Aug. 25th, 2009 01:27 pm
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Happiness is:

Peanut butter sandwiches in bed.

Prisoner Cell Block H.

Pinching Lisa's bum as she tries to drink some pop, and watching her dribble all over herself.

Ah. Simple pleasures really are the best.
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Just not quite in the land of the living.  We've spent the last seven weeks in bed pretty much.  We're both on the mend, but Trollop has developed a bit of a food phobia, understandable really, so we've arranged some counselling for her.   I've pretty much shaken the infection I had, I'm just a bit knackered.  We went to Tesco the other day, out of the house for just over an hour, and we slept for 20 hours when we got home, flat out, like babies!
 We've had some interesting and vulgar discussions, oh and menaced by a MASSIVE spider that was so big I heard it walk in.  I'm sure it shouted something at me.  She's determined we're going to Melbourne one day to visit the Prisoner set, over my dead body, too many eeeevil arachnids in Aus.  I won't go, I WON'T!  *stomps*

 Hope you are all well, catch you later.
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Fucking Durham Ambulance Trust and Dryburn Hospital aka University Hospital North Durham can fuck off and get cunted in the fucking ARGH so angry I can hardly bastard breathe. Yeah, but what would we know, apparently we're just a pair of alcoholic lesbian time wasting attention seeking NHS money wasting twats.

Apart from the fact that we don't fucking drink at all, and apart from the fact she was screaming in agony and shitting literal pints of blood, you know, that aside we're clearly just a pair of idiots who like to sit in filthy hospitals staffed with narcissistic cocks for shits and fucking giggles. Yeah. Super fun time.

My granddad's funeral today. Too angry about what's gone on there to ever write about it. Oh and I have another kidney infection, but that's the least of my worries at the moment. I just want my baby to not be in pain.
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I'm not my userinfo. I'm not my icons. I'm not my communities.

There are facets of me, references to some parts of my life, some of my interests, but please don't assume that everything about me will be laid bare there. Don't assume you know who or what I am because of what you see here. There's more to all of us than that. If you want to know me better all you have to do is ask, but making face-value judgements and assumptions is just bloody stupid.
paraxeni: (bstl SMASH!)
What is to be gained by undermining a woman based on her looks? "Ugh she's manly" or "She looks like a bad drag queen, how DARE she be a woman!" or "What a gross fat blob, you'd have to roll it in flour to find the wet spot". Why ungender someone if you disagree with them? Perhaps because it's a powerful way of hurting a large group of people, especially if it's coming from other women because it sends the message that "You do not belong".

A woman is someone who is not or does not identify as a man. A man is someone who is not a woman. You can't 'do' being a woman in the 'wrong' way. You can be a FAAB (female-assigned at birth) woman or a MAAB (male-assigned at birth) woman. You can be feminine, masculine, butch, femme or andro. You can have a buzz cut or long flowing locks, you can be a trucker or a housewife, wear heels or hiking boots, be a princess, a lumberjack, a model or an engineer. None of these make you a woman, none of these make you an un-woman, or not a 'real' woman. If you identify as a woman then you are one, and there is no right or wrong way to do it. There is no incorrect manner of dress, speech, behaviour or attitude that can ever render you not-womanly. Gender policing is spiteful, demeaning, misogynistic and wrong. If someone has a hateful belief then there are ways and means to call them on it without ungendering or misgendering them. I've been labelled as 'not womanly' because I'm a lesbian, because I do not wish to bear children, because I refuse to shave or slavishly follow some warped ideal of 'femininity'. But I am a woman, and that can't be taken from me. I'm no more or less womanly than the married housewife with 8 kids, or the butch-dyke darts player, or the MAAB femme with a penis and a penchant for crochet. Poverty and lack of resources or access to medical care do not make women unwomanly, just as make-up, jewellery or designer-label clothes don't make them more womanly.

The same goes for manhood.

There are so many beautiful, brilliant and creative ways to express our humanity, as many as there are people. Why label people, herd them into boxes, then lash out and hurt those who don't fit in those spaces? What's to fear? Why is it so confusing to think that not everybody follows the same paths through life? If you are so insecure in your own identity that somebody identifying in a way that you do not understand eems like a threat to you, then they're not the ones with the problem, you are. Manage your own life and relationships, stop interfering in how others manage theirs, and find your own path.

