Just returned from a birthday visit to my Mother which is always an experience. Experience One involved me having to attend the burial and small funeral service for half a dead mouse she found in the garden. The ARSE end of the dead mouse at that. My cousin's cat has recently gone to live with her and despite the evidence being a bit on the circumstantial side, he is the prime suspect. In fact, not so much a suspect but the official guilty party. No trial, no witnesses, no nothing - just half a corpse.
The other observation I have involves her TV. She has about 4 different remote controls and it drives me crazy as I can never work out which one does what! I don't even know why she bothers; the TV is always set to some US Crime channel and she just watches CSI (NY, Vegas and the dreadful Miami one - how did that ginger arse David Caruso ever get work? He looks like his eyes have been sewn in with red thread, he over acts in a comedy mean and moody way - but he believes it, and is a thoroughly unlikeable person. Out of the 3 in the franchise, his is the shittest by far), NCIS, Law and Order and god, other similar shows all night EVERY night. I actually found myself appreciating them, even the one's I'd seen the previous night and knew what was going to happen, and that's why I could never go back there to live permanently. I might just give up on rational thought in order to sit with an anaesthetised brain watching made up crime. At least I'll know if someone is poisoning me with Selenium - I'll have horrendous garlic breath.
...and so to THE conversation. Before I continue, I have to advise that whilst I love my extended family, they can be very judgemental, mocking and erm.....I won't beat around the bush - EVIL. I had mentioned to my Mother that I hadn't been feeling very unwell and my (cough) lady internal bits seemed a bit sluggish and, being the hypochondriac that I am, I was assuming I was terminally ill.
Mother: You aren't PREGNANT are you?
Me: Well, he hasn't performed that one since Bethlehem actually Mother.
That brief exchange made me reflect and once I again I got lost in bizarre and unnatural thoughts. I did think that if the Lord was going to pick someone to carry the new Messiah, she'd at least have to be a genuine virgin and not someone who's basically become 're-virginated' due to the very real fact she can't get any! I then thought about me having a new Messiah and how 'the family' would behave. Of course, they wouldn't be supportive or believing. They'd mock us both. They'd laugh behind our backs and question why he was wearing a dress, take the piss out of his sandals and whisper about his decision to hang about with 12 other guys. They'd make snippy comments that his hair was too long and that his beard would look like he'd got a vagina stuck to his face. In fact, his secret family nickname would be 'fanny-face'. See, I know my family, have heard the stuff they've said about people and know that this would be the way. No Messiah, new or old would survive my family without ending up with a whole bucket full of neuroses and paranoia's. My cousin and I have discussed this at length and know that we've gone wrong. We've only survived by doing strange things for our own amusement and by small acts of evil here and there. We both know this. We both know that we're never right. For fuck sake, she PUNCHED a baked potato and doesn't even know why! I pissed everywhere at work once 'cause I had to find out whether incontinence pads really worked (they don't. Well, they do for drips but not for the entire contents of a full adult bladder) In fact LINK to story.
So, in conclusion, I worry for the fate of mankind if I was forced to be the re-virgin mother to the new Messiah.
Finally, I had a gig in the week and suspect I'd travelled into the world of the strange. All I knew is that the promotor was called Dave and I only had a sketchy idea of what he looked like. My cousin and I went into the pub and found a bloke sitting at the bar in the lounge area.
Cousin Lisa: Hi, we're looking for Dave
Bloke: Oh, I think you'll find him in the bar.
(we duly went next door into the other bar room. When we got there we discovered that the bar was the same one for the lounge and this bar with one elderly guy serving both rooms. We could see the first bloke from where we were.
Cousin Lisa (to ancient barman): Hi, we're looking for Dave
Ancient Barman (shouting through to the first bloke): Dave, have you seen Dave?
First Bloke: No, I thought he was in there with you!
(Enter another bloke)
Ancient Barman: You alright Dave?
(Lisa and I perk up our ears)
Ancient Barman to this Dave: Dave, have YOU seen Dave?
Dave: No, dunno where he is...
...and that's how it went. We did find the correct Dave in the end but the situation made me wonder why all the other Daves didn't just assume they were the Dave we wanted. Do they spend their family lives never thinking anyone requires them? As for the gig, it was at a venue I'd never played before. The set went quite well actually with plenty of audience participation despite the MC quietly whispering an apology to me for killing the atmosphere in the room prior to my set. Cousin Lisa filmed the set and I might even put it up on YouTube if I can be arsed. I'll be sure to post a link if I do!
Sketty (30 September - ?)isn’t a 17th Century English naval administrator or Member of Parliament. Furthermore, she has never met King Charles II or King James II. This may be due to both being dead at the time of her life. In fact, this isn’t so much a diary but the unedited spewings from the brain of one of the Century’s leading cretins. Some of it may develop into comedy unless I get to spend time in a lovely facility where someone will give me dinner.
Showing posts with label stand up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stand up. Show all posts
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Friday, 19 November 2010
The door
According to Chortle, Jo Brand reckons that lots of comedians are mentally disturbed. I'm not sure I agree. http://www.chortle.co.uk/news/2010/11/18/12170/lots_of_comics_are_mentally_disturbed .
