Something festive...
Apparently the link only works for two weeks.
21 December 2005
27 November 2005
15 November 2005
There have been no updates for the last couple of weeks, because I have been a poorly Lisy.
Just now, I was on my way home from the hospital, where they took my blood away from me to see if it tested positive for H. Pylori. Which to me means "if I do test positive, they can give me antibiotics and I'll be all well again." So keep your fingers crossed for me that I do have some spirally bacteria eating away at my stomach lining, because the fix is quick and easy.
Anyway, I was on my way home, and I passed a woman, drinking her take away coffee who paused, looked at me with genuine sympathy and said "I hope you have a nice life." I'm not sure if she was passing comment on me being a crip, or the big ball of cotton wool I currently have taped to the back of my hand to stop me bleeding to death.*
Having been stuck at home with the ability to do nothing other than lay and watch DVD's...
Actually, on that, so far since I fell ill, I've watched:
Series 5 & 7 of Friends - each series 24 episodes each 21 mins long
Series 6 of Friends - 25 episodes at 21 mins long.
Series 1 of Buffy - 12 episodes, 42 mins each.
Series 4 of Charmed 22 episodes of 42 mins
The first 8 episodes of Tru Calling - again 42 mins an episode.
Plus the last episode of series three of Charmed (42 mins), The first two episodes of series 5 of Charmed (hey, I was watching series 4 and I wanted the context!), the first 4 episodes of series 8 of Charmed, and the first half (12 episodes) of series 8 of Friends.
Any mathematicians care to work out the total time (in hours / days) that I've spent plonked in front of the TV since my guts went nuts?
Anyway, back to the sentence I started before I was rudely interrupted by, erm, my brain and its tangents... I was forgetting how weird the world outside my flat was. I've had no-one saying weird things to me in the street... because I've not been out in the street. On my way to the hospital this morning though, I was crossing the road, and I could see a guy just itching to say to me something that someone actually did say to me at a pedestrian crossing a few weeks ago.
"You're alright now, love."
Because, apparently, I was in such peril when the red illuminated man was showing. But Mr Green made it all OK.
And on the note of odd people, I feel my DVDs of sitcoms calling me.
*That may be a slight exaggeration
Just now, I was on my way home from the hospital, where they took my blood away from me to see if it tested positive for H. Pylori. Which to me means "if I do test positive, they can give me antibiotics and I'll be all well again." So keep your fingers crossed for me that I do have some spirally bacteria eating away at my stomach lining, because the fix is quick and easy.
Anyway, I was on my way home, and I passed a woman, drinking her take away coffee who paused, looked at me with genuine sympathy and said "I hope you have a nice life." I'm not sure if she was passing comment on me being a crip, or the big ball of cotton wool I currently have taped to the back of my hand to stop me bleeding to death.*
Having been stuck at home with the ability to do nothing other than lay and watch DVD's...
Actually, on that, so far since I fell ill, I've watched:
Series 5 & 7 of Friends - each series 24 episodes each 21 mins long
Series 6 of Friends - 25 episodes at 21 mins long.
Series 1 of Buffy - 12 episodes, 42 mins each.
Series 4 of Charmed 22 episodes of 42 mins
The first 8 episodes of Tru Calling - again 42 mins an episode.
Plus the last episode of series three of Charmed (42 mins), The first two episodes of series 5 of Charmed (hey, I was watching series 4 and I wanted the context!), the first 4 episodes of series 8 of Charmed, and the first half (12 episodes) of series 8 of Friends.
Any mathematicians care to work out the total time (in hours / days) that I've spent plonked in front of the TV since my guts went nuts?
Anyway, back to the sentence I started before I was rudely interrupted by, erm, my brain and its tangents... I was forgetting how weird the world outside my flat was. I've had no-one saying weird things to me in the street... because I've not been out in the street. On my way to the hospital this morning though, I was crossing the road, and I could see a guy just itching to say to me something that someone actually did say to me at a pedestrian crossing a few weeks ago.
"You're alright now, love."
Because, apparently, I was in such peril when the red illuminated man was showing. But Mr Green made it all OK.
And on the note of odd people, I feel my DVDs of sitcoms calling me.
*That may be a slight exaggeration
31 October 2005
Halloween
This afternoon I was sitting in front of my computer, planning my Halloween evening of sitting at home, by myself, watching all the Halloween episodes of Buffy and eating popcorn, when the following Email arrived in my inbox:
I had thought the other day that Ben Crouches would be a fun pub in which to spend Halloween. After all, the place is adorned with such spooky goodness as this funky gremlin all year round:
So, I accepted the invitation, and headed off towards the pub.
On our table was a pumpkin, all ready to be carved. So, after we ate, Nat and I used our knives to carve a face into it.
I did the right eye and the nose. Nat did the left eye and the mouth. Rob refused to participate in the carvage because he feared the pumpkin would collapse.
It didn't stop him playing with the removed pieces once the carving had been done:
Very soon, our pumpkin looked like this:
And Rob decided to name him "Eric."
We did not have any candles about our persons unfortunately. We did however have mobile phones, so we managed to make Eric glow:
At some point during the evening, I acquired a hat:
Of course, Eric tried it on:
Turns out that Eric's a smoker:
And when he ran out of cigarettes, he got desperate and tried to smoke a tube of Smarties:
Eric and Rob had a deep and meaningful conversation:
Though, at some point in the conversation, Eric said something shocking:
Eric and I got on well:
Perhaps a little too well:
And then, after I'd worked my way through over half of the Seven Deadly Sins cocktail menu, it was time to go. Nat gave Eric a very sweet goodbye kiss:
And we left Eric on the table for others to appreciate our creativity (but I wore my hat all the way home).
Fancy joining myself and Nat in Ben Crouches for halloween drinks tonight?
I had thought the other day that Ben Crouches would be a fun pub in which to spend Halloween. After all, the place is adorned with such spooky goodness as this funky gremlin all year round:
So, I accepted the invitation, and headed off towards the pub.
On our table was a pumpkin, all ready to be carved. So, after we ate, Nat and I used our knives to carve a face into it.