You don't have to blow out somebody elses candle to make yours burn more brightly.
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[Bad username or site: Pickleboot! @ livejournal.com]

It's after midnight here :D


Jun. 3rd, 2009 06:00 pm
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Little Monster has been taken to hospital.  She was fine, went off to nursery but after only 15 mins there they called to say she needed to see a doctor.   They saw the Doc who told them she needed to go to the hospital.   Temp was 39.5 and her groin and throat are swollen.  Poor kid.  They've had a really rough week, with her 'father' accusing Catherine of neglect and threatening to cut his maintenance in half, the bastard.

With any luck they won't keep her in.  I'm really looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.  I've got her a fabulously noisy toy mobile phone that looks like her Mam's, and will drive Simon up the wall!  I have to get her a 'poorly present' as well.  Who'd be an Auntie, eh?

Oh and Bug did have dropsy.  He died last night.  At least he didn't suffer.  Not getting more, Mull's obviously a carrier of something, despite not getting it herself. 

What a week.  Lisa's dad still doing well, Si's in court tomorrow, my Dad's tests are scheduled for next week (I doubt it's anything serious, he's had cancer three times so hopefully he's running on good luck!) and Mama Toad's surgery is on Monday.  Hopefully she won't get MRSA and septicaemia this time, and have a few heart attacks for good measure, because that was some seriously scary shit.

Stressed?  Me?  Nah...
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So Toad's back from Turkey in one piece, and asks me to look up some replacement meds she was given by the pharmacist in Payallar.  I found them on Wiki under 'cat and dog health', in France they're used in equines too.  So I sent her a text saying "They're ok, but if you start to feel a bit hoarse, or rough in any way, let me know".  She didn't get it.  Why do I bother?  Personally I thought it was genius!

Also, praise be to the Heavens for these lactase tablets.  Without them I would not now be privy to the most insanely delicious thing I have ever tried, Cookie D'oh (dough - Simpsons-branded) flavoured Frijj.  I ordered it by accident as the Tesco site said the current ltd. edition flavour was Vanillaaaaargh, which is also delicious.  I was hesitant about trying this one but it is scrumptious.


May. 16th, 2009 12:27 am
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"You have been temporarily banned from accessing Livejournal. This may be because you are a bot or have accessed a page too quickly"*

QUICK? ME? Excuse me while I piss meself laughing.



Apr. 28th, 2009 03:38 am
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 Go here

When the page has loaded press up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a,b,a, and enter.

Keep pressing enter to see more sparkly gay unicorns!

UNICORNS! and shit )


Apr. 18th, 2009 10:44 pm
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We're in the grip of a terrible addiction in this house.  We think about it, talk about it, sing the theme tune.  Yes people, Timmy Time is taking over our lives!  We loved Wallace and Gromit, adored the spinoff Shaun the Sheep, but Timmy Time is sublime.  It doesn't matter how crappy the day has been, how ill we are, or how broke, our ten daily Timmy minutes can make us smile again.   If you've got little kids, or even if you're a couple of sad old buggers like us, you have to see it!
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After yet another middle of the night hospital admission for no real reason, we've been talking to him and Daddy F (Lisa's dad) has decided to move to an independent living facility. This is great news and a massive relief. The place is Pensioner Heaven, the doctor's surgery on one side and the Post Office on the other! He'll get his own studio flat, and there are communal areas like the library and residents' lounge. There's a warden on duty 24/7 and he'll have Careline assistance too like he has at the moment. Lisa's taking him for a viewing tomorrow. There are a few empty flats so he'll get to choose.

I really hope this works out. The stress is getting to all of us... well those of us who care anyway. We try and see him every day, but the fear of walking in and finding him dead because he was scared to put the heating on, is getting stronger daily. At least this way he'll be surrounded by people all the time. It's still only two minutes from our house too, er.. just like the rest of the village I suppose!

So cross your digits. We love the grumpy old bastard and only wanna see him happy!


Jan. 3rd, 2009 07:04 pm
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I predicted Matt Smith yesterday, the stupid, foetus-faced, pixel-eyed Mekon that he is. Now I'm going to have to make good on my threat to go to Wales and beat Russell T Dickface around the head with my biggest, heaviest dildo.
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Wah. In a hospital 20odd miles from home. Kidney stones. OMG fucking evil painful twats even the vast amounts of morphine are just taking edge off.
Not a happy Burtie i wanna go home
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 The little furry devils are behaving very badly today.  I went into the outhouse to put some stuff in the freezer and thought the house was coming down.  Their room's just above there and it sounded like it was full of drugged donkeys.