I performed at Belly Laughs, Worthing last night and it went really well. Really REALLY well to be precise and the guy asked if I'd be prepared to travel over there on a monthly basis. I said I would but I know that my inherent laziness will kick in and I'll end up weeping real tears of anguish at having to come up with fresh material every month. I am a prolific writer but I'm a lazy-arsed routine learner. I remember the debacle that was my 'Funny Women' competition set at Komedia, Brighton. Yeah I'd been ill for about a week before the gig and had had spent hours stuck in traffic getting there (it was not only a Bank Holiday weekend, the Brighton Comedy Festival AND it was bloody hot) but I had cobbled together a load of old shit made up of some of my old routines. Minute I got on stage I pretty much forgot everything and had spent the time trying to engage with an audience who seemed to be miles away instead (it was a bloody high stage). It was pretty cringe worthy and I have learned my lesson about ensuring you know what the fuck you are going to say BEFORE you get on stage.
Here are some sad things (sad in a pathetic way) I want to document. Having spent too many winter gigs being lost in the dark trying to find/leave venues I decided to get a Sat Nav and boy, I bloody love the thing. Got to and from Worthing soooooo easily. I picked the man's voice and have named him Timothy. I just wish he sounded hot rather than authoritarian. I guess that with the authoritarian voice I do jump to his commands, I'm sure I'd argue back with a hot guy, decide I no longer fancy him and then get really uncontrollably angry whenever he told me to do something. The second sad thing is that I left the house tonight to go pick up Chinese food but spotted 2 giant red rubber bands on the floor outside the house.
"Ooooh, lovely big rubber bands!" I'd exclaimed (out loud and with no shame), bending over to pocket them before anyone else could.
I'd felt more excitement than I had done all day. What the hell was THAT all about? It wasn't until I was back in the car that I realised how unbelievably pathetic I'd been. Who sodding well covets abandoned rubber bands in the street? I think I'd even looked over my shoulder conspiratorially as I was standing back up to make sure it wasn't a trap or in case someone was about to leap out and claim them for themselves.
Leading up to this moment I'd lain in bed pretty much all day under the guise of having had a late night when in fact, I'm just a lazy bitch. I'd refused to get up to answer the phone, walk the dogs, go to the loo (despite the pain in my bladder) or take food and water. Then, housemate (and Tidiness Nazi) Steph nipped out to the shop. I tell you, no more than 3 minutes after she had gone someone rang the doorbell. Horrified I just sat there in bed, my heart pounding. My brave hero of a dog ran in and hid with me in my room. What the hell were we going to do? There was no one available to answer the door! Breathing heavily and eyes wide with fear I moved to the landing to listen out to see if I could gain any insight of who was at the bloody door. As I moved with stealth the person then KNOCKED! With a muted yelp I ran back into my bedroom and hid hoping that whoever was there would just leave. After a while I thought I was safe and started to venture out of the door again but then the person knocked again only harder as if they knew I was in! OH MY GOD.
Then it sounded as if they were knocking the kitchen window.
The persistence of this person made me seriously consider going down stairs but it was 4pm and I was wearing obvious pyjamas and had make up smeared all over my face. I looked at myself in the full length mirror wondering if I could disguise the fact that I'd wasted a precious day of life by refusing to leave my room but alas, I could not. I miserably picked up the hair slide which had travelled over night to some weird part of my head and miserably tried to fix my nest-like hair as THAT would make me look as if I'd been leading a worthy life all day (sigh). I looked around for a full length coat to hide the obviously pyjama-age but as I didn't have one my search was pretty much useless. I made the decision that even though the persistent door knocker might have some important information to impart I had no alternative but to continue to hide and gently weep with fear over the thought that I might be forced to engage with a stranger or even worse, A NEIGHBOUR! It was a fucking nightmare and it took what seemed like ages before the knocker got back into their vehicle and drove off.
Shit! I hope it wasn't the police telling me Steph had been in a horrific accident and was asking for me (I'd thought with guilt). Turns out it was the postman trying to deliver a parcel. Damn.
Something similar happened last year when I had to hide from an elderly neighbour who absolutely would not stop knocking the door and calling through the letterbox. I had been hiding with my back against the wall and had quietly phoned Steph in fear and panic to tell her of the trauma I was experiencing. Her response? "Answer the fucking door then!" See? No help whatsoever. This woman had been so persistent that I was being drawn to the fact that I would have to answer the door but then how would I explain the huge delay? It's not as if I live in a mansion and had been in the south wing or anything. That had been terrible, I'd have had to crawl on my belly to reach the door but in the end I just put my hands over my ears and said 'la la la la' to myself over and over until she either went away or died on the step. Her voice had been getting weaker and weaker. Oh why won't people leave me alone?
