Damini
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- Dec 22, 2003
- Messages
- 2,234
It's been a while, but I've been having one of those stream of consciousness days, and I figured I'd purge it all into a thread, like Geri Halliwell purging into a toilet, only with less chance of my breasts disappearing (mores the pity - it's very hard to reach things to the left of me with my right arm these days, and visa versa).
I want a new car. For free please. I want a car that doesn't have the beginnings of chav cave paintings on it, etched in keys grasped between non-opposing thumbs. I want a car that doesn't jammer like an epileptic at a strobe light convention. I want a car that doesn't smell like a hair drier when you've driven it for more than two yards. I want a car that has working locks, not locks that have been buggered by chav screw drivers. Ideally, I'd like a car that kills everyone that dares touch it, but with modern litigation laws in mind, I'll stick with one that coated with a slow working toxin that leaves people spasming just far enough away from the scene that I'm not incriminated. Or a mini. I'd also settle for a mini.
I've joined the gym. Long over due. When I went along for my physical, the woman tried to reassure me that I wasn't the worst case she had seen. When I questioned her on this, she flustered. Grasping for an example, she cited that of the 6ft 3 transexual male who is trying to lose his beer gut and attain a more feminine figure. When that's the example that first comes to mind to reassure someone, you know you've left it WAY too long to join the gym.
(I've seen the "lady" in the changing rooms. Think Bounty kitchen roll...)
I've got an illustrator for my books in america, which is wildly exciting. It also makes it horribly real, and all out of my hands now. It's going to be insanely weird, seeing a front cover, seeing how other people picture the characters...
My cat craving has reached deadly proportions. When describing how me and Kenny's godson crawled towards me for the first time, I stated with pride how he "placed his little paws on me". I'm not sure whether it's worrying or reassuringly that my broodiness only extends to cats... I suppose if I grow four more nipples, then it's time to really fret. I'm a bit worried about getting a cat whilst here though, because I've seen the evolotionarily challenged ones trying to throw their rotweiler at a cat before, and I couldn't bear to have a cat hurt, but at the same time I think cats have to go outside. Not that they want to all the time. My parents cats have started a bizarre circus of horrors where really senile old man cat perches over a cat food bowl, and wees in it so he doesn't have to go outside. And then not quite so senile cat will come along and drink it. I suppose maybe that's like a mini precipitation cycle, with not quite so senile cat returning it into the water cycle, by weeing it in the garden like rivers joining the sea, and old man cat weeing in a bowl is like a cloud making rain. Perhaps. Maybe it's just rank, and shouldn't be encouraged, but being squeemish it's hard to approach a cat sipping old man cat wee and pick her up. Dribbley chin and all.
I cleaned the fish tank for the first time since christmas the other day. I know, I know, I'm going to aquatic hell. Let me tell you, eight month old fish poo puree is about the nastiest thing you can ever encounter. My brother came round to see what I was doing, retched, and promptly left. I'd like to say the fish look happier now, but that would be a lie. They look terrified. They look as if a kitchen and it's contents just suddenly manifested around their dark world, and they are having trouble dealing with the profound psychological and philosophical issues of realising there is a world and existance beyond theirs. Mind you, fish never look particularly calm, despite what dentists waiting rooms would have you think. Its the lack of blinking that does it.
That's it for now. I've purged all my thoughts out and can go to bed now, happily uncluttered and thoughtless.
And all you blah blah bloggers can bite me.
I want a new car. For free please. I want a car that doesn't have the beginnings of chav cave paintings on it, etched in keys grasped between non-opposing thumbs. I want a car that doesn't jammer like an epileptic at a strobe light convention. I want a car that doesn't smell like a hair drier when you've driven it for more than two yards. I want a car that has working locks, not locks that have been buggered by chav screw drivers. Ideally, I'd like a car that kills everyone that dares touch it, but with modern litigation laws in mind, I'll stick with one that coated with a slow working toxin that leaves people spasming just far enough away from the scene that I'm not incriminated. Or a mini. I'd also settle for a mini.
I've joined the gym. Long over due. When I went along for my physical, the woman tried to reassure me that I wasn't the worst case she had seen. When I questioned her on this, she flustered. Grasping for an example, she cited that of the 6ft 3 transexual male who is trying to lose his beer gut and attain a more feminine figure. When that's the example that first comes to mind to reassure someone, you know you've left it WAY too long to join the gym.
(I've seen the "lady" in the changing rooms. Think Bounty kitchen roll...)
I've got an illustrator for my books in america, which is wildly exciting. It also makes it horribly real, and all out of my hands now. It's going to be insanely weird, seeing a front cover, seeing how other people picture the characters...
My cat craving has reached deadly proportions. When describing how me and Kenny's godson crawled towards me for the first time, I stated with pride how he "placed his little paws on me". I'm not sure whether it's worrying or reassuringly that my broodiness only extends to cats... I suppose if I grow four more nipples, then it's time to really fret. I'm a bit worried about getting a cat whilst here though, because I've seen the evolotionarily challenged ones trying to throw their rotweiler at a cat before, and I couldn't bear to have a cat hurt, but at the same time I think cats have to go outside. Not that they want to all the time. My parents cats have started a bizarre circus of horrors where really senile old man cat perches over a cat food bowl, and wees in it so he doesn't have to go outside. And then not quite so senile cat will come along and drink it. I suppose maybe that's like a mini precipitation cycle, with not quite so senile cat returning it into the water cycle, by weeing it in the garden like rivers joining the sea, and old man cat weeing in a bowl is like a cloud making rain. Perhaps. Maybe it's just rank, and shouldn't be encouraged, but being squeemish it's hard to approach a cat sipping old man cat wee and pick her up. Dribbley chin and all.
I cleaned the fish tank for the first time since christmas the other day. I know, I know, I'm going to aquatic hell. Let me tell you, eight month old fish poo puree is about the nastiest thing you can ever encounter. My brother came round to see what I was doing, retched, and promptly left. I'd like to say the fish look happier now, but that would be a lie. They look terrified. They look as if a kitchen and it's contents just suddenly manifested around their dark world, and they are having trouble dealing with the profound psychological and philosophical issues of realising there is a world and existance beyond theirs. Mind you, fish never look particularly calm, despite what dentists waiting rooms would have you think. Its the lack of blinking that does it.
That's it for now. I've purged all my thoughts out and can go to bed now, happily uncluttered and thoughtless.
And all you blah blah bloggers can bite me.
and 
