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August, 2009:

Disney Deja Vu?

Ever watched a Disney film and thought to yourself, I’m sure I’ve seen this before?

Might be because you have.

According to College Humor – Disney made one movie, and they’ve been tracing it ever since…

Spam for Affirmation

Dear readers, of late I’ve been treated to whole new kind of spam.

It seems that across the globe, spammers are trying to appeal to my massive ego (and indeed the egos of others like me) and are trying to persuade me to publish their comments via flattery.

Mae West (I think) said

“Flattery will get you everywhere”.

Not on this blog baby.

I’m gonna get biblical (hold onto your hats) psalm 5:9 says:

“For there is no faithfulness in their mouth; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue.”

Yep. I, a nonbeliever, just quoted the bible. But in this instance I’m definitely erring towards the teachings of the good book.

Beware the flatterer.

Does this mean I think that all forms of flattery are inherently evil? Nope, not at all; but spammers are…

…Erm, OK they’re not actually evil. Just a bit grubby. And perhaps a bit annoying.

But, back to the point – was there a point? (This post is meandering like… erm a bendy, winding, meandering thing.) Sometimes, I like to look at some of the totally insincere, automated spam comments and give myself a little pat on the back.

Vanity, huh? But all bloggers are a teensy tiny bit vain. Well, perhaps not all, but I am 🙂

Here’s some of the lovely things people spammers have said:

“You write so well, you have a wonderfully engaging style; please write more.”

“Are you a journalist? The quality of your writing is amazing.”

“Have you lost weight? You look great.”*


*I made that one up. If you’d like to leave a comment like that it would make me very happy.


Image credit Roadsidepictures.

Have You Ever Seen Me Dancing? No, Really Dancing…

This week (largely thanks to the wonderfully well organised Tara) I signed up for a Street Dance class.

I am *very* excited.

Unhappily for those who know us, chances are, that the very next party we go to, (after a certain point in the evening) we’ll be doing the routine we’ve learned.

We’ll be *just* like these guys, but like, older, clunkier and less polished; oh and probably holding wine glasses:

Lego Indiana Jones

This my loves, is bloody marvellous:

You Were Hot When You Were 16

Sorry dear readers but prepare yourselves for a rant (a rant which might just contain one hundred and one typos cos I can haz wine).




Don’t you just hate it when you bump into someone you haven’t seen in ages, who is so unhappy, unsecure and all round so much of a freakin’ nonsense that they project (oooo look at me, I said project, I could totally go on Oprah right now) their shite and pointless existence on to you and try to drag you down to their own pointless level?

(Uh oh, did they succeed? I’m ranting after all; meh, etc).

Anyways, tonight I was told by a teeny-tiny inconsequential being that ‘My boyfriend ‘made’ me’.

The boyfriend in question being the boy I went out with from 14 through 17.

Now, aged 31, I resent the implication.

Whilst the boy in question, doubtlessly was a large influence then, I’d like to think I’ve grown up (albeit only marginally) since.

Seriously, it’s getting kinda tired.

We’ve all changed.

We’re no longer the people we were when we were young.

Increasingly I’m beginning to think that there was a bloody good reason for moving on from the toxic friendships that I had when I was 16.

I’m also getting tired of the ‘you were beautiful then’ comments.

I wasn’t beautiful then. I just had longer hair and less baggage.

Meanwhile, you’re just a short stumble away from a racy little number, a mid-life crisis, a drug addiction too late to be edgy/troubled/dangerous; only sad.

Oh, and incidentally love, those little incidents create baggage… The kind they put stickers on at the airport, and charge your overweight for.

Perhaps I’m not what you thought I was. Perhaps, dear heart, I was never what you wanted me to be… But a cold fuck and a goldfish memory (however rose tinted) just isn’t me.

Not anymore.

Perhaps it never was.

Perhaps you were so busy ‘knowing’ me so well, and for so long you neglected to notice that in fact we’ve all moved on.

…Well, everyone bar you, my love.