I performed at Belly Laughs, Worthing last night and it went really well. Really REALLY well to be precise and the guy asked if I'd be prepared to travel over there on a monthly basis. I said I would but I know that my inherent laziness will kick in and I'll end up weeping real tears of anguish at having to come up with fresh material every month. I am a prolific writer but I'm a lazy-arsed routine learner. I remember the debacle that was my 'Funny Women' competition set at Komedia, Brighton. Yeah I'd been ill for about a week before the gig and had had spent hours stuck in traffic getting there (it was not only a Bank Holiday weekend, the Brighton Comedy Festival AND it was bloody hot) but I had cobbled together a load of old shit made up of some of my old routines. Minute I got on stage I pretty much forgot everything and had spent the time trying to engage with an audience who seemed to be miles away instead (it was a bloody high stage). It was pretty cringe worthy and I have learned my lesson about ensuring you know what the fuck you are going to say BEFORE you get on stage.
Here are some sad things (sad in a pathetic way) I want to document. Having spent too many winter gigs being lost in the dark trying to find/leave venues I decided to get a Sat Nav and boy, I bloody love the thing. Got to and from Worthing soooooo easily. I picked the man's voice and have named him Timothy. I just wish he sounded hot rather than authoritarian. I guess that with the authoritarian voice I do jump to his commands, I'm sure I'd argue back with a hot guy, decide I no longer fancy him and then get really uncontrollably angry whenever he told me to do something. The second sad thing is that I left the house tonight to go pick up Chinese food but spotted 2 giant red rubber bands on the floor outside the house.
"Ooooh, lovely big rubber bands!" I'd exclaimed (out loud and with no shame), bending over to pocket them before anyone else could.
I'd felt more excitement than I had done all day. What the hell was THAT all about? It wasn't until I was back in the car that I realised how unbelievably pathetic I'd been. Who sodding well covets abandoned rubber bands in the street? I think I'd even looked over my shoulder conspiratorially as I was standing back up to make sure it wasn't a trap or in case someone was about to leap out and claim them for themselves.
Leading up to this moment I'd lain in bed pretty much all day under the guise of having had a late night when in fact, I'm just a lazy bitch. I'd refused to get up to answer the phone, walk the dogs, go to the loo (despite the pain in my bladder) or take food and water. Then, housemate (and Tidiness Nazi) Steph nipped out to the shop. I tell you, no more than 3 minutes after she had gone someone rang the doorbell. Horrified I just sat there in bed, my heart pounding. My brave hero of a dog ran in and hid with me in my room. What the hell were we going to do? There was no one available to answer the door! Breathing heavily and eyes wide with fear I moved to the landing to listen out to see if I could gain any insight of who was at the bloody door. As I moved with stealth the person then KNOCKED! With a muted yelp I ran back into my bedroom and hid hoping that whoever was there would just leave. After a while I thought I was safe and started to venture out of the door again but then the person knocked again only harder as if they knew I was in! OH MY GOD.
Then it sounded as if they were knocking the kitchen window.
The persistence of this person made me seriously consider going down stairs but it was 4pm and I was wearing obvious pyjamas and had make up smeared all over my face. I looked at myself in the full length mirror wondering if I could disguise the fact that I'd wasted a precious day of life by refusing to leave my room but alas, I could not. I miserably picked up the hair slide which had travelled over night to some weird part of my head and miserably tried to fix my nest-like hair as THAT would make me look as if I'd been leading a worthy life all day (sigh). I looked around for a full length coat to hide the obviously pyjama-age but as I didn't have one my search was pretty much useless. I made the decision that even though the persistent door knocker might have some important information to impart I had no alternative but to continue to hide and gently weep with fear over the thought that I might be forced to engage with a stranger or even worse, A NEIGHBOUR! It was a fucking nightmare and it took what seemed like ages before the knocker got back into their vehicle and drove off.
Shit! I hope it wasn't the police telling me Steph had been in a horrific accident and was asking for me (I'd thought with guilt). Turns out it was the postman trying to deliver a parcel. Damn.
Something similar happened last year when I had to hide from an elderly neighbour who absolutely would not stop knocking the door and calling through the letterbox. I had been hiding with my back against the wall and had quietly phoned Steph in fear and panic to tell her of the trauma I was experiencing. Her response? "Answer the fucking door then!" See? No help whatsoever. This woman had been so persistent that I was being drawn to the fact that I would have to answer the door but then how would I explain the huge delay? It's not as if I live in a mansion and had been in the south wing or anything. That had been terrible, I'd have had to crawl on my belly to reach the door but in the end I just put my hands over my ears and said 'la la la la' to myself over and over until she either went away or died on the step. Her voice had been getting weaker and weaker. Oh why won't people leave me alone?
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Stoned
So I had a gig in Bournemouth last night. It was a stressful journey, driving in the dark and the rain with barely a clue as to where the bleedin' hell I was going. I'd of course printed off a route planner but hadn't even considered it'd be too dark to read the thing. I found myself lost for a goodly amount of time and only found the venue by accident through just driving about towards areas that looked a bit comedic. Sometimes I just love how the chaos theory works out...
When I arrived my chest felt tight and as I'm still recovering from Consumption (she said, full of hypochondria), I took 2 paracetamol extra before going into the venue to let the promoter know I was there. They were still setting up so I went back to the car for another quick run through of my set.
I started to cough so rifled through my bag to find the bottle of vile tasting Covonia cough medicine and took a massive swig. I'm not really certain what happened next, I sort of became a bit distracted, forgot a chunk of the set (I think I only remembered the first 2 minutes and some of that was a bit ropey) and became unusually nervous.