Apologies for quality, they're not exactly the most co-operative of beasts!
Hop, sniff, bite! )
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What's this?  Yes, Lyns on the internet!  After a very frustrating month it turns out that BT had dropped a  bollock, and the line from our house was wired up to an ancient, non-existent party-line filter, which prevented the DSL signal getting through.  So we now have a 4mb connection (Pipex one only got to 1.3mb) and I can get an episode of Project Runway in 17 minutes. (Whaaat?  Like you have no guilty secrets!)

 All I need to do now is a) stop vomiting all the time and b) win the lottery, and life will be perfect!


Nov. 11th, 2007 01:15 am
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It's official, I have the most amazing girlfriend.  Whereas other other-halves may have bestowed useless jewellery or sickly chocolates upon their birthday girls, what do you think Fergatroyd surprised me with?  Yeah man, that's right, the childhood toy of my dreams, the thing that my parents refused to buy year after year, A FUCKING MR FROSTY!

*happy dance*

 Yoghurt has been hastily bunged into the freezer, and booze, and juice, awaiting my return from Leeds on Monday night.  Best present evurrrrrr.
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   I just got an email from someone at Lovehoney/Orgasm Army, saying that one of my sex tips has won a prize in their big Sex Tips competition!  Don't know which tip, and the prize is a surprise, but YAAAAY, FREE TOYS!!  How great is that?  I've won loads of great stuff from them for my shuper-shexy advice and product reviews, I hope this is something fablious.  I should totally be a sexlial Agony Auntie Y/Y?  What an outstanding job that would be eh?

OK, so it won't stop the financial nightmare, the crazy brain-pain, or the "If I don't get closure I'll die" feeling, but it was a fab surprise anyway!   I'm blushing too, even though I'm sat here with only Mulligan and Phillip J Fry  (my orandas) for company.

  And now we shall celebrate, with the addition of 60mg of codeine phosphate to hydrochloric acid :)
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Too much of both.  Saw the opthalmologist last week.  Guess what she said?  "It's just not possible to have double-vision with one eye closed, not from an eye point of view.  Your brain maybe, but not the eyes, they look healthy"

Oh.  So only the same thing I've been telling my GPs and neurologists since February then?  So I get to see a consultant at the eye hospital on October the 4th, then back to neuro on Oct. 30th to see if they'll finally  give me a scan, in an attempt to divine the inner workings of my head.  The previous method of looking at my face is, even to a staggeringly thick lay-person as myself, rather pointless.  A CT scan will do, MRI would be nice but I'm not greedy.  I just want the Doc. Marten-shod pig* that is running around in my head to stop.  A constant headache is not as bad as this throbbing, pulsating, brain-case nightmare.  It's like menstrual cramps, the waves and peaks make it impossible to tune out from.  

  Lisa had her B12 injection today, thank fuck.  In about a fortnight she'll be my adorable, funny, energetic bundle again.  Currently she resembles a demented toddler who can't remember her own name.  Poor cow.  I hate her being in pain, or confused.  The fact that her GP thinks that there's a "one cure fits all" approach to pernicious anaemia pisses me off no end.  I'm going with her to her next appointment, because she forgets how bad it gets!

 Alas and alack mid-September is upon us.  I read this the other night, and couldn't sleep for thinking about it.  The next day trounced that, with the appearance of 13 (I wish I was fucking lying) of the demonic little bastards in my HOUSE.  One as big as the bottom of a Pepsi can, that left me paralysed with fright on the stairs, calling Lisa to come from her Dad's house NOW because as I'd turned to retreat up the stairs to safety, I realised there were two more behind me.  Even she was freaked.  She hoovered the massive tarantula-thing up, put the Dyson away, and one on the living room ceiling advanced toward me.  I'd been prepared to spare it, but it was getting closer.  She grabbed the Dyson again, and the original one burst out of it unharmed.  Yes, I did scream until I vomited blood.    She picked up a whole bag of shopping, and pummelled it so hard that she's buggered her shoulder.   Hmph.  I always knew they were plotting against me, now they've led to nine days of forced celibacy!
  Now everything vaguely dark or moving will scare the shite out of me till December.  With my limited vision that means just about everything!

* The Trollop herself has just returned from work.  This entry was up on the TV, so she read it.  She then asked, with a face like a bemused boxer dog, "What's a shod-pig Burt?"  Oh cyanocobalamin**, speed your way through my Beloved's veins, course through her arteries, and restore her to full health.  Or I might have to kill her in her sleep!

**  "Uh?  What's that Burt?"
     "Your B12 injection love, I was being poetical; and that"
     "I don't get it"

 If anything happens to her it wasn't me, I swear!
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