Pah.
I'm 59% freak!!

Ruer dans les brancards
It’s been a day of feeling trapped at work. Some days, the cage doesn’t feel so small, and at 4pm I can just slip out, take off the ball and shake off the chain, dismiss the whole thing as an occupation, and resume my life. Some days I feel an intense need for an overhaul. I am hoping that as I grow less scared of the big wide world, I’ll leave the stifling cocoon behind for good.
Pah; my metaphors are shit.
I don’t like being reminded of just how backwards everyone is in there. I do not like having to hear that women are inferior to men and that their part in life is to support the men around them, come what may; I do not like hearing that all true authority is masculine. I do not like hearing that the notion of gay marriage or even cohabitation between two members of the opposite sex is an insult to God. And I do not like having to keep my big mouth shut. I do not like not being able to retort that the real insult is this: that theirs is a world where a super-millionaire pop princess can get trashed and hitched in one sweeping movement, only to get the whole thing annulled twenty four hours later, a world in which marriage is still denied to two people who have loved each other for years.

Sometimes I just think I am selling out and I panic.


On a very different note.. well, maybe not so different… I give you...


How to pray for pornography addicts and the people who love them

I wonder how many of my co-workers are addicted to porn.

Shamelessly edited from an email I got today:
How do you know that you have been in London too long?

You say "the City" and expect everyone to know which one.
I thought everyone said that about the place they live in.

You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but you love Brighton.
True that. Brighton is an ode to blue-rinsed old ladies, cream teas and poodles during the day, and the queer/fetish community at night. How could I not love it?
Although, I have been to the Tower. When I was still a tourist.

You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map.
Guilty.

Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
I can never seem to see hookers, so it must be true. Or maybe I'm just naive. Everyone round the age of 14 looks like a hooker these days.

You step over people who collapse on the Tube.
It depends on how bad they smell.

You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multilingual.
Hey, I might have been in London too long, but English I am not.

You've considered stabbing some one.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.

You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.

em>You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden.
I have a genuine park.

You consider Essex the "countryside" and you think Hyde Park is "nature"..
Isn't it?

You're paying £1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain".

You pay 3 pounds without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p.
I blink ,but soon after blinking I drink, and then I forget.

The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you.
Well that's where the line stops, and so do I. Although, I went to Cornwall once.

You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.

Your idea of personal space is no one actually physically standing on you.

£50 worth of groceries fit in one plastic bag.
A tiny plastic bag.

You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
Only minicabs, I can't afford black cabs.

You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air/water quality and what it's doing to your insides.

When the news that someone has thrown himself under a tube train it's just someone trying to delay your journey.
Got me there.

I found this adorably cute post on a Uni message board :


I am studying in the Southwestern portion of France (Pyrenees region) next year. I'm an american and I would like to 'fit in" with the other college-age French students. What are some items I should definitely pack and what items should I leave? I have heard that jeans and tennis shoes are not very common as well as sweatshirts, shirts w/ labels and writing on them... are these true?? How would the typical French or European dress for class? a night out?? etc etc. Please help! :)

I just can't wait to see what replies he gets.

notes on San Francisco
In San Francisco, you can easily spot the tourists. Sorry, the visitors. They’re the ones not wearing a little woolly hat. They’re the ones not doing the crusty thing. They’re the ones staring at the lesbian couples holding hands.
In San Francisco you can get drunk on sangria on the top of the hill and walk home. There aren’t so many pigeons everywhere. When you buy fruit and vegetables in the shops, they are ripe.
Like probably everywhere else in the world, when school’s out there are crowds of obnoxious kids crammed into public transportation.
Besides all that, the 8% tax and the tipping still do my head in.