I went back in and learned that pretty much all of the audience were in fact fellow comedians and as the weather was closing in, there was little prospect of further 'audience-age'. Great. I find that mostly, other comedians tend to make for a shit audience. I suspect they don't like to laugh as they feel they are being disrespectful to their own comedy (unless they're friends with you and need you to laugh heartily at them in return).
As I sat and waited for everything to kick off I realised that my limbs were sort of light and were in fact floating away. I smiled. Then I realised my head was somewhere completely different and I felt good. Well, sort of good. I didn't really know anything and couldn't think. I hadn't a clue what my first line was going to be but still I sat there with something of a half smile on my face in a fuzz of happiness. I sent The Tidiness Nazi (best friend/housemate Steph) a text telling her that I thought I was stoned on Covonia. She helpfully pointed out that I'd taken 2 paracetamol extra tablets about 10 minutes before I'd swigged the cough medicine. Shiit, I'd forgotten about that.
Bleedin hell. Have I O.D'd on paracetamol and Covonia? It feels lovely but through the haze I did realise it wasn't the best state to be in with less than half an hour before I'm meant to perform stand up. Stilllll, it didn't matter, nothing mattered
sigh.......
Oh yeah, I'll have to drive home too.
Bollocks.
All I have to say is that I performed well under the influence of over the counter meds and made it home in one piece. I only got lost 4 times too!
All in all, mysteriously a success. Perhaps Covonia is the key!
When I arrived my chest felt tight and as I'm still recovering from Consumption (she said, full of hypochondria), I took 2 paracetamol extra before going into the venue to let the promoter know I was there. They were still setting up so I went back to the car for another quick run through of my set.
I started to cough so rifled through my bag to find the bottle of vile tasting Covonia cough medicine and took a massive swig. I'm not really certain what happened next, I sort of became a bit distracted, forgot a chunk of the set (I think I only remembered the first 2 minutes and some of that was a bit ropey) and became unusually nervous.
I went back in and learned that pretty much all of the audience were in fact fellow comedians and as the weather was closing in, there was little prospect of further 'audience-age'. Great. I find that mostly, other comedians tend to make for a shit audience. I suspect they don't like to laugh as they feel they are being disrespectful to their own comedy (unless they're friends with you and need you to laugh heartily at them in return).
As I sat and waited for everything to kick off I realised that my limbs were sort of light and were in fact floating away. I smiled. Then I realised my head was somewhere completely different and I felt good. Well, sort of good. I didn't really know anything and couldn't think. I hadn't a clue what my first line was going to be but still I sat there with something of a half smile on my face in a fuzz of happiness. I sent The Tidiness Nazi (best friend/housemate Steph) a text telling her that I thought I was stoned on Covonia. She helpfully pointed out that I'd taken 2 paracetamol extra tablets about 10 minutes before I'd swigged the cough medicine. Shiit, I'd forgotten about that.
Bleedin hell. Have I O.D'd on paracetamol and Covonia? It feels lovely but through the haze I did realise it wasn't the best state to be in with less than half an hour before I'm meant to perform stand up. Stilllll, it didn't matter, nothing mattered
sigh.......
Oh yeah, I'll have to drive home too.
Bollocks.
All I have to say is that I performed well under the influence of over the counter meds and made it home in one piece. I only got lost 4 times too!
All in all, mysteriously a success. Perhaps Covonia is the key!
Monday, 1 November 2010
Filth
I'm sick at the moment. So is Tidiness Nazi housemate Steph so it's probably best we paint a big cross on the door to warn others that there be disease within the dwelling.
....or did they do that to tell the Angel of Death to fuck off?
I may be getting my biblical/actual plagues mixed up but hell, I'm delirious. I'm sick I tells ya!
Having been sick for the past few days I have lived a wonderful, hermit-like existence pretty much alone in my room. It's been bliss (apart from the feeling crap thing). I've laid there drifting in and out of sleep having the most fantastically vivid dreams and even coming up with THE most fantastic/award winning stand up routine of my career. Of course, I've forgotten the bugger now so fame and comedy glory remain tantalisingly out of reach. I do remember that part of it was to do with the time I was startled by my own genitalia very early one morning but that's another story.
Anyhoo, back to this story. To recap, I lay in bed enjoying the peace and solitude (coughing) alone in my kingdom. It took a while but when I sort of looked around with fresh eyes I realised, that my kingdom was actually somewhat of a dump. There is the paint splash over my lovely hippy rug where I accidentally tipped all that paint over myself whilst being extra careful not to spill paint over my stuff, there is the chunk of newly/un-uniformly painted wall that I left about 2 months ago 'cause I decided I hated the colour, there is all the stuff from the wardrobe I decided I no longer wanted piled up against the wall (and falling down all over the place), there's a wall shelf hanging off with a few things still precariously balanced on top, a pile of clothes atop the old holiday suitcase, a pile of clothes on top of the laundry basket (clean) and a load of clothes hanging out of the laundry basket (dirty) but there are also books balanced on the clean clothes on top and it's all very precisely balanced. Then there's all the floor crap. I won't even go there. I sat up and sort of looked around and realised that my attempt at de-cluttering my life had failed. There, I admitted it.