I did the right eye and the nose. Nat did the left eye and the mouth. Rob refused to participate in the carvage because he feared the pumpkin would collapse.
It didn't stop him playing with the removed pieces once the carving had been done:
Very soon, our pumpkin looked like this:
And Rob decided to name him "Eric."
We did not have any candles about our persons unfortunately. We did however have mobile phones, so we managed to make Eric glow:
At some point during the evening, I acquired a hat:
Of course, Eric tried it on:
.2.jpg)
Turns out that Eric's a smoker:
And when he ran out of cigarettes, he got desperate and tried to smoke a tube of Smarties:
Eric and Rob had a deep and meaningful conversation:
Though, at some point in the conversation, Eric said something shocking:
Eric and I got on well:
Perhaps a little too well:
And then, after I'd worked my way through over half of the Seven Deadly Sins cocktail menu, it was time to go. Nat gave Eric a very sweet goodbye kiss:
And we left Eric on the table for others to appreciate our creativity (but I wore my hat all the way home).
25 October 2005
Back to uni
Don't read the subject line and panic. I haven't gone back on my vow that I never want to write another essay in my life and gone and signed up for a Masters or something equally silly.
It's bad enough that I still have nightmares that I've got upcoming deadlines and I'm not sure what I'm meant to be writing about, or when exactly the deadline is. At least these days I can reassure myself that it was just a bad dream. My degree is all over now. Yes, I did rubbish in it because I never did any work. But, it's all in the past. Now go back to sleep Lisy, it's alright.
Yes.
On Saturday night I performed at the Comedy Night in the students union at Brunel.
And I thought that place was a shithole when I was a student. It's now just one great big building site (though it does still in places have the A Clockwork Orange look going on. Unsurprising really as it remains depressingly concrete which was what made Kubrick think it an ideal location for shooting the film. For three years I had my lectures in the building which made for the block of flats in which the protagonist in that movie lived). Twenty five minutes it took me to find the way in to the SU because they've moved and hidden the door. When I finally followed someone going in I realised that I'd passed the door twice. I just got confused by the sign next to it saying "Protective headgear must be worn beyond this point." I knew The Academy could get a bit rough, but...
I must confess, I had been dreading the evening. Once during my three years at Brunel I went to the comedy night. The audience were so rude to the acts (not even heckling, just flat out ignoring) that I decided that, actually, I'd head into Central London to get my comedic fixes. And then, 2 and a half years after leaving, here was I not only going back, but, actually getting up on the stage in front of these people.
As soon as I entered the building, I thought I was going to be sick. That wasn't nerves mind, that was because of the smell of alcohol and still being hungover from 2 nights earlier. Then I went to go to the bathroom and some delightful student had chundered in the sink in the crip bog. That smell didn't help my uneasy stomach either.
The difference about between being a "performer" and being a student became clear then. A member of venue staff had had to show me where the disabled toilet was, seeing as it had moved since I graduated. If I tried to go in the spot where the disabled toilet used to be, I'd have ended up squatting behind the bar. Upon seeing the sick filled sink, he went, "Oh, no! Don't go in there! I'll clean that up first!" I do seem to recall several times whilst a student mentioning that the disabled toilet was flooded and being greeted with a "yeah, so?"
In amongst my dread of going back, there was one thing I was desperately looking forward to. I was going to get to perform upon a stage which had been performed upon by none other than the great Tiffany herself (yes, the one who thought she was alone now) just two and a half years earlier. Imagine my disappointment when the new look Academy came into full view, and the stage had gone and been replaced by another!?! My hopes dashed, I decided to go and sit backstage and hang out with the other comics until showtime.
It appears that when they refurbished The Academy, the one bit they forgot to do was "The Guest Room." When I say "it was a toilet" I don't mean it was a bit icky. I mean it was an actual toilet. With no seat. And a paint spattered brown sofa in the corner.
One of the comedians I recognised as soon as I entered the room. Which surprised me because my face recognition is appalling. Very often comics will say to me "Oh, I remember you, we gigged together at ......," and I never recognise them. Until they get on stage and suddenly I find myself about to recall their set almost word for word. And, sure enough, she got about halfway through her set and suddenly I was able to recall where, when, and who promoted the gig we did together.
The night was MCed by the comedy double act best known as Big Cook Little Cook. It is remarkably entertaining to watch children's TV presenters singing silly songs about sex. It feels slightly naughty, even though no-one in the room is in fact under 18.
I was on in the middle section of the show. I went on stage, still disappointed that it's not the same one on which Tiffany had walked. I told my first joke, and the audience laughed so loudly for so long at one point I feared I wouldn't get another one out in my allotted time slot. My nerves and nightmares had all been for nothing, as Brunel apparently now has nice students. Well, they'd have to be to put up with paying all that money to do their degree on a building site I suppose. When I came out to them as a Brunel graduate they all cheered at me, surprisingly not quite as loudly as when I came out to them as an Essex girl though. It was quite nice to be gigging on familiar territory as even "so, does the fire alarm still go off in Mill Hall five times a night?" got a laugh (Mill being the hall of residence in which I resided in my first year).
I fear that several of my punchlines may have gotten drowned out by the laughter which kicked in two words into the line. But, fuck it. I was there to make them laugh, and I did. Even if I couldn't even hear my own punchlines over the laughter because it was so loud.
As I said my farewell, I said "It was a pleasure to come back." And, you know what? I actually meant it.
I came off the stage and a girl I'd never met before flung her arms around me and told me how amazing I was. She seemed "bubbly, friendly and outgoing" rather than "scary," so I hugged her back and said "thanks," rather than flinching and shrieking. I like that kind of feedback, so whenever I see an act I enjoy I make every effort to tell them. Mind you, I do also try to keep my arms to myself as I'm sure that to most folks I come across as "nut."
This time last week I couldn't imagine me typing this... but, I want to do it again!
It's bad enough that I still have nightmares that I've got upcoming deadlines and I'm not sure what I'm meant to be writing about, or when exactly the deadline is. At least these days I can reassure myself that it was just a bad dream. My degree is all over now. Yes, I did rubbish in it because I never did any work. But, it's all in the past. Now go back to sleep Lisy, it's alright.
Yes.
