Published Princess

What's that? Published Princess???

Yes, you read correctly! I have no idea how it happened - it really is a mystery to me! - but I appear to have gotten myself a publisher for my innuendo-filled Cardiff tale. *is still recovering from shock*

Now, if you are one of my Facebook friends, you will already know this (as I announced it yesterday), but this announcing thing is fun, and surely it deserves a post of it's own on here. *nods* I'll be updating the Cardiffella Blog over the next few weeks with news as and when it happens, but for now, I'll just quickly say that in a little over two months - April 29th to be exact - my prudish pussy(cat) will be unleashed on the world!!

My pussy is going to be famous! Well, sort of...

Who'd have thought that my feline fairy godmother would make it, eh?

More to the point, who'd have thought that a Procrastinating Princess would ever kick her own butt enough to keep querying her innuendo-filled novel? This is why it's a mystery, you see...

Those of you in the know will remember that I wrote Cardiffella way back in 2009 during NaNoWriMo (you know, that crazy event where you write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November). It was great fun - what with the pussy jokes and the obligatory mention of wobbly sausages - but it was also NUTSO when it came to doing it. Particularly since I wrote it between three computers, not a one of them in full working condition. Between the three, there was just about enough to make ONE decent computer. Of course, they all died on me several times (and obviously came back to life), and between THAT and the 'boken keboa' (that was extremely fwuztwatin, let me tell you), it was a truly heroic effort.

But anyway, it was done. And I was proud of myself for not putting it off and actually finishing it. So proud, in fact, that I let it sit on my hard drive for over two years before doing anything with it. *shifty*

Last year I managed to talk myself into fixing it up so that I could submit it to a publisher. I formatted like crazy so that it looked nicer; I cleared up the (thousands of) typos, took a few words out (and added a few here and there). Finally, in September, I sent out two queries. Not being delusional (well, actually, I AM delusional for the most part, but you know what I mean), I figured there was no way it would be accepted (which it wasn't). But more than anything, I wanted a little feedback as to what would be needed to make it publishable, and I wanted the feedback from someone in the publishing game.

To my surprise, although it wasn't accepted, it actually did rather well - making it as far as the acquisitions team, no less. It failed at the final hurdle, which was, while disappointing, also extremely encouraging. Now, this happened in the last week of January - so a mere few weeks ago - and I thought to myself, well, if it made it THAT far, maybe I should just keep submitting. I told myself that I would submit it to another four publishers, and if I didn't get any feedback, then I would work on it some more before submitting again.

At no point, you see, did I think that it was going to be accepted.

So I sent out to another four publishers and heard back from one on the very same day. They told me it was a 'fun idea', and that they 'loved my voice', but as they were already working on  a similar series, they would have to decline.

*sigh*

But you know, that was even more encouraging than the previous rejection. I mean, this time the editor had given me a little feedback, even if it was only a few words. I was resigned, but still feeling pretty good. Surely I'll get a 'revise and resubmit' soon, I thought.

But - shocked and stunned as I was - I got much better! Last Thursday I got an acceptance, and I signed the contract over the weekend. Pretty cool, huh?

As I said, I'll be giving more details on the whole she-bang over on the book blog, but I just HAD to swing by my Procrastinating Princess blog to formally 'come out'.

Onwards and upwards, my friends, onwards and upwards!

Image self-taken.

It's All About The Pineapple

"Would you like a pineapple for £1?"

This is what I have to ask every customer that I serve while I am at work. Only for this week, you understand. We have to 'upsell' a different product every week, and this week is the turn of the pineapple. Usually we roll our eyes when we find out what the product is, but for some reason this one makes me laugh. In fact, I laugh practically every time that I say it. Trouble is, the customers usually laugh right back (which in itself isn't actually a bad thing), but then decline the fabulous opportunity to buy some exotic fruit.

We had to upsell pineapples around a year ago too (obviously The People Upstairs - i.e. those who have no clue about what it is like to work with the general public -  have these upselling items on some sort of schedule), and they didn't sell very well then, either.

I usually buy whatever the current upsell is - sometimes more than one if it is something I will use - so I dutifully bought a pineapple yesterday. I'm not sure yet what to do with it. Sure, I could go the normal route and eat it, but the girls are coming over Friday night for an evening of drink and silliness, so the possibilities are endless.

Ok, maybe not endless, but last year, as coincidence would have it, the girls (and guys) came over for drinkies the same week we had pineapples for upselling too, and we did this:

*shifty*

Still, as much as pineapples make me giggle (for no specific reason), at least it's not as bad as last week, when we had crumpets. Now, for you to understand why crumpets were so bad, you need to know two things. One, for those of you not in the UK, crumpets are otherwise known as English muffins - you toast them and smother them in lovely, lovely butter. But the key reason why they were a bad upsell is point number two - in Britain, 'crumpet' is a slang word for sex. So every time I asked someone if they wanted any crumpets for £1, well... you can imagine. It should be noted, too, that the majority of our customers are men. Of a certain age. Really, the joke wore thin after the first ten minutes.

Next week it's 'Snickers'. 69p each, or two for £1. Oh, joy.

Image self-taken. Obviously. *snort*

*is spamming*

Well, I'm not really spamming, because if I were then I wouldn't be using my own blog, as spamming generally means bombarding someone with a load of links to other websites. Or if I were being stricter with the term, spam is usually what we call all those junk emails. But still, if I want to say I am spamming, then I will.

Somebody does keep spamming my blog page though. Not frequently, but often enough. Back last year I had somebody post a huge comment on the subject of, erm, people who saw what G Hove A did (don't want to type the real words in case I get ranted at again). Now, it wasn't as if I'd insulted Mr G Hove A, but apparently just typing the words activated some sort of automatic response. Anywho, I definitely won't be making that mistake again.

My most frequent spammer appears to be Chinese though. At least, the person leaves a comment in Chinese characters and has a Chinese name (also in Chinese characters). As far as I can tell, the actual characters aren't actual spamming for the most part, but there usually appears a series of '.........' at the end of each comment, and when you run the mouse over them you see several website links on the bottom of the computer screen. Most are illegible - you don't really know what they are - but sometimes you see a word and you just know it is something smutty.

The thing with spam, is that most of the time it is porn. Or if not porn, then something associated with sex. For example, around 90% of the junk mail that I get are usually emails that are asking me if I want to buy either Viagra (or something similar), or something magical that will enhance the size of my penis (which, lets be honest, would have to be magical, since the last time I checked, I don't have a penis.*snort*). The other 10% is usually about the latest watch on the market. (No, I don't get it, either).

Getting back to the porn thing though, I just really find it funny, and you'll need to bear with me here because what I find funny doesn't always correspond with what others find funny. *shifty* You see, to me 'spam' will always be a tin of what I loosely call meat (check out the selection they have below - it's porktastic! *snort*).Or, to be more specific, chopped ham and pork. Now, to understand why I think this is funny, you need to know that I always get 'pork' and 'porn' muddled up. Well, not always - I mean, I don't go to the butchers and ask for a bit of porn for my tea or anything (because if I did, I think I might scare the poor man) - but when I see either of these words written down (or on a computer screen), I always have to double check. I see 'pork' as 'porn', and 'porn' as 'pork'.