I then noticed the layer of dust on some of the long term crap and with a wry smile and nod to myself concluded that rather than look like a haven of peace and tranquility, my room contained so much dirt it was akin to an episode of Time Team. I bet if I moved the pile of boxes and books I'd be able to release Tony Robinson back into the community. No wonder he hasn't been seen for a while...
Thinking about it, I desperately need to change my bed sheets which I've sweated fever into. They are so disgusting there is a definite outline of my body on them. Like a slob's Turin Shroud. I have to admit, this isn't the first time I've had Turin Shrouding of my bedclothes. If only I had the gift of shame I'd erm, be ashamed.
....or did they do that to tell the Angel of Death to fuck off?
I may be getting my biblical/actual plagues mixed up but hell, I'm delirious. I'm sick I tells ya!
Having been sick for the past few days I have lived a wonderful, hermit-like existence pretty much alone in my room. It's been bliss (apart from the feeling crap thing). I've laid there drifting in and out of sleep having the most fantastically vivid dreams and even coming up with THE most fantastic/award winning stand up routine of my career. Of course, I've forgotten the bugger now so fame and comedy glory remain tantalisingly out of reach. I do remember that part of it was to do with the time I was startled by my own genitalia very early one morning but that's another story.
Anyhoo, back to this story. To recap, I lay in bed enjoying the peace and solitude (coughing) alone in my kingdom. It took a while but when I sort of looked around with fresh eyes I realised, that my kingdom was actually somewhat of a dump. There is the paint splash over my lovely hippy rug where I accidentally tipped all that paint over myself whilst being extra careful not to spill paint over my stuff, there is the chunk of newly/un-uniformly painted wall that I left about 2 months ago 'cause I decided I hated the colour, there is all the stuff from the wardrobe I decided I no longer wanted piled up against the wall (and falling down all over the place), there's a wall shelf hanging off with a few things still precariously balanced on top, a pile of clothes atop the old holiday suitcase, a pile of clothes on top of the laundry basket (clean) and a load of clothes hanging out of the laundry basket (dirty) but there are also books balanced on the clean clothes on top and it's all very precisely balanced. Then there's all the floor crap. I won't even go there. I sat up and sort of looked around and realised that my attempt at de-cluttering my life had failed. There, I admitted it.
I then noticed the layer of dust on some of the long term crap and with a wry smile and nod to myself concluded that rather than look like a haven of peace and tranquility, my room contained so much dirt it was akin to an episode of Time Team. I bet if I moved the pile of boxes and books I'd be able to release Tony Robinson back into the community. No wonder he hasn't been seen for a while...
Thinking about it, I desperately need to change my bed sheets which I've sweated fever into. They are so disgusting there is a definite outline of my body on them. Like a slob's Turin Shroud. I have to admit, this isn't the first time I've had Turin Shrouding of my bedclothes. If only I had the gift of shame I'd erm, be ashamed.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Dead woman's case thing pt. 4 San Diego
Evenin' all. Had a nice long lie in today, blew off going to the gym (heck, I'll go tomorrow) in order to lie in bed watching re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and to be appalled that the hairy dog which I had earlier discovered had eased me against the wall and taken over most of my bed (complete with her head on my pillow)was now licking her arse next to my face. Pet ownership really is a misery. Nothing else noteworthy happened today so I'll get straight into the next part of my travel journal.
Monday 20th September 2010 - San Diego: Spent most of last night puking [this is a lovely start to my journal isn't it? You'll soon discover the full extent of my shitty digestion] and being wide awake. My chest feels like it's had a good kicking. I coughed and coughed all night from the reflux I get but felt surprisingly chipper today. Everyone else on the tour is actually very pleasant [take note of this sentence and laugh heartily as my opinion rapidly changes].
Had to be on the bus for 8am - what a godforsaken hour to be setting out when on holiday! Actually, it turned out to be ok and we were taken on a tour of San Diego. Beautiful architecture and interesting. Very Mexican and at the harbour really military. Had photo stops at a giant statue of a sailor kissing a nurse which was inspired by the famous photo taken of V.J. Day and put on the cover of Time magazine. Also loved the Bob Hope entertaining the troops memorial (with sound). As a stand up I felt a lot of warmth for this memorial and could only dream of having such an appreciative audience (oh, and talent no doubt). We also stopped somewhere else but I couldn't see the point of that one, it was just a grassy area near the bay. Mom and I took the piss out of the abundance of joggers running, no, NOT running; staggering along at less than crawling speed and with pained expressions on their stupid faces. I've run in the past - I was forced to by my friend Nigel who was immune to my crying and pretending to be dead whenever he came around, and I can confirm that even in that state I wasn't as ridiculous looking as the joggers I saw during that stop! Mom and I have already got a nickname for an actually very pleasant woman on the trip who's genuinely got no ankles - Cankles. Her husband is Mr Cankles (for calves/ankles). We're wicked bleeders we really are.