On Saturday night I performed at the Comedy Night in the students union at Brunel.
And I thought that place was a shithole when I was a student. It's now just one great big building site (though it does still in places have the A Clockwork Orange look going on. Unsurprising really as it remains depressingly concrete which was what made Kubrick think it an ideal location for shooting the film. For three years I had my lectures in the building which made for the block of flats in which the protagonist in that movie lived). Twenty five minutes it took me to find the way in to the SU because they've moved and hidden the door. When I finally followed someone going in I realised that I'd passed the door twice. I just got confused by the sign next to it saying "Protective headgear must be worn beyond this point." I knew The Academy could get a bit rough, but...
I must confess, I had been dreading the evening. Once during my three years at Brunel I went to the comedy night. The audience were so rude to the acts (not even heckling, just flat out ignoring) that I decided that, actually, I'd head into Central London to get my comedic fixes. And then, 2 and a half years after leaving, here was I not only going back, but, actually getting up on the stage in front of these people.
As soon as I entered the building, I thought I was going to be sick. That wasn't nerves mind, that was because of the smell of alcohol and still being hungover from 2 nights earlier. Then I went to go to the bathroom and some delightful student had chundered in the sink in the crip bog. That smell didn't help my uneasy stomach either.
The difference about between being a "performer" and being a student became clear then. A member of venue staff had had to show me where the disabled toilet was, seeing as it had moved since I graduated. If I tried to go in the spot where the disabled toilet used to be, I'd have ended up squatting behind the bar. Upon seeing the sick filled sink, he went, "Oh, no! Don't go in there! I'll clean that up first!" I do seem to recall several times whilst a student mentioning that the disabled toilet was flooded and being greeted with a "yeah, so?"
In amongst my dread of going back, there was one thing I was desperately looking forward to. I was going to get to perform upon a stage which had been performed upon by none other than the great Tiffany herself (yes, the one who thought she was alone now) just two and a half years earlier. Imagine my disappointment when the new look Academy came into full view, and the stage had gone and been replaced by another!?! My hopes dashed, I decided to go and sit backstage and hang out with the other comics until showtime.
It appears that when they refurbished The Academy, the one bit they forgot to do was "The Guest Room." When I say "it was a toilet" I don't mean it was a bit icky. I mean it was an actual toilet. With no seat. And a paint spattered brown sofa in the corner.
One of the comedians I recognised as soon as I entered the room. Which surprised me because my face recognition is appalling. Very often comics will say to me "Oh, I remember you, we gigged together at ......," and I never recognise them. Until they get on stage and suddenly I find myself about to recall their set almost word for word. And, sure enough, she got about halfway through her set and suddenly I was able to recall where, when, and who promoted the gig we did together.
The night was MCed by the comedy double act best known as Big Cook Little Cook. It is remarkably entertaining to watch children's TV presenters singing silly songs about sex. It feels slightly naughty, even though no-one in the room is in fact under 18.
I was on in the middle section of the show. I went on stage, still disappointed that it's not the same one on which Tiffany had walked. I told my first joke, and the audience laughed so loudly for so long at one point I feared I wouldn't get another one out in my allotted time slot. My nerves and nightmares had all been for nothing, as Brunel apparently now has nice students. Well, they'd have to be to put up with paying all that money to do their degree on a building site I suppose. When I came out to them as a Brunel graduate they all cheered at me, surprisingly not quite as loudly as when I came out to them as an Essex girl though. It was quite nice to be gigging on familiar territory as even "so, does the fire alarm still go off in Mill Hall five times a night?" got a laugh (Mill being the hall of residence in which I resided in my first year).
I fear that several of my punchlines may have gotten drowned out by the laughter which kicked in two words into the line. But, fuck it. I was there to make them laugh, and I did. Even if I couldn't even hear my own punchlines over the laughter because it was so loud.
As I said my farewell, I said "It was a pleasure to come back." And, you know what? I actually meant it.
I came off the stage and a girl I'd never met before flung her arms around me and told me how amazing I was. She seemed "bubbly, friendly and outgoing" rather than "scary," so I hugged her back and said "thanks," rather than flinching and shrieking. I like that kind of feedback, so whenever I see an act I enjoy I make every effort to tell them. Mind you, I do also try to keep my arms to myself as I'm sure that to most folks I come across as "nut."
This time last week I couldn't imagine me typing this... but, I want to do it again!
18 October 2005
Incurable Hippie has tagged me to post 20 random facts about myself and then tag the same amount of people as minutes it takes me to write the facts. Except, I'm not going to tag people. Mainly, because I don't really know who reads my blog regularly.
But, have some facts:
1) Last night I had a bubble bath for the first time in years. It was very bubbly, thanks for asking.
2) I dislike feet. They smell. My biggest foot hate though is people with skanky fungal toenails who wear sandals. I firmly believe that wearing sandals should be made a criminal offence.
3) I hate mushrooms. I'm allergic to eggs, but, I'd rather eat an egg than mushrooms. That is the extent of how vile and evil I believe mushrooms to be.
4) The stapler on my desk currently contains pink staples. But, purple staples are my real stapling passion.
5) Despite identifying as a lesbian; I do have a crush on the character Spike from Buffy/Angel. I can justify this by saying "But, he's a fictional character. They could've cast a female actor to play that role." But, if I'm honest, I do think that James Marsters is unusually hot for a guy. Or, at least he was when he was blonde.
6) The majority of pens laying around my flat are purple. Some are perfumed, some are glittery, some are metallic shiny, but, purple is the over-riding theme.
7) I only wear novelty socks, because, they're easier to pair up when you pull them out of the wash.
8) One of my feet is a size 4. The other is a size 2.5.
9) My right leg is 2 and a half inches longer than my left.
10) I'm left-handed. When I was a child I was ambidextrous because I had to learn to do everything with both hands due to always having one or the other in plaster. But, now my right hand is definitely my non-handed hand.
11) My eyes are greeny hazel with blue whites.
12) I have a mini-mirrorball above my desk (can you tell I'm just looking around me for inspiration?)
13) I'm not superstitious, and I don't really believe that the number "13" is unlucky. But, I never have my stereo or car radio on volume setting "13".