To make matters more confusing, around here a slang term for, ahem, sexual relations, is porking. As in, 'ooh, fancy coming back to mine for a good porking?' (Youknowzitmakezsense!)

Perhaps you can see my dilemma.....

Another thing that makes me laugh is that spam (the chopped ham and pork stuff) is universally reviled as far as I know. I mean, there are some people who actually like the stuff, but mostly we tend to avoid buying it if we can. There are people who are trying to make spam more popular (check out the official Spam website *snort*), but I think they're fighting a losing battle.  Spam is just something that makes people roll their eyes and snigger. Honestly, just saying the word makes me laugh (I told you I was weird).

I believe that spam first came into existence somewhere in the 1940's (but I could be wrong). It certainly became popular around about then at any rate. Spam was advertised as the must-have food product, mostly because it was cheap and plentiful during a time when all decent food was rationed. What strikes me as funny in today's world is that Spam is actually quite expensive now. I mean, to feed a family of four to six people, you would need a few tins, and honestly, you can get a fresh chicken for around the same amount of money (or less money, even, if you shop around).

Anyway, before I look for some spammy pictures, I can't stop typing without mentioning Spamalot - not least because it contains the word 'spam' (which is funny) and 'alot' (which is genius *nods*). Mostly I'm bringing it up though because it is Python related (as in Monty Python, not 'snake' python). and I love Monty Python (alot!). I could ramble extensively about my love of all things Pythonesque, but one, if you are already a fan I don't need to, and two, if you don't know who Monty Python are then I strongly suspect you wouldn't get any of the references. I'll just say that if you don't know who Monty Python are, then you need to do some research and watch as many of their movies as possible. And if you can find any of their TV sketches on Youtube, watch those as well. You'll probably die laughing, but what a way to go, eh?

I'll end it there I think. Nothing like finishing off with a Python or two. *winks* But before I go, I'm asking for a wee favour. My next blog post will be my 100th - ! - and I have no idea what to blog about. I'd like to make it memorable, so I'm open to suggestions. Unlike when I ask for requests, I'm not going to use the first suggestion that I see, but wait until I see one that makes me laugh out loud and think 'Yes! I SO have to do that one!'. So, I need a really good suggestion - no pressure or anything - that will ignite my imagination. So hop to it!

*is doing it all over again*

Good morning/afternoon/evening everyone! Ima Nutcase here, your faithful reporter dutifully doing her thing and bringing you the latest news from around the world (or Cardiff, as the case may be). I have to apologise because I have been so scarce lately, but my boss made me cover some "important" stories over the last few months and I haven't been able to stick to what I know best. (Honestly, I kept telling Mr Editor that nobody was interested in British politics or Icelandic volcanoes, but he wouldn't have it, and forced me to report on them anyway. *rolls eyes*).

So here I am, back to my roots in the Kair of Diff, and about to meet up with one of my favorite victims clients. My faithful readers should be in no doubt of whom I speak of, for today's subject has been interviewed a few times before, and each time was very interesting. I am talking about, of course, young Cardiff housewife Tara Smith. Tara (who still insists she is 23) is, as I'm sure you'll remember, rather famous (or so she claims) for being a procrastinator of the first order, as well as a semi-regular blogger and part-time writer of innuendo-filled modern fairy tales. The last time we caught up with Tara, she was bemoaning the state of her NaNo novel because she had suffered some damage to her computer. You will be pleased to know that Tara (23), finally finished her novel, despite her setbacks, and even managed to get a decent laptop to replace her rather decrepit computer.

Now, six months later, we catch up with the young housewife and see what she has up her sleeves for the coming month.

Ima Nutcase: So Tara, what have you been up to since we last spoke to you?

Tara Smith: Oh you know, this and that. Well, mostly this if I'm honest, and not a lot of that at all, but you know what I mean.

IN: Quite. So you've not had a very eventful six months, then?

TS: Well I wouldn't say that. There's been lots of stuff going on, but I'm sure it wouldn't interest your readers. I'd much prefer to keep things of a private nature, well, private, if you know what I mean. I'm not one to talk, you know that.

IN: I see. So you don't want to discuss the last few months with your favorite roving reporter?

TS: Nope.

IN: Not even a little bit?

TS: Sorry.

IN: *pouts*

TS: I thought you might want to discuss things that are happening right now, you know, current events, that sort of thing.

IN: Well, if that's all you've got for me, I suppose we might as well....

Yes, dear readers, it seems that our twenty-something friend is not willing to discuss her recent history with us. But never fear, I am sure we can still get some interesting details about forthcoming events from our young Cardiffian.

IN: So, moving swiftly on, what can you tell us about what is happening in your life right now?

TS: Well, I have two pieces of news for you.

IN: Excellent!

TS: I'll tell you the smaller piece first, because I know how you reporters like to keep the bigger stuff for the end of the article, yes?

IN: Indeed. Always best to keep the climax for the finale, don't you agree?

TS: Oh yes, I quite agree. Well, the first thing I'm going to tell you about is my blog. I've decided that I will be using asterisked titles for all of my June blogs.

IN: Didn't you do that before?

TS: Yes! I'm glad you remember! I'm starting a tradition!

IN: A tradition?

TS: Yes, a tradition!

At this point, dear reader, I have to admit that your faithful reporter is somewhat confused. A tradition would imply that something is occurring on a regular basis, but seeing as it has been six months since the last time our young friend blogged with asterisked titles, this poor Nutcase is a wee bit confuzzlegasted. Obviously we need to pump for more details.

TS: Honestly. *rolls eyes* I'm leading up to my big news here, isn't it obvious?

Well, not really, no.

TS: Well the last time I asterisked all over the place, I was writing my NaNo novel, yes? This time I am writing my BuNo novel, which although has a different name, is basically the same thing.

IN: You're writing the same book again?

TS: No! I meant that NaNo and BuNo are the same sort of thing. Only I have to admit, I like BuNo better.

IN: Ah! *penny drops* You are attempting to write a 50,000 word novel this month again, yes?

TS: Yes! Only this time, my fabulous writers group are hosting the event. I thought that asterisking my blog titles for the month of June would be a nice little connection with the whole write-a-novel-in-30-days- thingy. Youknowzitmakezsense!

IN: *takes a calming breath and counts to ten* So you are going to blog this month using asterisked titles?

TS: Yes!

IN: And you are also going to write a novel?

TS: Well duh, isn't that what I've been trying to explain to you?

Quite frankly, at this point, dear reader, your humble Nutcase is feeling a bit violent, but being the professional person that I am, I resist strangling the youngish housewife and paste a friendly smile to my face as she starts rambling about her current project. I suspect that the Cardiffian has been at the vodka again, but I refrain from probing this issue as that would mean extending the interview, and quite honestly, this Nutcase has had about enough for one day.