Stopped and had some cake and fed all the little sparrows (I bloody love little cheeky sparrows). They must have found the cake a little dry as they all flew to a nearby fountain and drank heartily before coming back for more cake. Gawd bless 'em. At the end of the tour we were given an hour and a half to look around Old San Diego which was really Mexican and, I thought brilliant but Mom didn't care much for any of it so we didn't spend much time in the shops which were full of stuff for the Day of the Dead festival. I figured housemate Steph (the goth) would love some of the stuff but then realised it was a bit too bulky to carry PLUS it was potentially just ebay fodder I'll hang on and see if I can find any thing Steam Punk for her. I know I'm worrying my mother with my inability to eat without puking and I don't want it to be an issue as I know I get good days and bad days. I was able to get a cheese salad for lunch (at a place called O'Hungry's) and kept it all down (thank fuck for that). Felt better once I'd eaten.
My phone is really pissing me off. Been getting loads of Twitter updates and Steph's attempt to stop them failed and now I'm getting phone updates from all 94 people I follow. It's a fucking misery and because I'm abroad it's costing me a fortune! I know it's pissing my mother off. Note to self: Dump Twitter when I get home.
After this tour we were sent on a harbour tour. Sat on top deck and it was really rather pleasant until the boat turned around and sailed into the wind. Bloody Brass Monkey's (for non-UK people that means it was cold enough for 'balls' to drop off). Mom was disappointed that we saw just one....oh I can't think what it's called now - bird with a big beak that hangs down and fills with fish. I've got 'Gannet' or 'Heron' stuck in my head but it's neither of them. Perhaps I'll remember before I finish. We did get to see a bunch of fat seals basking on a platform. That was cool. We hung on in the wind freezing our tits off until the boat turned again but it was still bloody cold so we decided to go below decks. Found a diamond ring on the floor but gave it to the foreign woman with bad teeth and poorly applied lipstick who had been sitting there. She didn't thank me, miserable freak-faced cow. [I'M GOING TO EDIT OUT THE NEXT PART OF THE JOURNAL AS IT MAKES ME LOOK REALLY BAD. MWHAHAHAHAHA!]
Back on shore we were given a couple of hours to explore Seaport Village which was really cute and interesting but there was nothing really to buy. There was a pet shop full of dog costumes (if only Batdog wasn't so old and the Kraken not so mad I've have got the shark costume or the ear of corn one), a Pirate shop run by a bloke dressed as a Pirate (is there much call for Pirate stuff on a daily basis?), a Christmas shop which aims to remain open ALL year and another that just sells wind chimes. All lovely shops but how do they survive? I can't imagine the wind chime shop would get much repeat business as, let's face it, once you've got something dinging in your garden you don't really need something dinging at a slightly different pitch a yard away.
...or is it just me? Have I no imagination or magnificence to my soul?
Did buy a giant chunk of fudge for us both - I had Rocky Road and Mom had Maple and Walnut. Came to nearly $14!!!! Fuck, had I inadvertently walked back into the Pirate shop or even the Daylight Robbery shop? Robbing bastards. Did have the most perfect ice cream in the world though. Cop this for perfection:
Ben & Jerry's (I've got your attention already haven't I?) IMAGINE WHIRLED PEACE in a choc and nut waffle cone. I died and went to heaven until I started to feel sick 'cause it was too big and rich. Like a proper girl though I carried on eating the bugger. Then a really tatty, death's door type pigeon started to hang around. I gave him a bit of cone and where there had previously been NO wildlife for miles, a bunch of other pigeons came down so we just left. My betting is they keep 'Brian' looking sickly and send him out to look pathetic around the tourists. The legend (amongst pigeons) that is 'Brian the Bait' !
Oh yeah, we found Kettner Boulevard. Probably named after yet another sodding rich and unknown to my bit of the family relative. The Fates really do like to yank my chain about how my portion of the ancestry pool did shitly for themselves and therefore left no legacy for me to live off and become arrogant about. I'd LOVE to be rich and arrogant. People say that I wouldn't be the person I am today had I not experienced the shit I've experienced but I say 'who gives a shit?' Who WANTS to be me with my personality. I have to edit down my journal posts so as to hide the fact I'm really rather horrible and judgemental. I might be nice and rich if only my ancestors had got off their arses and worked a bit harder at saving Kings or inventing stuff. Lazy bunch of dead bastards....
Mom gave a homeless guy $5 but he was so out of it he didn't even look up. I think she felt bad for him 'cause I'd pointed out that he'd got a packet of Uncle Ben's dry rice in his shopping cart. Where the bleedin' hell is he going to cook that? He also had a pot of mustard.
For dinner I had linguine in a creamy pesto sauce and was able to keep it down (yay for my digestion!). Heard my mom fart in the night and discovered it was a gentle little whisper of fart. Started to form a theory that when at rest and the 'ring-piece' has no real tension to it, farts are unable to 'rip' themselves out and into the world. Would like to research this but wouldn't know where to start and I don't know who would be interested in the findings.
PELICAN!
It was a Pelican. It's now 5am and I'm wide awake. Can still hear fucking Twitter messages coming through.
Monday 20th September 2010 - San Diego: Spent most of last night puking [this is a lovely start to my journal isn't it? You'll soon discover the full extent of my shitty digestion] and being wide awake. My chest feels like it's had a good kicking. I coughed and coughed all night from the reflux I get but felt surprisingly chipper today. Everyone else on the tour is actually very pleasant [take note of this sentence and laugh heartily as my opinion rapidly changes].