14) I do not have a favourite film. I've seen and loved too many.
15) I could quite happily live on a diet of Pesto Pasta.
16) I hate washing up almost as much as I hate mushrooms. I wish my kitchen was big enough for a dishwasher.
17) I am incredibly severely punctually challenged. I can never be on time for anything. No matter how hard I try. If I set off early enough to plan to be somewhere early there will be some traffic/public transport nightmare that will inevitably lead to me being late.
18) Someone just buzzed my door saying "Did you ring for a taxi?" Um. No.
19) I have a burning desire to make some yummy vegetable soup. But, I'm not sure I can be bothered.
20) This has actually taken me 47 minutes to complete because I got distracted by the telly.
But, have some facts:
1) Last night I had a bubble bath for the first time in years. It was very bubbly, thanks for asking.
2) I dislike feet. They smell. My biggest foot hate though is people with skanky fungal toenails who wear sandals. I firmly believe that wearing sandals should be made a criminal offence.
3) I hate mushrooms. I'm allergic to eggs, but, I'd rather eat an egg than mushrooms. That is the extent of how vile and evil I believe mushrooms to be.
4) The stapler on my desk currently contains pink staples. But, purple staples are my real stapling passion.
5) Despite identifying as a lesbian; I do have a crush on the character Spike from Buffy/Angel. I can justify this by saying "But, he's a fictional character. They could've cast a female actor to play that role." But, if I'm honest, I do think that James Marsters is unusually hot for a guy. Or, at least he was when he was blonde.
6) The majority of pens laying around my flat are purple. Some are perfumed, some are glittery, some are metallic shiny, but, purple is the over-riding theme.
7) I only wear novelty socks, because, they're easier to pair up when you pull them out of the wash.
8) One of my feet is a size 4. The other is a size 2.5.
9) My right leg is 2 and a half inches longer than my left.
10) I'm left-handed. When I was a child I was ambidextrous because I had to learn to do everything with both hands due to always having one or the other in plaster. But, now my right hand is definitely my non-handed hand.
11) My eyes are greeny hazel with blue whites.
12) I have a mini-mirrorball above my desk (can you tell I'm just looking around me for inspiration?)
13) I'm not superstitious, and I don't really believe that the number "13" is unlucky. But, I never have my stereo or car radio on volume setting "13".
14) I do not have a favourite film. I've seen and loved too many.
15) I could quite happily live on a diet of Pesto Pasta.
16) I hate washing up almost as much as I hate mushrooms. I wish my kitchen was big enough for a dishwasher.
17) I am incredibly severely punctually challenged. I can never be on time for anything. No matter how hard I try. If I set off early enough to plan to be somewhere early there will be some traffic/public transport nightmare that will inevitably lead to me being late.
18) Someone just buzzed my door saying "Did you ring for a taxi?" Um. No.
19) I have a burning desire to make some yummy vegetable soup. But, I'm not sure I can be bothered.
20) This has actually taken me 47 minutes to complete because I got distracted by the telly.
17 October 2005
Last week was an odd week. I kinda knew it was going to be right from the start.
I woke up on Monday morning, went in and said "Good Morning" to The Swede on my sofa, and then went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face to rinse away the crusty sleepy gluey crap that was stopping my eyes from opening. I turned on the tap: No water came out. Great way to start the week... huh?
So I wound up going to see Serenity smelly. Even The Swede sat one seat away from me rather than next to me.
After the movie, we went out for a final night dinner as The Swede was returning to Sweden first thing on Tuesday morning. As the bus pulled up at the stop nearest to the restaurant, I rang the "special" bell in the cripple enclosure not once, but twice. The driver did not get the ramp out, so, I shouted down the bus "Driver, can you get the ramp out please?"
He turned around and leaned out of his cab and said; "Oh, do you want to get off?"
No. I just like the siren noise the ramp makes as it extends and retracts. I think it's pretty. I actually want to stay on the bus until Clapham Common so I can get beaten to death by homophobes.
I've already mentioned Tuesday. No need to revisit.
Wednesday was fairly normal for me, except for the fact that I've suddenly become popular. The vacancy on my couch left by The Swede was soon replaced by a more locally based friend of mine. And there was the fact that a supermarket shelf stacker had the audacity to correct my pronounciation when I asked him for "bu--er." It's not my fault I was brought up in Essex and got lumped with the accent so don't pronounce my "T's".
On Thursday I gigged in the evening. It was actually a really nice comedy club, though my sofa-dwelling friend disagrees as she was the one tasked with carrying my wheelchair up and down the stairs, and became fairly convinced that this was how she was going to die. She didn't, thankfully, and was still alive to bring me a cup of tea on Friday morning before she set off for work at around about the time I was thinking about getting up to go to work. Tea in the mornings is good. Tea in the morning that you didn't have to make yourself is even better.
The audience were quite friendly. After the show one woman came up to me and told me how funny I was. "I really respect people who can do stand-up. I'd love to, but I don't have the nerve."
I wanted to say "And I really respect women with Scottish accents." But, I didn't. Because I'm shy. Or, something.
Though, some people were a little too friendly. I had one woman telling me for about 5 minutes how inspirational I am. Yup, inspirational, that's me. If only I could inspire myself to get out of bed on days when I don't have to go to work.
Then I got the ultimate: "It's such a shame. If there is a God, well, there can't be because you're such a nice person, you don't deserve to be in a wheelchair, it's just not fair!"
I did proceed to point and laugh at him at this point. He still seemed to think I was nice.
And then on Friday I saw someone I haven't seen for years.
As I was getting ready for work that morning, I randomly found myself reminiscing about the Red Nose Day when I was doing my Film Studies A Level.
I walked into the class, late, as usual. I sat down and immediately said "As it's Red Nose Day, I think that instead of watching whatever boring film our teacher has got planned for us, we should go to Blockbuster, rent a decent movie, buy loads of popcorn and coke, etc, and all pay £1 to Comic Relief for the privilidge."
Our teacher gave me, and the whole class (all 6 of us) an almighty lecture about how our exams were coming up and we didn't have time to piss about, blah, blah. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a fiver, handed it to me and said "Go on then, go to Blockbuster."