IN: In short, you are blogging with asterisks this month because you are writing a novel, and that is what you did the last time?

TS: That's right, Ima, I am. Ooh, Ima, I am - that's kinda funny, isn't it? Ima, I am, Ima, I am....

IN:  *gnashes teeth * And what is the subject of your latest novel? Perhaps a sequel to your last effort?

TS: Er, actually, I'm still not sure.

IN: But shouldn't you be writing already? It is the first day of June.

TS: Oh pish posh, that doesn't bother me. I'll start writing something by the end of the day, never you fear.

As the young housewife takes a sip of a suspiciously clear-looking 'cup of tea', this reporter feels that the interview has come to a natural conclusion. As we pack up our equipment, we leave the Kairdiff Slag sipping her 'tea' and humming somewhat manically, and we promise her that we will be back to follow up on her current project.

Though honestly, if another volcanic eruption happens, I'll be begging Mr Editor to let me cover that instead.

Ima Nutcase, The Daily Ramble.

Dear Writing Mojo

Dear Writing Mojo,

I realise that it has been quite some time since I required your services, but I am currently gearing up to participate in BuNoWriMo, which is, as I'm sure you know, a rip off borrowed concept of the more widely known NaNoWriMo. In just a few short days I shall find myself invisibly glued to my laptop in order to write around 1800 words a day for the duration of the month of June.

Now, as I'm sure you'll remember, you serviced me greatly last November when I took part in the previously mentioned NaNoWriMo. You weren't always obvious with your mentoring - indeed, some days I suspect you escaped to the local pub for a bevvy or two - but for the most part you did your job well. By the skin of my teeth, I finished my novel with a final word count of 50,091. Yay!

This time around, I wanted to make sure that you knew what your actual requirements were, for when you are employed as a Writing Mojo, there are certain things that you must be able to do. For instance, you must be able to be around as and when you are required, preferably during daylight hours, and most especially when I am without my children.

That means no more trips to the local pub.*glares*

Next, I would require you to maintain full cheerleader skills for the entire month. An aspiring author needs a little pom-pom waving and verbal encouragement on a daily basis if she wishes to achieve her goal. For that purpose, I am providing you with full outfit and accessories in order for you to fulfil your cheerleader requirements.

Now, seeing as 'Mojo' is part of your title, I am also demanding that you take the form of one of my mojos whenever you are in residence. I am not going to be overly picky here and demand a particular persona for you, but if you would be so good as to take the form of Jensen Ackles, Viggo Mortensen, Gerard Butler, Ian Somerhalder, or that bloke from Spartacus: Blood and Sand, I would be suitably grateful. And if you combine both mojo and cheer leading elements at the same time, I assure you that I would be most demonstrative with my gratitude.

Next up is something that is crucial to achieving my BuNoWriMo Winner status. You must - I repeat must - be sure to punish me when I am slacking. If you were to find me playing Bejeweled Blitz, for example, a thorough spanking would definitely be in order. Indeed, nothing else would do.

And if you catch me procrastinating in any way on Facebook or HPANA, then you have my full permission to put me in chains and punish me in which ever way you deem fit (I would suggest whips, and maybe a little ice cream, but the choice would be yours, of course).

When it comes to the actual writing of my BuNoWriMo novel, I have a couple of other demands requests. Obviously I will have to include several pussy jokes in the manuscript - one can't have a talking cat in a story and not have pussy jokes after all - but I would humbly ask that you keep an eye on me in case I go overboard. It's never a good idea to overuse a pussy, as I'm sure you'll agree.

Another thing is is innuendo. Once again, there has to be a certain amount of innuendo in this type of novel, but in order for me not to go crazy and include innuendo in every other sentence, I shall require you to nibble my earlobes at frequent intervals. The pleasure pain from these timely reminders should hopefully be enough to override any innuendo impulses that I may experience. *shifty*

Lastly, in order for me to truly succeed, my fingers will need to be in prime condition in order for me to type properly. As I'm sure you are aware, fingers that aren't in prime condition are liable to produce copious typos and spelling errors when one is writing a novel on one's laptop. After last year's NaNoWriMo effort - which I suspect had larger numbers of incorrectly spelled words than correctly spelled words - you really must make more of an effort this year. Suitable treatments for producing perfectly pliable fingers include massage and manicures, though my personal preference would be for you to suck on them occasionally. I really find that this type of treatment can work wonders on poor, overworked, and aching extremities.

If you could just confirm that the above suggestions are agreeable, I would be most grateful. I humbly ask that you reply as soon as you possibly could as I am anxious to get matters settled before the end of the month.

Sincerely,

Tara Smith

I iz Taffin' again....

Whassup, peeps? I is 'aving a bangin' day today! First ov all, itz bluddy BOILing yer in the Kair of Diff, itz unfriggin'believable how 'ot itz got in the last two dayz like, innit? I mean, it was bluddy rain, rain, and MORE rain a coupla dayz ago, but now itz like, I dunno, a bluddy foreign country or sumfink.

At the moment I iz sat on the sowfa and typing this yer blog like, with sum moozic blastin' in the background. Me doorter is bopping around like the Mini Disco Diva that she iz, and I iz tappin' me foot along to Lady Gaga. Issallgood, innt?

P-P-P-Poker face, p-p-poker face....

Anywayz, while Lady Gaga (digitally) warbles in me lugholes, I thought I'd squeeze a blog in. I've bin busy all day today, spending lotsa time and 'avin' lotsa fun wiv me very amoozing pussy. Now, if you've bin paying attenshun - and I 'ope you 'ave -  you'll know that me amoozing pussy is not anyfink rood like, itz just me furry little friend. *reads last sentence* That's still a bit innuendo-y, ain't it? What I ment is me pussy is me furry little literary friend, cos my pussy is called Muse and she is like a characta in me novel. 'onestly, you is all filfy-minded peeps, ain't ya?

Anyways, coz I 'ave to add, like, anuvver ten fousand words to me novel if I wants to submit it fer publishin', I needs to like add quite a bit to it. There's a coupla new charactas to squeeze in, and some scenes need a bit of lengthenin' like, but a good free fousand words is gunna come from the prologue. And this is where I've bin having fun wiv me pussy. See, Muse is a fairy godmother, and she's like a recurrin' characta. Okay, she's not a recurrin' characta as of yet, coz me novel is the only book she's in like, but me novel is book one of a planned series, so eventually she'll be a recurrin' characta, see? *nods*

So, today I've bin puttin' me pussy threw her paces. She's been reminiscin' on her previous cases, see, and itz in order to flesh out her characta. You see, there's nothin' better than a fleshed out pussy.

And that's anuvver fing; today's bin bangin' becoz I've bin innuendo-in' all day long, coz innuendo is like the best fing since sliced bred, innit? You could be 'aving the worst day evah, but as long as you get a bit of innuendo in, everyfing just seems a little bit betta, don't it? Youknowzitmakezsense!