Had to be on the bus for 8am - what a godforsaken hour to be setting out when on holiday! Actually, it turned out to be ok and we were taken on a tour of San Diego. Beautiful architecture and interesting. Very Mexican and at the harbour really military. Had photo stops at a giant statue of a sailor kissing a nurse which was inspired by the famous photo taken of V.J. Day and put on the cover of Time magazine. Also loved the Bob Hope entertaining the troops memorial (with sound). As a stand up I felt a lot of warmth for this memorial and could only dream of having such an appreciative audience (oh, and talent no doubt). We also stopped somewhere else but I couldn't see the point of that one, it was just a grassy area near the bay. Mom and I took the piss out of the abundance of joggers running, no, NOT running; staggering along at less than crawling speed and with pained expressions on their stupid faces. I've run in the past - I was forced to by my friend Nigel who was immune to my crying and pretending to be dead whenever he came around, and I can confirm that even in that state I wasn't as ridiculous looking as the joggers I saw during that stop! Mom and I have already got a nickname for an actually very pleasant woman on the trip who's genuinely got no ankles - Cankles. Her husband is Mr Cankles (for calves/ankles). We're wicked bleeders we really are.
Stopped and had some cake and fed all the little sparrows (I bloody love little cheeky sparrows). They must have found the cake a little dry as they all flew to a nearby fountain and drank heartily before coming back for more cake. Gawd bless 'em. At the end of the tour we were given an hour and a half to look around Old San Diego which was really Mexican and, I thought brilliant but Mom didn't care much for any of it so we didn't spend much time in the shops which were full of stuff for the Day of the Dead festival. I figured housemate Steph (the goth) would love some of the stuff but then realised it was a bit too bulky to carry PLUS it was potentially just ebay fodder I'll hang on and see if I can find any thing Steam Punk for her. I know I'm worrying my mother with my inability to eat without puking and I don't want it to be an issue as I know I get good days and bad days. I was able to get a cheese salad for lunch (at a place called O'Hungry's) and kept it all down (thank fuck for that). Felt better once I'd eaten.
My phone is really pissing me off. Been getting loads of Twitter updates and Steph's attempt to stop them failed and now I'm getting phone updates from all 94 people I follow. It's a fucking misery and because I'm abroad it's costing me a fortune! I know it's pissing my mother off. Note to self: Dump Twitter when I get home.
After this tour we were sent on a harbour tour. Sat on top deck and it was really rather pleasant until the boat turned around and sailed into the wind. Bloody Brass Monkey's (for non-UK people that means it was cold enough for 'balls' to drop off). Mom was disappointed that we saw just one....oh I can't think what it's called now - bird with a big beak that hangs down and fills with fish. I've got 'Gannet' or 'Heron' stuck in my head but it's neither of them. Perhaps I'll remember before I finish. We did get to see a bunch of fat seals basking on a platform. That was cool. We hung on in the wind freezing our tits off until the boat turned again but it was still bloody cold so we decided to go below decks. Found a diamond ring on the floor but gave it to the foreign woman with bad teeth and poorly applied lipstick who had been sitting there. She didn't thank me, miserable freak-faced cow. [I'M GOING TO EDIT OUT THE NEXT PART OF THE JOURNAL AS IT MAKES ME LOOK REALLY BAD. MWHAHAHAHAHA!]
Back on shore we were given a couple of hours to explore Seaport Village which was really cute and interesting but there was nothing really to buy. There was a pet shop full of dog costumes (if only Batdog wasn't so old and the Kraken not so mad I've have got the shark costume or the ear of corn one), a Pirate shop run by a bloke dressed as a Pirate (is there much call for Pirate stuff on a daily basis?), a Christmas shop which aims to remain open ALL year and another that just sells wind chimes. All lovely shops but how do they survive? I can't imagine the wind chime shop would get much repeat business as, let's face it, once you've got something dinging in your garden you don't really need something dinging at a slightly different pitch a yard away.
...or is it just me? Have I no imagination or magnificence to my soul?
Did buy a giant chunk of fudge for us both - I had Rocky Road and Mom had Maple and Walnut. Came to nearly $14!!!! Fuck, had I inadvertently walked back into the Pirate shop or even the Daylight Robbery shop? Robbing bastards. Did have the most perfect ice cream in the world though. Cop this for perfection:
Ben & Jerry's (I've got your attention already haven't I?) IMAGINE WHIRLED PEACE in a choc and nut waffle cone. I died and went to heaven until I started to feel sick 'cause it was too big and rich. Like a proper girl though I carried on eating the bugger. Then a really tatty, death's door type pigeon started to hang around. I gave him a bit of cone and where there had previously been NO wildlife for miles, a bunch of other pigeons came down so we just left. My betting is they keep 'Brian' looking sickly and send him out to look pathetic around the tourists. The legend (amongst pigeons) that is 'Brian the Bait' !