Me and three friends bundled into my car and set off to Blockbuster where we stayed for about half an hour trying to decide what to get. By this point I was feeling slightly guilty, not just for being my usual disruptive self, but also for the fact that we'd had to leave two classmates behind to watch something dull. In the end we settled on The Big Lebowski, went back to college and watched it. And raised £13 for Comic Relief!
I don't know why I was remembering this on Friday morning, but I was. Imagine my shock as I pushed past Kings Cross station, only to spot my A level Film Studies teacher. He was down in London for a Film Studies conference. How very bizarre. He laughed when I told him that I now do stand-up. I wonder why...
Then, in the evening, I had Sharleen Spiteri mocking the volume at which I can cheer. It started off as "Bloody hell! Even I couldn't hold that!" but then progressed as the evening went on.
Though, I did acquire this:
If you can't read the black writing across a picture of a black top, it reads "To the lady with a louder voice than me."
Yup.
Well, that's another one to add the fact that Mel & Sue always refer to me as "The Hyena" because of my laugh.
I often wonder if my voice is a blessing or a curse.
I woke up on Monday morning, went in and said "Good Morning" to The Swede on my sofa, and then went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face to rinse away the crusty sleepy gluey crap that was stopping my eyes from opening. I turned on the tap: No water came out. Great way to start the week... huh?
So I wound up going to see Serenity smelly. Even The Swede sat one seat away from me rather than next to me.
After the movie, we went out for a final night dinner as The Swede was returning to Sweden first thing on Tuesday morning. As the bus pulled up at the stop nearest to the restaurant, I rang the "special" bell in the cripple enclosure not once, but twice. The driver did not get the ramp out, so, I shouted down the bus "Driver, can you get the ramp out please?"
He turned around and leaned out of his cab and said; "Oh, do you want to get off?"
No. I just like the siren noise the ramp makes as it extends and retracts. I think it's pretty. I actually want to stay on the bus until Clapham Common so I can get beaten to death by homophobes.
I've already mentioned Tuesday. No need to revisit.
Wednesday was fairly normal for me, except for the fact that I've suddenly become popular. The vacancy on my couch left by The Swede was soon replaced by a more locally based friend of mine. And there was the fact that a supermarket shelf stacker had the audacity to correct my pronounciation when I asked him for "bu--er." It's not my fault I was brought up in Essex and got lumped with the accent so don't pronounce my "T's".
On Thursday I gigged in the evening. It was actually a really nice comedy club, though my sofa-dwelling friend disagrees as she was the one tasked with carrying my wheelchair up and down the stairs, and became fairly convinced that this was how she was going to die. She didn't, thankfully, and was still alive to bring me a cup of tea on Friday morning before she set off for work at around about the time I was thinking about getting up to go to work. Tea in the mornings is good. Tea in the morning that you didn't have to make yourself is even better.
The audience were quite friendly. After the show one woman came up to me and told me how funny I was. "I really respect people who can do stand-up. I'd love to, but I don't have the nerve."
I wanted to say "And I really respect women with Scottish accents." But, I didn't. Because I'm shy. Or, something.
Though, some people were a little too friendly. I had one woman telling me for about 5 minutes how inspirational I am. Yup, inspirational, that's me. If only I could inspire myself to get out of bed on days when I don't have to go to work.
Then I got the ultimate: "It's such a shame. If there is a God, well, there can't be because you're such a nice person, you don't deserve to be in a wheelchair, it's just not fair!"
I did proceed to point and laugh at him at this point. He still seemed to think I was nice.
And then on Friday I saw someone I haven't seen for years.
As I was getting ready for work that morning, I randomly found myself reminiscing about the Red Nose Day when I was doing my Film Studies A Level.
I walked into the class, late, as usual. I sat down and immediately said "As it's Red Nose Day, I think that instead of watching whatever boring film our teacher has got planned for us, we should go to Blockbuster, rent a decent movie, buy loads of popcorn and coke, etc, and all pay £1 to Comic Relief for the privilidge."
Our teacher gave me, and the whole class (all 6 of us) an almighty lecture about how our exams were coming up and we didn't have time to piss about, blah, blah. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a fiver, handed it to me and said "Go on then, go to Blockbuster."
Me and three friends bundled into my car and set off to Blockbuster where we stayed for about half an hour trying to decide what to get. By this point I was feeling slightly guilty, not just for being my usual disruptive self, but also for the fact that we'd had to leave two classmates behind to watch something dull. In the end we settled on The Big Lebowski, went back to college and watched it. And raised £13 for Comic Relief!
I don't know why I was remembering this on Friday morning, but I was. Imagine my shock as I pushed past Kings Cross station, only to spot my A level Film Studies teacher. He was down in London for a Film Studies conference. How very bizarre. He laughed when I told him that I now do stand-up. I wonder why...
Then, in the evening, I had Sharleen Spiteri mocking the volume at which I can cheer. It started off as "Bloody hell! Even I couldn't hold that!" but then progressed as the evening went on.
Though, I did acquire this:
If you can't read the black writing across a picture of a black top, it reads "To the lady with a louder voice than me."
Yup.
Well, that's another one to add the fact that Mel & Sue always refer to me as "The Hyena" because of my laugh.
I often wonder if my voice is a blessing or a curse.
11 October 2005
09 October 2005
This is just a courtesy post to let you know I'm still alive.
I've been remarkably busy, yet, I don't have anything to say. Not that I ever do, of course. But, usually I manage to use a lot of words to say not much.
Until I do have something to say, or at least I can think of big words to convey nothing, enjoy some photos I took at a Texas concert in Birmingham on Thursday... here.
I'm well aware that a lot of them are shite.
I've turned on Word Verification on my blog. I didn't mind the spammers until Friday morning. They had made me feel like at least someone was out there reading my wifflings, and spam comments always start so flatteringly telling me how wonderful my blog is, before encouraging me to visit their penis enlargement site. But, on Friday morning, I switched on my computer (having not been online for over 24 hours *gasp*) and I had 80 Emails from spam blog comments. That's far too much spam for my liking. I am a vegetarian, don't you know.
Spam is morally wrong.