In ovver Itz Bin A Bangin' Day So Far news, I'm chuffed to beans becoz me networkin' is definitely paying off. I've now got almost two hundred more Facebook friendz than I 'ad three weeks ago - thatz like, more than double what I 'ad before! Sweet! And everyone is like, so nice! I 'ave to admit, this adding and accepting new friends fingy is so addictive, itz like, I dunno, choclut or sumfink. I loves it, I do, I loves it!

Lastly, there is one more reason I is 'aving a bangin' day, and that's BuNoWriMo. Now, I know that reading 'BuNoWriMo' might make you fink "what the 'ell is that?", and 'onestly, I wouldn't blame you becoz, well, unless you is psychic, you won't have a bluddy clue what I is talkin' about. See, BuNoWriMo is basically NaNoWriMo, only wivout the 'Na' bit at the start (and wiv 'Bu' there instead). Now, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which is like a worldwide fing that 'appens in November, and 'as peeps from all ovah the planet attemptin' to write a 50,000 word novel in firty dayz. Itz bluddy manic, I can tell you, but lotsa fun too. The only reason I had a pussy to play with today is because of NaNoWriMo, so I loves it, I do, I loves it.

Anywayz, my writers group is doin' itz own version of NaNoWriMo, and coz we is called The Burrow, we like altered the name like, innit? We iz gonna attempt a 50,000 word novel in June. Now, this is where me recurrin' pussy comes into play, coz I is gonna write the sequel to my original NaNo novel for BuNoWriMo, and the provisional title is gunna be Beauty has the Beast (nuffink like an innuendo-y type title, is there?), and will once again be set in me home town, the Kair of Diff (that's 'Cardiff' to anyone who ain't familiar wiv Taff speak). I like, can't wait to get crackin' on it, so I iz like totally buzzin'!

If anyone would like to participate in BuNoWriMo, I'll be like posting details and stuff when I knowz more, and we will like advertise and stuff on our Burrow Facebook page. It's gunna be crazy, but fun, and the more peeps who take part, the betta!

I'll keep you posted on BuNoWriMo, but in the meantime I needz to go back and have sum more fun wiv me furry little friend, so I'll catch you all later! Byez fer now!

Dear Word....

Dear Word,

I have already had experience in doing battle with you, and have rambled extensively about your many annoying quirks, but today I am laughing at you. Ha! Ha ha ha! See, I'm laughing, and it's no mere chuckle, oh Irritating Adversary Of Mine, oh no indeed. It's a full on, laugh out loud, stomach-aching, almost-choke-to-death, big old belly laugh.

You first tried to defeat me with your army of red and green squiggles, but I found ways to avoid conflict. Ignoring is a good defence tactic, after all. Then you sent me copious Fragment; Consider Revising Missiles, but once again, I was able to deflect having mastered the intricate avoiding manoeuvres that are Ignoring, Sticking Up The Middle Finger, and Poking Out Tongue.

You'd have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now, but you had to keep trying, didn't you? For the last six weeks we have been engaged in a sporadic battle of headers and page numbers. Each time I thought I'd made a breakthrough, you'd sneak up and steal the advantage from me. Oh, you're a clever adversary, I'll give you that.

But not as clever as me.

Well, not as clever as my friend at any rate. *shifty*

You see, Oh Wily Word, I decided that our skirmishes needed to come to an end one way or another, and so I enlisted the help of the Facebook Fusiliers. All I had to do was request help, and help arrived. In the form of innuendo, no less (which is the best kind of help, don't you agree?).

And so, my defeated adversary, I have you licked. The Battle for Headers and Page Numbers is at an end, and it was little old me that was the victor.  So there.

And if you don't want to see me doing the victory dance (which includes shouting 'Yes!' repeatedly in an orgasmic manner, and hula-ing with the invisible hula hoop), then I suggest employing one of my favorite war tactics - that of ignoring. It works a treat.

Not that I'm gloating or anything....

Actually I am.

Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuuuuuh!

Sincerely,

Tara (I beat you, you sucker!) Smith

Random Blog Thingy

I didn't get a request for today's blog. *pouts* Therefore I have no idea what I'm going to type - just so you know. It's not a disaster as such, because at least half of my blogs started off with me typing and hoping I'd get inspiration in the duration. Still, a request would have been nice.

I could tell you about the two things I did to my blog page the other day, I suppose. That will fill a paragraph or two, yes? The first thing I did was add a flag counter. It's interesting to see where my readers come from, definitely. I had a rough idea anyway, partly because I obviously know where my regular readers come from, and partly because I had another counter installed ages ago. But the flag counter is way cooler. I know, for example, that I had somebody from Belgium pop by the other day. I don't think I know anyone from Belgium, so if you come back, reader from Belgium, please say hello, it would be nice to meet you! The same goes to the reader from Italy; I'd love to interact with an Italian, mostly because I would love to emigrate there. I've not travelled far in the past, but I spent time in Italy as a schoolgirl, and I absolutely loved it there.

Most of the other flagged countries came as no surprise. Columbia, Austria, Australia, The Netherlands, Norway, America and, of course, the UK - I have buddies from all of those places, and the majority of them have posted here from time to time. It's still very interesting though, no question.

The other thing I did was change my blog template. I'm not sure that I like the new background, but the black was getting boring for me, plus a few of my friends had mentioned having trouble reading the text, so I thought a change might be nice. Whether the background will stay like this is another thing, we shall see.

Am I boring you yet? See, this is what happens when you don't give me a request. *wags finger*

Let me see, what else can I ramble about? So far there are *scans the page* four paragraphs (and an odd line). That's not nearly long enough, oh dear me, no. I shall need to at least double the length for it to be enough to satisfy me. *nods*

I could tell you about my day, I suppose. About how I only just about escaped with my life after venturing into my son's bedroom in order to clean it. How a tiny attic bedroom can take an hour and a half to clean is beyond me, but then again it is occupied by my almost-fourteen-year-old. There aren't a lot of toys any more, just two small tubs of bits and pieces, but the toys have been replaced with about a gazillion media discs, which my son seems to think prefer to be spread out all over the room rather than neatly put away in their cases.  I had a pile of discs about six inches tall, with a mixture of Wii games, PS2 games and DVDs  making up the numbers. After collecting the various discs from all over the floor/desk/under the bed/TV stand, I then put them in three piles according to disc type. So far so good, but then I had to collect all of the covers, which, as per the discs, were to be found anywhere and everywhere. By the time I finished sorting through them (finding x amount of odd socks, some pyjamas, a pair of jeans, two plastic bowls, three empty juice bottles, and an empty tube of haribos in the process), 45 minutes had passed. *mutters darkly*

Of course, I was left with odd discs with no covers, and odd covers with no discs. That's a given when it comes to my son (and my daughter, for that matter). It drives me nuts! It's not as though I don't tell them to put things away when they're finished with them. I swear I spend half my life yelling at them to look after their stuff. *mutters again*

Anywho, after dusting, polishing, vacuuming and changing the bedding, an hour and a half had passed, and I still had the rest of the house to do. I have small house; as well as the attic bedroom (which is small in itself), there's my bedroom, my daughter's box bedroom and the bathroom on the upper floor, and my living room and the kitchen downstairs. Barring the kitchen (which I had to leave until after the school run), I cleaned the rest of the house in less than half an hour. That's two bedrooms, the bathroom, the living room, and the hall, landing and stairs. All dusted, polished, tidied and vacuumed (according to need) in a third of the time it took to clean ONE room. Honestly, my son needs a good talking to. Again.

