Category Archives: Writing

Finally!

Dear larks a’mercy, I thought November would never fucking end.  I am not good with self-imposed, for-no-good-reason obligations.  Who knew, right?  Well, I did for one, but let’s skip that bit.

Maaan, I am tired!  I don’t know how other people – other mothers – do this, this labouring at the coal face of blogging.  I’m not talking about those mothers who are covers for advertising shit, whose every second post is a free giveaway competition…I’m not jealous of those bloggers, I’m just confused as to why anyone would read the inane shite they post just to win a copy of Harry Potter.  I am, truly, the Anti-Zeitgeist.

I’m even more confused as to why you would waste your time writing that shite.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not coming down on ‘mummy bloggers’ whatever that means anyway, I’m just, well, well…what?  I’m just confused, really confused.  I had to carve out time for this month’s daily blog posts, time I just didn’t have.  Sure, ‘stuff’ was going on this month, but only the same ‘stuff’ that is always going on when you don’t live in a little gingerbread house on the internet itself.  Life stuff, y’know?

I had to work really hard some days; it shows, I know – it shows today for sure because today’s to-do list was – is – a bee-yatch.  I. carved. time. from. nothing. some days. I wanted that time to have been used to say something.  Yes, I mostly failed – which is why I’ll be going back to weekly-or-so postings – but I tried.

But a big shout out to those who try and – generally – succeed.  You are, my friends, better women than I.

Forgive me, but I still have to figure out how to iron on sports badges and order an angel costume and eat something and all I wanna do is go to bed.


November

Well, I’m still here, still writing my pledged post a day.

I’m thinking that regular readers have already noted the decline in quality that has accompanied the increase in quantity.

Over the last 20-odd days I have learnt the following:

- posting every day is a complete pain in the bum; jesus, the pressure for something that matters not a jot!

- on the other hand, it is good for me to set myself goals and this one has been no exception.  I cannot do anything without a TARGET.  I am a prevaricating meanderer, yes, but there has to be a POINT, however useless or, er, pointless.

- there really is a lot to be angry about, but for a lot of stuff, my anger needs to ferment like a fine wine – i.e. I need a few days to process what makes me really, really frickin’ furious and what merely makes me want to kick the nearest Tory.  Do fine wines ferment?  Or is that beer?  I’ve no idea on how to make alcohol.  I would, in fact, be useless in all ways in prison.

- I don’t write enough about my kids, especially L’il Boo, who is just starting to get interesting, but only in that ‘fucking ‘ell, could that kid be any fucking cuter’ sense, rather than the ‘that fucking kid is gonna be a gender WARRIOR!’ sense.  Seriously, he’s cute as marshmellows melting softly on a spring day.  A fact unfortunately not at all interesting unless you’re related to him.

- the main thing I’ve learnt is that when you’re down to the last 30 seconds you’re going to get anywhere near a computer for the rest of the day, you just have to click publish.


I Heart Twitter?

As I may have already mentioned I just don’t get Twitter.  Oh, sure, I don’t know how to use it, either; how to use #tags or even how to direct a tweet to a specific person.  My single contribution to twitter so far has been a single tweet I did when I was so beyond drunk one evening that even clips of cats barking weren’t cutting it.  I have no idea where it went; just, uhm, out there? Into twitterspace?  Luckily for you, you can now see it because I’ve added my tweets to my sidebar, not because I intend to do any more but in order to show you how drunk I was; when I tell you that I wasn’t even being ironic, or attempting humour you’ll understand.  I really was that drunk that I thought something had scrambled a photo of me and turned me into an egg.

But more importantly I just don’t get it.  I get that the purpose – essentially – is to ‘tell people what you’re up to right now’ or some such soundbite.  What I seriously don’t get is why the fuck I should be interested.  I love my kids more than life itself and I can bore you stoopid just with tales of the times they pooed in a cab, but if Boogie started sending me random messages from school telling me that numeracy was, like, totally boring, or Poodle is kicking her under the table, I’d unfollow her before you could say I send you to school precisely so I don’t have to deal with this inane shit for at least 5 hours a day.

The BoogieMeister does send me random text messages throughout the day but only until I figure out how to, once again, block his number on my new phone.

I just can’t bring myself to be interested.

I have a long-standing – and quite inexplicable – crush on John Cusack (I also have a shorter-standing but less inexplicable crush on his sister, Joan; her mouth is fascinating, is it not?), but despite following him for about 6 months and checking out his tweets on an at least vageuly regular basis, he has yet to write a single fucking sentence that has, as a bare minimum, been worth the eyeball energy it took me to read it.  Never mind fucking interesting.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting that John Cusack is somehow unique in being duller than a Bush family gathering.  Far as I can see, he’s entirely within the same ballpark as everybody else tweeting about their breakfast burps and the amazing joke somebody managed to tell that was a bit funny.

But I’ve moved beyond it.  I lamented it for a while (why?  why?? WHY?? can’t I be normal??) but hey, I am who I am.  But then I read today about twitterers (?) who are so ‘influential’ that they are starting to receive ‘goody bags’ from companies and marketing people and stuff and part of me – the crappiest, most venal part – wants some of that.  Wants to be considered ‘influential’.