I just had to post that to wind up one particular person who probably isn't still reading my blog anyway. I feel smug knowing I've posted it so, ner.
If you have any problems with the word verification (e.g. if you use a screen reader) let me know (by Email might be the easiest means if you're having problems with commenting in the first place), and I'll turn it off.
I've been remarkably busy, yet, I don't have anything to say. Not that I ever do, of course. But, usually I manage to use a lot of words to say not much.
Until I do have something to say, or at least I can think of big words to convey nothing, enjoy some photos I took at a Texas concert in Birmingham on Thursday... here.
I'm well aware that a lot of them are shite.
I've turned on Word Verification on my blog. I didn't mind the spammers until Friday morning. They had made me feel like at least someone was out there reading my wifflings, and spam comments always start so flatteringly telling me how wonderful my blog is, before encouraging me to visit their penis enlargement site. But, on Friday morning, I switched on my computer (having not been online for over 24 hours *gasp*) and I had 80 Emails from spam blog comments. That's far too much spam for my liking. I am a vegetarian, don't you know.
Spam is morally wrong.
I just had to post that to wind up one particular person who probably isn't still reading my blog anyway. I feel smug knowing I've posted it so, ner.
If you have any problems with the word verification (e.g. if you use a screen reader) let me know (by Email might be the easiest means if you're having problems with commenting in the first place), and I'll turn it off.
29 September 2005
Today someone has come by my blog by typing "baking substitution lisy" into google.
They were looking for an alternative to me to put into their cake?
Huh.
"Four and twenty Lisy's baked in a pie..."
It just doesn't have the right ring about it. Does it?
And can you imagine when the pie was opened and the Lisy's began to sing? There'd be some wincing in terror I tell you. It'd sound worse than those two cats shagging.
They were looking for an alternative to me to put into their cake?
Huh.
"Four and twenty Lisy's baked in a pie..."
It just doesn't have the right ring about it. Does it?
And can you imagine when the pie was opened and the Lisy's began to sing? There'd be some wincing in terror I tell you. It'd sound worse than those two cats shagging.
27 September 2005
On Saturday night, heading back to my car having returned my trolley to the little trolley park bit in the supermarket car park, I passed the door to the store. There was a man outside screaming at the manager about the fact that his bag had just been stolen in the car park. I actually heard him say:
"It's on your watch! Doesn't look good, does it?"
And I thought I watched too much TV. I don't feel so tragic about using Buffy quotes about Apolcalypses (thank you to Joy for pointing out in my last post the correct plural of "Apocalypse") in my blog to fill some space.
On the subject of screaming and TV, I haven't heard porn coming through my ceiling for a week or so. I think my upstairs neighbour might have gone on holiday. At least, I hope the noise of something big and heavy being dragged down the stairs at 3:10am last Wednesday morning was a suitcase. Either that, or, I think he was disposing of a corpse. Hmmm...
Last week was not a good week for being woken up during the night at 10 past hours which are a multiple of three. The following morning I was woken up at 6:10am by two cats having obscenely noisy sex, right outside my bedroom window.
At first, I thought they were fighting, and just smothered myself with my pillow in an attempt to block out the noise.
Until I heard one of them crying, and figured I'd better pull back the curtains and have a nosey incase it was injured. I was greeted by the most comical sight...
There were two cats sitting next two each other, and it was so obviously post-coital and not post brutality. I'm surprised the ginger one wasn't smoking a cigarette. The black one was crying, and you could almost see the ginger one rolling his eyes at the black one for getting so over emotional. In the end, he decided he'd had enough and walked off.
Immediately the black one stopped crying (attention seeking, much?), cleaned herself off, and then wandered off in the opposite direction.
Though it was kinda funny, I was Not Impressed about being woken up that early. When I finally get around to getting a cat, the first thing I shall do is make sure his bollocks have been detached.
Yes.
"It's on your watch! Doesn't look good, does it?"
And I thought I watched too much TV. I don't feel so tragic about using Buffy quotes about Apolcalypses (thank you to Joy for pointing out in my last post the correct plural of "Apocalypse") in my blog to fill some space.
On the subject of screaming and TV, I haven't heard porn coming through my ceiling for a week or so. I think my upstairs neighbour might have gone on holiday. At least, I hope the noise of something big and heavy being dragged down the stairs at 3:10am last Wednesday morning was a suitcase. Either that, or, I think he was disposing of a corpse. Hmmm...
Last week was not a good week for being woken up during the night at 10 past hours which are a multiple of three. The following morning I was woken up at 6:10am by two cats having obscenely noisy sex, right outside my bedroom window.
At first, I thought they were fighting, and just smothered myself with my pillow in an attempt to block out the noise.
Until I heard one of them crying, and figured I'd better pull back the curtains and have a nosey incase it was injured. I was greeted by the most comical sight...
There were two cats sitting next two each other, and it was so obviously post-coital and not post brutality. I'm surprised the ginger one wasn't smoking a cigarette. The black one was crying, and you could almost see the ginger one rolling his eyes at the black one for getting so over emotional. In the end, he decided he'd had enough and walked off.
Immediately the black one stopped crying (attention seeking, much?), cleaned herself off, and then wandered off in the opposite direction.
Though it was kinda funny, I was Not Impressed about being woken up that early. When I finally get around to getting a cat, the first thing I shall do is make sure his bollocks have been detached.
Yes.
21 September 2005
I tried talking to God, but he ignored me. OK, show of hands... how many Ellen DeGeneres fans clicked on that link and the first question they asked was "Why are there fleas?" I bet she wouldn't have phoned him if that website had existed when she wrote that routine.
I think I made him paranoid when I told him that I knew that "The anonymous 'they'" are in fact wheelchair repairers.
On the subject of wheelchair repairers and God... a sure sign that the apocalypse is coming (as if tsunamis, hurricanes, floods and Boy Bands weren't indicative enough)...
On Tuesday I had wheelchair repairers booked to come and change my tyres, seeing as they'd become so deformed that my chair was no longer going in a straight line.
What happened? They actually showed up. On the day they were booked to. Between the hours they were supposed to show up. Not only did they appear, but, they brought the correct tyres for my chair *and* they've been fitted correctly.