You should definitely be bored by now, so I guess I'll leave it there. And let that be a lesson to you! If you don't want to read about housework and changes made to blog pages, then for pity's sake give this poor blogger a subject to ramble about. Who knows what'll be typed up next unless someone comes to the rescue....

One last request?

Magnificent Mojos

This request buisness has been pretty good for my writing mojo. After successfully blogging for two solid months, then being pretty good in December (I managed to blog 15 times, which when I think about how mad December was, is not bad at all), I virtually disappeared. This is blog number eleven of 2010. Bad. Very bad. Anyway, as I was saying, this request malarkey is great, because it appears that by having someone suggest a topic for me, it has actually pushed me into writing regularly again. Okay, so we are only on the fifth consecutive day now, but my blog count for January was a big fat zero, while February only had one blog posted for the entire month.

Moving on.

My fave NaNo novel illustrator, Ana, came up with her second topic suggestion for this round of requests, and as usual, she has picked something close to my heart. Namely mojos.

Now, I have blogged about mojos before. In fact, I seem to remember saying that my 'Mojo Moments' would be a semi-regular blog topic. *coughs*  My first Mojo Moment was way back in my first week of blogging, and was all about my ultimate mojo, Aragorn (of Lord of the Rings fame). I rambled extensively about the advantages of being hot, dirty, and owning a big sword. Good fun for all, I would think. I think I forgot all about my intention of blogging about mojos semi-regularly after that (forgetfulness is one of the banes of being a procrastinator), until about seven weeks later.

The madness of November (NaNoWriMo anyone?) ended on a surprising high when I not only managed to blog almost every day (I missed once), but I also managed to complete the 50,000 word novel challenge that I had been suckered into by my good friend Tami (Confessions of a Watery Tart). What better way to celebrate than to blog all about the mojo that is Dean Winchester (a.k.a. Jensen Ackles) of Supernatural fame?  I got to insert plenty of innuendo into my post (always a good thing), managed to include several increasingly hot pictures of said mojo, and was also able to use copious amounts of asteriskisms, which are quite possibly my favorite things in the world. *fondly remembers asteriskisms blog post* [/shameless self-plugging once more].

Anywho, after only a mere *shifty* six months, here I am blogging about mojos again. Okay, so far all I have done is ramble about my previous blogs and added links (shameless plugs) to several things (mostly because I'm still strangely impressed that I can actually do this kind of thing without stuffing it up)  but I'm getting to new stuff, I swear.

My Mojo Cupboard is pretty full, I have to admit. Accompanying Aragorn the Hot and Dean the Droolworthy are more than a handful of gorgeous hunks that, as far as I'm concerned, were put on this earth for the purpose of making me (and several million other women) drool. Yes, I know that's a bit shallow.... Tara, these men are people too, not just eye candy! They are talented as well as hot, and would probably be insulted if they thought people only liked them for their looks.... but honestly, the whole point of mojos is that they give visual pleasure (at the very least) to hoards of women all over the world, and are unavailable, thus safe to fantasize over. Yes, they're intelligent, talented people who are more than just merely good -looking actors (or fictional characters, as the case may be), but when we fantasize about our mojos, we aren't imagining how sexy they would be if they were working out a quadratic equation.

And lets face it, mojos are perfect fantasy material. I'm pretty sure that there isn't a single perfect person, be it male or female, in the world right now. Everyone has faults, no matter how nice they are. But mojos are perfect. They always look perfect, always act in the way that you love, and sometimes wear sexy lingerie just the way you like it *coughs* Find me a man like that in real life and I'll eat my laptop. And this is why we love our mojos. It's pure escapism, fun, and a little bit naughty to have private droolfests over people we are never likely to meet in a million years. And quite honestly, I'm pretty sure that most of my mojos, while publicly holding themselves aloof, are privately a little bit chuffed that they bring so much pleasure to women all over the world. At least, I like to think so.

I suppose I can't finish today's blog without having a proper Mojo Moment. I've rambled a fair bit already, but haven't actually mentioned any of my other mojos. I could wax lyrical about Mr. Darcy, or perhaps enthusiastically witter away about Johnny Depp, but I think I'm going to go with Ian Somerhalder. Mr. Somerhalder stars as Damon Salvatore in the American TV series The Vampire Diaries.

Now, I've blogged before about my TV addictions, and this series is another habit that I have. I'm not one for vampires in general; I can't stand anything to do with Twilight, and the phenomenon that is True Blood has completely passed me by. To be truthful, The Vampire Diaries is not that great; the plot is contrived, the characters predictable, and the overuse of music with moody overtures can be a bit, well, overused. But I'm a sucker (no pun intended) for a bad boy, and Damon Salvatore is truly a bad boy. He treats women like dirt, traumatizes his brother on an hourly basis, and thoroughly enjoys himself when he is in full vampire mode. But as with all bad boys, you know that deep down (very deep down with this one) lies a poor wounded little boy lost. *sighs in Scarlett O'Hara fashion*

Okay, it's a fantasy, I know. Real-life bad boys are rarely soft and cuddly on the inside, but if you were paying attention, you would know that the word 'fantasy' is the key here.

As I said before, The Vampire Diaries is not fantastic. I think I would have given up on it a long time ago if it wasn't for the character of Damon. In fact, I already did give up on it last year. I watched two or three episodes and decided that it wasn't my cup of tea at all. Then the crappiness that is British TV at the moment forced me into looking online for other viewing pleasures, and I decided to give the series another shot. If nothing else, I can hit the mute button and freeze frame all the Damon scenes (especially the shirtless ones), right?

And don't roll your eyes at me, because I know you do that too (or at least I hope you do....)

Ahh, I loves me my mojos. *sighs happily*

Next request?

Science Fiction Double Feature

Third day in a row for blogging, and third request coming up....

I just love the fact that my friends know me so well. So far I've had Ana pick a subject that was probably the easiest thing to blog about in the world (at least for me), then Leesh picked HPANA, my favorite internet home. Today, I get the awesome Rocky Horror Picture Show courtesy of my fellow Burrower Leanne. Honestly, my friends are just fabulous....

Anywho; Rocky Horror. *sighs happily* Where do I even begin? This movie is like Marmite (a yeast extract used for cooking, spreading on toast etc) - you either love it or hate it. Obviously, I love it (the movie, that is,  not Marmite, can't stand the stuff. *shudders*). The thing is, it's not just a movie; the Rocky Horror Picture Show is a feast of delights best served with a group of friends, plentiful alcohol, and feather boas. And that's just for when you watch it at home - if you're wanting the full buffet, the theatre experience is what you should order.

