The 23-year-old man ( australian), who had come off a ten-hour flight from Dubai, was also allegedly carrying plant seeds in a money belt, two bird eggs in a vitamin container in his pocket, and eggplant samples in his bag when he was stopped at Sydney airport."
( Mirror)

Seriously. Some folk.

People are stupid when they drive.

Holy crap some people ought not to be let behind the wheel of a car. I had to drop Puddy at the vets for her ear cleaning earlier, a journey of less than five miles. And as I returned home it occurred to me that there are a few things which should be pretty obvious to most drivers.
If weather conditions are poor, fog, swirling snow/sleet, that sort of thing, put your bloody lights on.
If the ENTIRE windscreen of your car is covered in snow take it off before you drive. Do not put your hazards on and do it just before you enter a round about, you absolute idiot.
Slush can be slippy, drive slower.
Slush can spray small school kids if you drive through it quickly, don't be a prick.
Your journey is probably going to take longer in bad weather, leave earlier and be prepared to drive slower.
Don't fucking text while driving. Especially -ESPECIALLY -while driving on a busy road in poor weather conditions.
No, you don't have x-ray vision, clear the snow from your mirrors and windows.
DRIVE SLOWER.

Idiots.

Michael Phelps and the Bong.

Having 8 gold Olympic medals is no protection from cameras. I don't know, he's apologised, he's 23, who amongst us hasn't done something stupid at 23. Indeed 33, and I suspect many other 3 variables. Can't imagine it's good for a swimmer though.

Snow and Ray La Montagne? Squeee!

Hurrah, we have snow! The cats are befuddled, especially the Marklar, the little one eyed dweeb.
Saw Ray La Montagne last night, how can such a teeny tiny man have such a voice? The paramour sold his extra ticket at face value to two delighted charming girls, after poo pooing a tout's ridiculous offer to buy it for less than half its worth, then the tout tried to flog tickets to the girls. Pah, foolish touts! Then more touts came and we fled before they touted us to smithereens. The concert was magical, then we had kebabs, which were utterly disgusting and utterly delicious at the same time and now we have snow.
Gee, some days are just too freaking excellent for words.