See? The world is doomed.
I suddenly find myself needing to know the plural of apocalypse.
I think I made him paranoid when I told him that I knew that "The anonymous 'they'" are in fact wheelchair repairers.
On the subject of wheelchair repairers and God... a sure sign that the apocalypse is coming (as if tsunamis, hurricanes, floods and Boy Bands weren't indicative enough)...
On Tuesday I had wheelchair repairers booked to come and change my tyres, seeing as they'd become so deformed that my chair was no longer going in a straight line.
What happened? They actually showed up. On the day they were booked to. Between the hours they were supposed to show up. Not only did they appear, but, they brought the correct tyres for my chair *and* they've been fitted correctly.
See? The world is doomed.
I suddenly find myself needing to know the plural of apocalypse.
14 September 2005
My thumb has been very sore for the last two or three days now.
There's one thing about it that I can't help but notice:
It doesn't stick out.
Does this make me "special"?
Edit: Alright, pedants... yes my thumb sticks out to the side of my hand in that way that thumbs do. How's this then:
My sore thumb doesn't stick out any more than my non-sore thumb.
Better?
There's one thing about it that I can't help but notice:
It doesn't stick out.
Does this make me "special"?
Edit: Alright, pedants... yes my thumb sticks out to the side of my hand in that way that thumbs do. How's this then:
My sore thumb doesn't stick out any more than my non-sore thumb.
Better?
12 September 2005
Ha ha! Evil god of bathroom lightbulbs. I have thwarted your plans.
Ner ner ner ner ner.
The god of bathroom lightbulbs has hated me for a few years now. I'm assuming it's a god, and not a goddess because of the meanness. What would a goddess of bathroom lightbulbs have against me? It's not like I slept with her girlfriend or something.
Unless, maybe I did? Being incorporeal, but having the power to watch over everyone all the time, gods and goddess must start to fantasise about certain people they're looking down on. Perhaps the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs had built up this whole fantasy relationship in her head about someone who, in a moment of temporary insanity, decided I'd be a suitable bedfellow?
That would explain a lot.
Especially if she's doubling up roles and is the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs and shower drains. Though, I've already dealt with the shower drainage issues. Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole unblocker. That stuff can destroy months of planning on behalf of evil shower drain gods/godesses in one gloop.
The shower drain god/godess has still tried bloody hard though. One day while I was at uni a friend came to stay with me for a few days. We both decided it'd be a really sensible idea to dye each others hair for a fun way to pass a Saturday night. By the time we were done, there weren't no water going down my shower drain. At all. My bathroom was officially flooded. It looked like Hurricane Lisy had hit.
I dragged my friend to my local Sainsbury's. There was a gap on the shelf where Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole Unblocker should've been sitting. The god of shower drainage had been busy that weekend in the Uxbridge area apparently. That, or, he saw me coming. So, I dragged my friend to Tesco's. Again with the empty shelf space. Dammit. This god had planned good. I forced my friend back into my car and dragged him to Sainsbury's in Hayes. The evil shower drain god hadn't seen that one coming. Ha ha! I almost fell to my knees with glee in the middle of a crowded supermarket with cries of "Hallelujah!" But, only almost. I clutched that bright orange bottle of toxic chemicals so dearly, you'd have thought it was a Paralympic gold I'd just won. I felt a similar sense of glee (I'd imagine... the highest ranking medal in my collection is national gold).
Back to Uxbridge we went. I put on my most waterproof shoes to wade through my bathroom to the shower drain in the corner, and down glooped Mr Muscle. A few minutes later my floor was shiny dry!
That whole hair dyeing incident was a bit of a nightmare. I ended up with gold patches (which should've been blue streaks) in my hair. It had a profound effect on me, and the blondishness seeped thorugh into my brain. A couple of months afterwards while the blonde/gold patches were still there, I was reading my horoscope and it said "Relatives could also be quite helpfull with birthday gifts" and I found myself thinking "Wow! That's uncanny! They even knew that my birthday was coming up!"
Duh.
Anyway, back to the evil lightbulb god. While I was at uni, I had an en suite room. The halls office was open from 8am to 5pm Monday to Friday. I'd get back to my room from lectures on a Friday at about 5:15pm, go into my room, go into my bathroom and turn on the light... and the bulb would blow. Regularly. Just because there was bugger all I could do about it for 2 days (three when it went on a bank holiday weekend).
I hate peeing in the dark.
After I left uni I lived in a shared flat, and despite the fact that my official flatmate was also mobility impaired and only half an inch taller than me, there was always someone around who could change a bulb. Then, I moved into a bedsit, so I had a communal bathroom. I'd just leave bulb replacing up to someone else (it's not like I could do it).
So, moving into this flat in March is the first time for a few years that I've been responsible for my own bathroom illumination. The bulb had held out for six months.
Until Saturday night (yes, I don't have a life and I was sitting at home watching the telly while the rest of the world was out having fun). I went to go pee, pulled the light cord as I entered the bathroom... There was a bright flash, and suddenly my whole flat plunged into darkness.
I headed for the drawer in which my torch lives (or did. I dropped it down behind my dining table yesterday. I'm fucked if I need it again any time soon cos I can't be arsed to crawl under there and retrieve it). Torch in hand, I went and fetched my giant poking device from the bathroom (it's actually an extendable roller handle I bought when painting this place. I keep it in the bathroom for poking my gas meter to see how much credit I have left before it all goes cold. It is not in there for dodgy, sinister purposes. I assure you) and the three of us (torch, poking device and me) headed towards the fuse box in the kitchen.
I first encountered my fuse box when I was stripping the disgustingly vile wallpaper in this place. The steamer blew the fuses a couple of times. It took me fucking ages to open the flap on the front to get to the trip switches, trying to hook at it with a long handled dustpan. Once it was open, I "accidentally" opened my kitchen door against the flap and it "accidentally" snapped off. Shame, because now I can easily reset my trip switches with the aid of something pokey.
So, with the rest of my flat illuminated again, I still had to face the prospect of peeing in the dark. At least I don't live with any men. Who, from past experience, seem to only manage to pee in the bowl an average of one in three times even when they can see where they're aiming.