I'd be fairly surprised if you haven't heard of this cult classic, but for the RHPS Virgins out there, I'll give a brief description (which probably won't be brief at all seeing as I love to ramble). A young and wholesome American couple, Brad (Barry Bostwick) and Janet (Susan Sarandon) stumble on a spooky castle when their car breaks down in a storm. They enter the castle to ask for help, but get much more than they bargained for.

Initially they are greeted by the butler, Riff-Raff (the sublime Richard O'Brien). Riff-Raff is not your ordinary butler by any stretch of the imagination. He has the suit, but that's about it. Coming complete with hunchback, pasty skin and stringy white hair, he's not someone you'd normally bump into in a stately home. Brad and Janet are plainly wary of this strange butler, but it's only the first of many surprises. They are soon hit with three more dodgy looking characters.

We get to meet the host, one Frank N Furter, (affectionately known as Frankie). With full stage make-up, a curly hair-do, a basque, and endless legs encased in fishnet stockings, I'm guessing Brad and Janet were more than a little shocked by Mr Furter. Me, I loved him. Tim Curry played the role to perfection, and being a tall man, the suffering he endured in the scarily high platform shoes he had to wear must have been crippling. Not to mention his eyes, which by the end of the film look redder than a hot poker.

The other primary characters are Frankie's two sidekicks, Magenta (the frizzy-haired maid) and Columbia (not really sure what role she had in the household, except as the on-off girlfriend of Frankie [and Eddie, but that's another story]).

Keeping up with me? Good! By the time we've met the primary characters, we know that this movie is going to be a little different (though honestly, if you hadn't worked that out from the opening credits, you deserve to be shocked by the movie's content). Oh, and did I mention that it was a musical? No? How remiss of me!

Moving on.

Now that Brad and Janet have met the members of the household, they are properly introduced. In ordinary cultures, this might be a handshake, a few words of greeting, or maybe a formal bow or curtsy if you are meeting the upper classes. For Frankie and his gang, a proper introduction means scaring the life out of your unexpected guests by belting out the classic Best Way To Freak Out Your Guests song Sweet Transvestite. With lyrics including I'm just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania, and I see you shiver with antici.... (very long pause).... PATION, this is probably my favorite song from the movie. This scene also includes the hugely popular song The Time Warp, which even RHPS Virgins should be familiar with.

Frankie takes his guests (who by now have been stripped to their underwear and given lab coats to wear, as you do) to his laboratory where he has been working on making his man (with blond hair and a tan *winks*). Frankie's playmate is the 'Rocky' of the title, and though he doesn't say much (I don't think he says anything at all, actually), he is vital to the plot. Yes, the movie does have a plot, albeit a zany one.

I could go on and on here and guide you through the entire movie, and I would have a blast doing it, but I'm pretty sure this blog post is already too long, and I still have things to say. So I'll skip over the part where Frankie manages to do some naughty *coughs*  things to both Janet and Brad, and how brother and sister duo Riff-Raff and Magenta have a closer relationship than is strictly allowed between siblings, and I'll even gloss over the bit where Meatloaf randomly appears riding a motorcycle and kitted out in the very best from Leather R Us. I should probably mention, though, that most of the household are, in fact, aliens. From the transsexual planet of Transylvania, no less (see, this is why you need to pay attention to the song lyrics *winks*).

By the by, my son, when he was about three, managed to stumble into my living room one evening while I was hosting a Rocky Horror night. He coined the phrase 'Lipstick Aliens', and honestly, how perfect a description is that?

Anywho.... moving on again. I promise I'm almost done now, I swear.

The best thing about this movie (quite apart from the men in drag, the feather boas and the 'interesting' song lyrics (toucha toucha toucha meee, I wanna be diiiirty.... thrill me, chill me, fulfil meeeee, creature of the night.... *hums*) are the parts where the audience join in. You can do it at home, but it's definitely better when you're watching a live show [/ extra innuendo]. In order to participate properly, you need to dress up as one of the characters. I went for Magenta (the frizzy-haired maid), mostly because I already had the frizzy hair and basque (the two most important things), and also because I really love her character. When you are fully dressed up a la Rocky, you need a trusty bag of accessories, which include a newspaper,  water pistol, dried rice, and toilet paper (amongst other things).

Now you have your outfit and your props, you are almost ready. You need take nothing else with you except a good memory, because as with all the best audience participation movies, you have lines to remember. There are too many to list here, but there are many gems throughout the movie, and it is these ad-libbing extras that give you the thrill of the full Rocky Horror experience.

And when you're done throwing toilet paper and dried rice on the people in front of you, and you have finished yelling 'Vice' at the stage, you are in great spirits to move the night forwards; namely to a nightclub, accompanied by a couple of hundred basque-wearing, make-up plastered Frankie look-a-likes. Awesome!

If you fall into the 'Love It' category, I'd highly recommend seeing the show live. If you aren't brave enough to don a basque and fishnets (and that includes the guys - especially the guys), you can throw on a lab coat and a wee bit of eyeliner and probably get away with it. But if you are brave enough, go do it! It'll be the best night out that you've ever had, I guarantee it. And who knows, maybe you'll meet your very own personal love-slave. But not Rocky, because he's already taken (by several Lipstick Aliens, no less).

Next request?

Here Pussy Pussy....

Oh, I am tired. It's exhausting, this 'being a cat' business. One minute you are asleep, the next you hear,

"Puss! Puss- puss!"

Really, when you imagine that we are rolling our eyes, we probably are.

"Puss! Here, puss-puss!"

No! I want to sleep! I will not catch your pesky mouse. I caught one only yesterday, and brought it to you. What did you do? You wrinkled your nose and told me to "Shoo!"

Silly humans.

Yes, now I am sniffing with disdain, you did not imagine it.

"Puss!"

No! I am stretching lazily and ignoring you. 'Shoo' yourself!

Purrrr... 


Ha! Gotcha! I bet you thought that the title would mean I was being all Taffish again, but I fooled you, oh yes I did!

*coughs*

Well, maybe I didn't fool you at all, and maybe it is only ME that has a dirty mind....

Anywho, I've been a busy bee all day again today, and I'm not sure how much time I have on the PC before the hubby gets home, so I thought I'd share a drabble that I wrote last year. Hence the pussy post. In actual fact, the image that inspired the drabble wasn't the picture above, but I decided to share a photo of my own pussy instead. My pussy is in fact my third child (or maybe fourth if you count the hubby). I cwch (that's how we say it in Wales) her like a baby, and talk to her in that special voice reserved for children under the age of one.