Shit, which feminist doesn’t?


Links Count

Yes, they fucking do.  Despite having 37 (yes, 37) draft posts currently cluttering up my dashboard, precisely none (yes, none) take my fancy.  Not even remotely.

Happily – because it would just be too fricking depressing if I didn’t post on the first day after announcing I would post every day, so depressing I would have to grow another moustache out of my bum to even vaguely re-balance the universe – there are those things called ‘Links’ – ta-dah!

A review over at BitchBuzz of Miss Representation, a US film looking at media portrayals of females and how they basically lead to Boogie declining to be a neurosurgeon (‘you can’t be what you can’t see‘).  Or is that because I described to Boogie what a neurosurgeon actually does?  Potato, potahto.

[The film's] findings are depressing, showing that while women continue to be seriously under-represented in politics, business and journalism, they’re continuously judged on their looks, age and weight. Its aim is to get people thinking about just what is so wrong with all this.’

An ‘expose’ (now where is that e with an acute accent…no fucking idea) over at New Statesman of the abuse suffered by women daring (ooh, how very dare you!) to have opinions and express them on t’internet.  As so often with so many things you read in the ‘mainstream’ (but friendly) press, you read the article and think, fuck, this is really fucked up, fucking hell (you may not think in quite as many swearwords as me, but still), and then you read the comments…and you realise what’s really fucked up.

And, yes, I know this is a bit old (the basic idea has been around forever in feminist circles, though this may be it’s first time it’s been ‘formalised’ by a ‘formal’ organisation), but it still makes me laugh like a fucking drain (in an ironic, post-modern – or is that ‘pathetically grateful’ – way).  In fact, I like it so much, I’ll show it you here for the benefit of those too lazy to click the link:

Read that and you start to see things kind of from my point of view.  No, really; this is actually how I think.  That it’s people who rape people who need to address their behaviour.  Rather than, y’know, the people those people might rape.  I really am just coming at you from that far out of left field.  Yes, yes, I’m a lesbian communist with a neat sideline in child snatching.  Goes without saying, right?

And this from the always affecting Surviving Prostitution and Addiction, on why Pretty Woman was not a fucking documentary.

And that’s enough, for it is Friday night and my pizza has just arrived…


Feminist Fatigue, Late Resolutions and Movember

I apologise for not posting much lately, but I have been suffering big time from feminist fatigue.  This is, simply, when your brain finds itself electrically wiped out from analysing everything from a feminist perspective.

It stinks.  It stinks like a big, stinky poo done in the thirty seconds between me taking a nappy off L’il Boo’s bum and wandering off to get another one and being distracted by an amusing text message sent by my heavily pregnant friend and getting back to find the smell coming from the toy box (the toy box! what are you? controlled by demons from the planet Mr.Muscle??).

This is getting way too stream-of-consciousness literal.  To the point, woman!

Oh, yes.  It’s November and, as usual, I agonised over signing up for NaNoWriMo again…but then, also as usual, remembered that the last time I did it two years ago, I failed so badly and was so dispirited by the whole thing that I jumped ship and joined Movember instead where, depressingly, I did noticably better.  Being better at growing a moustache than writing a novel does not inspire confidence in a – ahem – ladee of the letters.

So, no NaNoWriMo again and no Movember either (a woman can rock a handlebar once and once only, goddammit, before people start to talk), and November’s such a rubbish month what with the clocks going back and it getting all dark and windy and well into being the ‘SEASON OF DAMP FEET’ that I need something to take my mind off it, so I have put my head in a blender*, rejigged my neuronal connections and have resolved to POST EVERY DAY OF THIS MONTH!

I know, I know, exciting, huh?  And I know, I know, I’ve already missed two days but I am notorious (imagine here that I have bothered to find the link to a previous post I did lamenting the fact that I made my New Year’s resolutions in mid-January) for making resolutions after the required date, so those missed two days just do not count.  Am I clear?

Now all I have to do is find some system whereby I will be reminded every day that I have made this resolution to avoid the almost unavoidable situation where I’m idly lamenting the fact that neither Jesus nor Father Christmas are women whilst drinking a tinsel-rimmed glass of egg-nog and patting a turkey-filled stomach in time to Jingle Bells when I suddenly slap my forehead and say fuck, I knew there was something I was supposed to do..

*I am kidding. If you think I’m on so much as nodding terms with a blender, you have much to learn about me, my friend.


OK, So It’s Been A While

But my computer went ‘grrr, clump, crunch’ and died, which meant I could do no writing of any description whatsoever.  Because obviously I am also therefore unable to pick up a pen and scratch it across a sheet of paper.


Tired and Weary

Last night’s post wasn’t, on reflection, as coherent as I would’ve wished.  But it was late (for me these days anyhow), I was tired and L’il Boo was waking intermittently because he’s got a virus of some description.  There is much more I wanted to say about the topics discussed (most of it running – very coherently – thrrough my head last night as I tried to get to sleep), but the fire has left my belly this morning – mainly because today is the start of Boogie’s easter holidays and my precious me time when L’il Boo is asleep whilst Boogie is at school is now over for another two frickin’ weeks.  I have so many other things I want to write that the thought of going over an old post is too much to even think about.


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