Evil lightbulb god overlooked something though. What he didn't realise was that just over 12 hours later I had tall people coming over to do tall things in the still ongoing redecoration of my flat. Ha ha. My friend's ex-boyfriend installed an energy saving lightbulb guaranteed to last twelve years.
Blow that evil lightbulb god!
I shouldn't say that - he will.
Ner ner ner ner ner.
The god of bathroom lightbulbs has hated me for a few years now. I'm assuming it's a god, and not a goddess because of the meanness. What would a goddess of bathroom lightbulbs have against me? It's not like I slept with her girlfriend or something.
Unless, maybe I did? Being incorporeal, but having the power to watch over everyone all the time, gods and goddess must start to fantasise about certain people they're looking down on. Perhaps the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs had built up this whole fantasy relationship in her head about someone who, in a moment of temporary insanity, decided I'd be a suitable bedfellow?
That would explain a lot.
Especially if she's doubling up roles and is the goddess of bathroom lightbulbs and shower drains. Though, I've already dealt with the shower drainage issues. Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole unblocker. That stuff can destroy months of planning on behalf of evil shower drain gods/godesses in one gloop.
The shower drain god/godess has still tried bloody hard though. One day while I was at uni a friend came to stay with me for a few days. We both decided it'd be a really sensible idea to dye each others hair for a fun way to pass a Saturday night. By the time we were done, there weren't no water going down my shower drain. At all. My bathroom was officially flooded. It looked like Hurricane Lisy had hit.
I dragged my friend to my local Sainsbury's. There was a gap on the shelf where Mr Muscle Sink and Plughole Unblocker should've been sitting. The god of shower drainage had been busy that weekend in the Uxbridge area apparently. That, or, he saw me coming. So, I dragged my friend to Tesco's. Again with the empty shelf space. Dammit. This god had planned good. I forced my friend back into my car and dragged him to Sainsbury's in Hayes. The evil shower drain god hadn't seen that one coming. Ha ha! I almost fell to my knees with glee in the middle of a crowded supermarket with cries of "Hallelujah!" But, only almost. I clutched that bright orange bottle of toxic chemicals so dearly, you'd have thought it was a Paralympic gold I'd just won. I felt a similar sense of glee (I'd imagine... the highest ranking medal in my collection is national gold).
Back to Uxbridge we went. I put on my most waterproof shoes to wade through my bathroom to the shower drain in the corner, and down glooped Mr Muscle. A few minutes later my floor was shiny dry!
That whole hair dyeing incident was a bit of a nightmare. I ended up with gold patches (which should've been blue streaks) in my hair. It had a profound effect on me, and the blondishness seeped thorugh into my brain. A couple of months afterwards while the blonde/gold patches were still there, I was reading my horoscope and it said "Relatives could also be quite helpfull with birthday gifts" and I found myself thinking "Wow! That's uncanny! They even knew that my birthday was coming up!"
Duh.
Anyway, back to the evil lightbulb god. While I was at uni, I had an en suite room. The halls office was open from 8am to 5pm Monday to Friday. I'd get back to my room from lectures on a Friday at about 5:15pm, go into my room, go into my bathroom and turn on the light... and the bulb would blow. Regularly. Just because there was bugger all I could do about it for 2 days (three when it went on a bank holiday weekend).
I hate peeing in the dark.
After I left uni I lived in a shared flat, and despite the fact that my official flatmate was also mobility impaired and only half an inch taller than me, there was always someone around who could change a bulb. Then, I moved into a bedsit, so I had a communal bathroom. I'd just leave bulb replacing up to someone else (it's not like I could do it).
So, moving into this flat in March is the first time for a few years that I've been responsible for my own bathroom illumination. The bulb had held out for six months.
Until Saturday night (yes, I don't have a life and I was sitting at home watching the telly while the rest of the world was out having fun). I went to go pee, pulled the light cord as I entered the bathroom... There was a bright flash, and suddenly my whole flat plunged into darkness.
I headed for the drawer in which my torch lives (or did. I dropped it down behind my dining table yesterday. I'm fucked if I need it again any time soon cos I can't be arsed to crawl under there and retrieve it). Torch in hand, I went and fetched my giant poking device from the bathroom (it's actually an extendable roller handle I bought when painting this place. I keep it in the bathroom for poking my gas meter to see how much credit I have left before it all goes cold. It is not in there for dodgy, sinister purposes. I assure you) and the three of us (torch, poking device and me) headed towards the fuse box in the kitchen.
I first encountered my fuse box when I was stripping the disgustingly vile wallpaper in this place. The steamer blew the fuses a couple of times. It took me fucking ages to open the flap on the front to get to the trip switches, trying to hook at it with a long handled dustpan. Once it was open, I "accidentally" opened my kitchen door against the flap and it "accidentally" snapped off. Shame, because now I can easily reset my trip switches with the aid of something pokey.
So, with the rest of my flat illuminated again, I still had to face the prospect of peeing in the dark. At least I don't live with any men. Who, from past experience, seem to only manage to pee in the bowl an average of one in three times even when they can see where they're aiming.
Evil lightbulb god overlooked something though. What he didn't realise was that just over 12 hours later I had tall people coming over to do tall things in the still ongoing redecoration of my flat. Ha ha. My friend's ex-boyfriend installed an energy saving lightbulb guaranteed to last twelve years.
Blow that evil lightbulb god!
I shouldn't say that - he will.
08 September 2005
I love the internet
One of the greatest photos I've seen for a long time.
On the subject of Bush, a friend pointed out this page today, which is so offensive that it's hilarious.
My favourite quotes are:
"Feminism was established to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream of society."
"Causes of homosexuality include: 'sex with animals'"
"[Homosexuals] want to come into churches and disrupt church services and throw blood all around and try to give people AIDS and spit in the face of ministers."
"The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians."
But I think my very favourite is the second quote, right near the top of the page:
"Not all Muslims may be terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslims."
Still on the subject of Bush, though, a different variety... today someone came to this page by typing "wheelchair pussy," into Google. I do so hope they were looking for cute, mobility impaired cats that they could adopt.
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