I speak to her, and she speaks to me. Really. She honestly does speak to me. And sometimes she doesn't even have to utter a meow, she'll talk with her eyes and let me know exactly what she wants. It was Belle (my pussy's name) who inspired me to include a talking cat in my NaNo novel. Okay, so the cat in my novel, Muse, actually speaks with a human voice (which quite obviously my own cat does not), but in looks and character, Muse is the carbon copy of my own feline friend.

I've always been a cat person. Growing up, my family always had at least one cat in the household. Some we unfortunately lost prematurely due to the two biggest worries that a cat owner stresses over - traffic and wandering. But we had the one cat for seventeen years. Now, Fluffy (highly original name, I know *rolls eyes*) was really part of the family. She survived countless house moves and was treated like a human more often than not. When we lost her we were devastated. For those people that don't have family pets, its seems strange to say that we really grieve when a pet dies, but we do. I think I cried more when Fluffy died than I did when I lost my grampy. Of course, I only ever really saw my grampy about twice a year, so we were never what you would call close, but still, it seems strange to think that I was more upset at losing my cat.

My current pussy, Belle, gave me a scare a couple of months ago when she disappeared for two nights. Normally she rarely ventures out, and on the odd occasion when she does, she's back in under an hour. I was convinced she had been attacked by the neighborhood dogs and/or had been run over. I was on pins for the whole time she was gone, and cried buckets of tears when I thought no-one was looking. Thankfully she came home, none the worse for wear. *wipes brow* She was also completely oblivious to the stress she had caused (I know, she's a cat, and therefore doesn't think like we humans do, but still, you'd have thought she would have at least given me an extra cuddle by way of apology). She strolled in, ate her fill at her dish, and sauntered into the living room so that she could zonk out on her favorite chair. And do you think she would let me make a fuss of her? Not bloody likely.

Still, that's cats for you, eh? As long as they get fed and have a warm place to snooze, they really don't care about us. I suspect that they see us as their pets actually. They're very crafty, those cats. *nods wisely*

It's all pants, I say! PANTS!

Around a month ago I was commenting on something (can't remember what exactly), and I said something along the lines of 'it's pants'. 'Pants' is something that I have been saying for well over twenty years, usually to describe something that is awful, crap, stupid or pathetic. And it's not just me, a lot of people round here use 'pants' as a word to describe something that is incredibly blah.

It got me thinking though. I mean, just as there are a wide range of pants to be worn, there is also a wide range of things that could be described as 'pants'.

Over in America, pants are trousers, so I don't think the point really gets across as well as it should. But over here, pants are underwear. Generally, pants are what we call men's underwear, while the fabulous word for women's unmentionables is 'knickers'.  I love that word, 'knickers'. I use it almost as much as I use 'pants'. It's just funny to say (or it is to me, at any rate).

Anywho, knickers aside (the best thing for them, really *winks*), I'm talking about pants, so I'll get back to it. I thought I'd try to categorize real pants against the things that we use them to describe (if that makes sense).

First we have the y-fronts. Now, to me, this is probably the most commonly used comparison when we are describing something that is particularly lame, because let's face it, y-fronts are the most boring underwear on the planet. The y-front brings to mind middle-aged men with pot bellies, belly button fluff, and string vests. *shudders* At the moment, I am thinking specifically about y-fronts when I say that I think the Twilight phenomena is complete and utter pants.

Next up, we have boxer shorts. Boxer shorts are required attire for males over the age of four, but under the age of 21. They're comfortable, and don't have to be removed for various activities (great for the younger males, who may need the loo in a hurry, and fantastic for the older males, who like easy navigation for an entirely different reason altogether). Boxer shorts are, in fact, probably the perfect underwear choice for males all over the world. For descriptive purposes, I would be thinking of boxer shorts if I were using 'pants' to describe a movie or a book that perhaps used a tried and tested structure in order to tell the story (taking the easy way out, as it were).

Lastly (for the men, that is. There are probably more forms of underwear for the males of our species, but being a woman I have limited knowledge), we have briefs. Now, briefs are the choice for males past the age of getting it out for all and sundry, so it is difficult to give an age range. Some men reach this level of maturity in their early twenties, others are in their forties before they decide they've sown their final oats. Then there are the men who don't like any kind of planting at all (usually these are the men who wear y-fronts), and the men who have the need to garden for their entire lives (chronic boxer short wearers). So brief wearers are definitely hard to generalise. Anyway, briefs are the pants that I think of when I describe everyday things that are stupid/lame/crud etc. Like when I've been waiting an hour for a bus, and I say 'Cardiff Bus are pants'. Or if I buy a sack of potatoes and they boil away to nothing when I cook them (what a pants bag of spuds they were!). It makes sense that you can't generalise the items you would describe as the brief form of pants, seeing as you can't generalise the type of man who wears them, yes? (Of course it doesn't make sense at all, but seeing as this blog post is definitely pants (of the boxer short variety), then I'm not really worried).

So there we have it. A quick (pants) blog about how and why I use 'pants' as a word to describe anything from bad movies to crappy potatoes.  As a last thought though, I'd like to add that I think pants are pants too. I mean, honestly, what is the point of them? The y-front wearers would do much better without them (it would improve their image no end), the boxer short wearers don't need them (they want easy access, and surely easier access would be better achieved without wearing any pants at all), and the brief wearers are so middle-of-the-road when it comes to their choice, that surely it would suit their Not Fussy attitude just as much if they chose to go 'Commando' instead.

Pants? Why bother?

*is drooling over Dean Winchester*

It's the last day of November, hence the last of my asterisked blog titles. It seems only fitting that I should blog about one of my mojos, because asteriskisms tend to come out in full force when we talk about our man/woman candy. There are a multitude of words that we can asterisk when we come across pictures of our mojos. *nods firmly*

For example, for the picture on the right, you could have:

*drools*

*melts*

*mind wanders*


But there are different levels of asteriskisms when you are dealing with mojos. The above is pretty standard stuff, but aside from the general hotness that is Jensen Ackles, the picture is nothing out of the ordinary. For the next level of asteriskisms, you need something a little more inspiring.

Now, it doesn't have to be anything crude, or even naked (although that idea does rather appeal), it just has to have that little something extra that inspires just a wee bit more drooling. The picture on the left may seem like another fairly ordinary picture, but don't be fooled. Our boy has that twinkle in his eyes that tells you right away that he is a Bad Boy, and you know how most ladies love a bad boy. On the asteriskism front, we are now:

*fans self*

*drools excessively*

*is thinking about taming strategies*




Level Three obviously needs the picture to be taken up a notch or two on the hotness front, so a little nudity is a must. Nothing over the top, just a little tease, of course. Sometimes leaving things covered is far more sexy than out and out nakedness. Here we have the traditional Chest Shot, guaranteed to invoke slightly more naughty asteriskisms. Now we have:

*licks lips*

*swoons*

*is thinking about full body massages*










Level five (no, I'm not deluded, I can count) is the Level of Smut, which I won't get in to here, but before Smutty Level Five, we get lovely Level Four. *winks* Level Four is, by the laws of inevitability, sexier than Level Three, so we need a little bit more than a Chest Shot. The example I'm using is the Butt Cleavage. *grins innocently* Gone are the playful *drools* and *licks lips*, we are now reduced to:

*pulls out whip*

*drags to dungeon*

*has multiple asteriskisms*

So yes, mojos definitely bring out a good variety of asteriskisms, wouldn't you say? And these aren't strictly limited to the ladies either. You men can whip out your asteriskisms as and when the fancy takes you. *coughs*  Make sure you insert a little innuendo too, and you'll be laughing all the way to the imaginary dungeon....