Oh yeah, we found Kettner Boulevard. Probably named after yet another sodding rich and unknown to my bit of the family relative. The Fates really do like to yank my chain about how my portion of the ancestry pool did shitly for themselves and therefore left no legacy for me to live off and become arrogant about. I'd LOVE to be rich and arrogant. People say that I wouldn't be the person I am today had I not experienced the shit I've experienced but I say 'who gives a shit?' Who WANTS to be me with my personality. I have to edit down my journal posts so as to hide the fact I'm really rather horrible and judgemental. I might be nice and rich if only my ancestors had got off their arses and worked a bit harder at saving Kings or inventing stuff. Lazy bunch of dead bastards....
Mom gave a homeless guy $5 but he was so out of it he didn't even look up. I think she felt bad for him 'cause I'd pointed out that he'd got a packet of Uncle Ben's dry rice in his shopping cart. Where the bleedin' hell is he going to cook that? He also had a pot of mustard.
For dinner I had linguine in a creamy pesto sauce and was able to keep it down (yay for my digestion!). Heard my mom fart in the night and discovered it was a gentle little whisper of fart. Started to form a theory that when at rest and the 'ring-piece' has no real tension to it, farts are unable to 'rip' themselves out and into the world. Would like to research this but wouldn't know where to start and I don't know who would be interested in the findings.
PELICAN!
It was a Pelican. It's now 5am and I'm wide awake. Can still hear fucking Twitter messages coming through.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Study
So, I had a flash of inspiration (?) and randomly called up my old University and asked if it was too late to get on the MSc Criminology and Criminal Psychology course. Turns out it isn't and erm, I seem to pretty much be on it once I complete the on-line application form. I don't really know why I've decided to do this and to what end but I feel strangely excited to the point that my rational side is like a tiny voice in the dark that no one is listening too. It's been 4 years since I got my degree and all I did was make everyone's life a misery near the end. I'm going to have to get my head back into referencing, reading, oh god, I just remembered the referencing, the writing, research and deadlines. Oh god, REFERENCING. This is what happened when I went for my degree - I had a sudden idea and acted on it. Perhaps this is all for the good but hell, I don't know how I'm going to fund it. I might have to go down to the docks and prostitute myself. Unfortunately, the nearest dock is the Wightlink ferry terminal and the guys on board have only been at sea for 35 minutes so they won't be desperate enough to want to hire me for any more than a few pennies and hell, we all know how expensive education is nowadays!
Plus they might have scurvy. Can you get scurvy after half an hour without a lemon? Probably not OR, how's this - I could offer a lemon/prossie service.
....I'm joshing, I'm joshing. Everyone knows I've been single for so long I've gone a bit wrong and have become too British and uptight to allow anyone to come at me with their winkie!
So yeah, funding the sudden desire with no planning or thought to get my Masters. Y'know what I said about selling the gingerbread Hitlers in order to fund travel to my comedy gigs, well I might have to give up the comedy (won't be able to afford the travel at all now) and use whatever bits and pieces I can make from the inappropriate gingerbread to pay for the study. Do I want to give up the comedy though?
Do I really HAVE have to give up comedy?
WHY do I want to take my Masters when everyone knows I am the biggest buffoon in all Buffoon Town? Hell, I can't take the dog out without returning to find it caked in shit. I can't clean out a bunch of turtles without flooding the house, I can't grill a veggie burger without setting it on fire (and magically still allowing the inside to remain frozen), can't open a container of paint without ending up wearing it and splattering it all around my bedroom and I can't even boil a bowl of underpants without scalding most of the skin off one breast!
That's another story though as is the time, through a series of bizarre events, I ended up stabbing my ear with a metal nail file.
What the feck makes me think I can be a proper person doing important research and study when I should just stand in front of people telling them about the idiotic life experiences I've had. Honestly, what am I thinking? Someone please save me from myself.
Plus they might have scurvy. Can you get scurvy after half an hour without a lemon? Probably not OR, how's this - I could offer a lemon/prossie service.
....I'm joshing, I'm joshing. Everyone knows I've been single for so long I've gone a bit wrong and have become too British and uptight to allow anyone to come at me with their winkie!
So yeah, funding the sudden desire with no planning or thought to get my Masters. Y'know what I said about selling the gingerbread Hitlers in order to fund travel to my comedy gigs, well I might have to give up the comedy (won't be able to afford the travel at all now) and use whatever bits and pieces I can make from the inappropriate gingerbread to pay for the study. Do I want to give up the comedy though?
Do I really HAVE have to give up comedy?
WHY do I want to take my Masters when everyone knows I am the biggest buffoon in all Buffoon Town? Hell, I can't take the dog out without returning to find it caked in shit. I can't clean out a bunch of turtles without flooding the house, I can't grill a veggie burger without setting it on fire (and magically still allowing the inside to remain frozen), can't open a container of paint without ending up wearing it and splattering it all around my bedroom and I can't even boil a bowl of underpants without scalding most of the skin off one breast!
That's another story though as is the time, through a series of bizarre events, I ended up stabbing my ear with a metal nail file.
What the feck makes me think I can be a proper person doing important research and study when I should just stand in front of people telling them about the idiotic life experiences I've had. Honestly, what am I thinking? Someone please save me from myself.
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