*is teaching Taffisms*

Oi oi butts! Taffy Tara yer again, like, innit? I've tried to put it off, like, but iznogood. Evah since I blogged about Taffs the ovver week like, I've bin wanting to do anovver one. It's a bluddy nightmare, like, remembering to type Taffish, but itz well funny, so its worf the effort, like, innit?

I fort I'd try and teach me readers a little birrabou Taffisms, coz I only covvahed a tiny bit last time. Fer instance, like, I bluddy forgot allabou 'anallat'. A new reader pointed tha one out fer me, and she was well right, like, innit? I mean, I says it all the time I do. That's anovver one right there - I do.
We says 'I do' at the end of sentences like, don't we? I loves pizza I do. I likes choclut I do. Altogevver like. And we adds the eses at the ends of words like, too, innit.

And I forgot the sheep. That's a ducking crime and 'alf that is, coz even though we don't really like it, we Taffies are usually associated wif sheep. 'Sheep-shaggers', the rest of Britain calls us. Bluddy sheep-shaggers! It's sorta insultin like, to be honest, but we is stuck wif it now.

Anovver fing we always says like is 'then'. But we don't say it like you do, like, we says it at the end of sentences like, innit? Like, if we is phoning our clarts like, we don't say 'where are you?', we says 'where you to then?"  Izallgood.

Now, anovver fing I forgot the last time, was to explain abou clits, like. The fing is, we Kairdiff slags needed a word for each ovver. The boys were good, like, coz they called each ovver 'butt' or 'clart', but we girls were like, 'ang on, butt, we only got 'slags'! We wants anovver name, like, innit? So we fort, worrabou 'clit'? I mean, it's just as good as any ovver name like, innit? So all couples 'ave a clart and a clit. Youknowzitmakezsense (that's anovver word wif like lots of words togevver, like, an its one ov our faves too. Bangin', ain-it?).

Before I forgets again, like, there's one more Taffism I needs to tork to you abou. Now innaminute. That's righ, thats wot we says like. If me doorter says 'Mum, can I 'ave a packet of crips?' (cos we don't say 'crisps', we says 'crips'). I'll say 'You can 'ave some now innaminute'. Or if the clart asks me 'when is fooood gunna be ready?',  I'll say 'It'llbeready now innaminute'.  It's bluddy strange, I know, but that's just wot we does like, innit?

So that's a bit more abou Taffisms, but theres's like lots of ovver stuff to tork abou. The biggest fing I wanted to tell you was that you gorra wotch Taff Wars. Taff Wars is bangin, ducking awesome, like. They has a propa website like, too, but if you is lazy, like, you can search for them on Yootoob. They got lotsov epasodes on there, like, and they're like fullov swearin and rood words like, innit? Bluddy funny, they are, well wicked like, innit.

Lastly, I fort I'd share a few jokes, like. Just to give you an idea of what we Taffies are like, coz I'm tellin you now, butt, they is spot on, like, innit.

Wot do you call a Taff slag who wearz a white tracksuit?
A bride.

Wots the first question ov Quiz Night in yer local vallee pub?
Wot you looking at, butt?

Wot do you call a 30 yer old vallee girl?
Nan.

Wot's the most confoosing day ov the yer for Taffies?
Favver's Day.

And on that note, like, I fink itz best to leave it, like innit. Youknozitmakezsense, anallat.

Later clarts and clits!

*is proud to say she is googleable*

I impressed a couple of friends last night. An unexpected night of wine and beer (wine for the girls, beer for the boys, fun for everyone) turned into a laugh-a-minute heap of hilarity.  The added bonuses of a) the daughter sleeping over her auntie's house, and b) friends bringing their son over with them  (keeping our own son entertained) meant that the four adults could have fun and be pretty much undisturbed.

The beer cans kept lining up, the wine flowed nicely, and much was talked about. The obligatory catch-up (we live literally ten seconds away from each other, but haven't had a proper catch-up for ages), Christmas, what the kids are up to, Christmas, daily struggles with paying bills, Christmas.... well, you get the idea.

Of course, with our main computer hooked up to our TV, and with said TV being 42" and the focal point of the room, we inevitably ended up on the internet.  My friend informed me that she has been reading my blog off an on, which surprised me because, well, there's not really a reason, I was just surprised (but happily so).  Somehow we got onto the subject of how she gets access to it, and said that she wished there was an easier way other than via Facebook.

Now, I discovered something wonderful last week. If you type 'wobbly sausage' into Google search, you'll get my blog on the first page. I'm varying between  #1 and  #4, but I'm there all the same. I love the fact that wobbly sausages are leading almost directly to me. *snorts*  And friends were 'well impressed' that I was googleable (possibly their enthusiasm might have had something to do with alcohol consumption, but that's not really important).

Of course, what with me being a lightweight when it comes to alcohol - a very little makes me a very lot drunk - I was well on my way to Drunksville after only two glasses. At this point, we had bypassed wobbly sausages (shame), laughed a little about Taffisms (wotyoudooooen?), remembered that Taff boys were 'clarts' and Taff girls was 'clits' (I'll blog about that another time), and were delving through Youtube.

Youtube is an excellent way to spend an evening when you are drinking. *nods* You have humour (video of Rainbow (British TV show from yonks ago aimed at kids) that mentions twangers, plucking instruments and playing with your friend's balls amongst other such gems), insanity (those two guys miming to 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight). nostalgia (music from the 80's), and well, pretty much everything.

The boys enjoyed Sex Pistols, The Killers, and videos of break dancing, and for the girls' entertainment we had Pet Shop Boys, OMD, and cheesy songs to (badly) sing along to (Grease's 'Summer Nights' being a highlight, especially that bit at the end when you can scream 'niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight').

On a related note, there could very well be a new video on Youtube (or possibly Facebook) very soon. *shifty* Both hubbies (er, my hubby and friend's hubby, that is, I only have one husband) recorded our singalong sessions from time to time. Now, this is rather disturbing because a) I can't sing, b) I can't dance, and c) I was drunk. (although to be fair, it is only because of c) that I didn't immediately hide behind a cushion when the camera got pulled out). I seem to remember enthusiastically singing along to 'Sweet Transvestite' (from the sublime Rocky Horror Picture Show), and am slightly worried that this could potentially be seen by a LOT of people.

Still, it was a good night. I got drunk, caught up with some friends, scared the son with my singing skills, and gave the hubby blackmailing options. Not to mention impressing people with my googleability. Successful night all round, I'd say.