In the darkroom
An Oxford Street bar was recently the source of heightened media attention when it was announced that their restaurant was soon to be transformed into a glorified darkroom, all in the name of a new straight dating craze. Think Hoist for heterosexuals, only without the rough sex, anal fisting and daisy chains.
BORING.
The traditional gay male courting ritual of darkroom cruising has long been revered across the London LGBT community as a highly civilised and reliable way of meeting a compatible lifetime partner. No I’ve never been, I was only.. told about it. Repeatedly. But anyway - this tried and trusted format has now been bastardized by money-grabbing restaurant dating entrepreneurs peddling their seedy new craze, named "Dinner in the Dark".
Trying to cash in on this respectable gay institution, they host dinner dates between unhappily single middle-class city dullards either with attractiveness issues, really bad dress sense, or both.
The …clients… patients…poor sods are relieved of 45 quid, plied with a meagre amount of food and a lot of alcohol, then left in pitch-blackness to sit there like lemons and convince either themselves or each other that they are even vaguely eligible. If alcohol follows its course, things should presumably get steamy. Until they turn the lights back on, I should think.
It gives you a chance to let your personality shine through, they say. People are too judgmental when they date in normal sunlight, they say. And so on. Or in a city full of genetic accidents, is this the only hope they have of getting a shag?
Think I’m lying? Then check out this link - Don't say I didn't warn you!

full story

From J, over the pond :
"sending you a grumble about your blog.

“How our frail identities survive these chasms no philosopher has ever been
able to explain“

Hello? When did Iris Murdoch make this claim? was it in the 1950s??

Has she never read the likes of David Papineau or Daniel Dennett?

Certainly the quote has a certain lyrical soundess to it - it sounds
sensible, however the philosophy/biology/cognitive sciences can handle this
question without too much trouble.


right. rant over. hope it didn't spoil your poetic mood...

sometimes you are such a hippy! "

I know.

Bubbles, rice, vows
Last Thursday, the Mayor of San Francisco, Gavin Newsom, decided to legalize same sex marriages based on grounds that the ban is a form of discrimination and ordered City Hall to start handing out the legal documents to any gay or lesbian couple who wish to get married. The turnout was overwhelming. A long, long queue was wrapped around the city hall on Monday morning, undeterred by the rain and the wind and the promise of varicose veins. Every two minutes or so, a grinning/weepy/stoic couple came out the heavy doors, clutching/brandishing a marriage certificate. A relatively small number of newly wed made out in view of everyone, on the steps; rice was thrown and quickly swept away by careful town hall employees. Little five-year-old Odessa in a pink anorak declared that 'lesbians are getting married today'. 'And some gays, too', her dad added. Of that day, she will remember that soap bubbles were being blown and that it was fun to chase them.

Will allowing gays and lesbians to marry destroy the institution of marriage? Not anymore than it already is by heterosexuals who cheat on each other, who decide to divorce for no reason at all, or by husbands who abuse their spouse. I don't think so. I think it is a positive step for people that love each other and want to make a commitment to each other. Besides that, it gives them the legal rights that their heterosexual counterparts enjoy today.
All those marriage certificates issued these past few days will be annulled, but the fact is that it happened.
As we walked away after an hour or so of cheering and applauding, we passed two men in their fifties, sitting on a low wall. They'd cracked open a bottle of bubbly and were drinking out of tall flutes. Maybe they were crystal. I didn't ask.
All that time, my girlfriend was working. I thought : at least we are in the same city right now.
I had a doughnut and tried not to cry.

"The division of one day from the next must be one of the most profound peculiarities of life on this planet. It is, on the whole, a merciful arrangement. We are not condemned to sustained flights of being, but are constantly refreshed by little holidays from ourselves. We are intermittent creatures, always falling to little ends and rising to little new beginnings. Our soon-tired consciousness is meted out in chapters, and that the world will look quite different tomorrow is, for both our comfort and our discomfort, unusually true. How marvelously too night matches sleep, sweet image of it, so neatly apportioned to our needs. Angels must wonder at these beings who fall so regularly out of awareness into a fantasm-invested dark. How our frail identities survive these chasms no philosopher has ever been able to explain."
Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince

And here's the bit about crossdressing. Freaks.

when to stone your children and the whole New testament in lego.
If I had done anything like that, My life would feel complete.

My bloody Valentine
Last year on Valentine’s night, I crammed my pale flesh into a tight fitting laced up corset dress complete with pink ribbons made by my own industrious hands, and propelled myself to the Torture Garden’s Valentine Ball as fast as my spiky heels would let me. It was a most joyous night; after a reasonable consumption of over-priced alcopops, I whipped a few strangers and got two fingers mangled in the doors; Torture garden indeed. All those sweaty, leather and rubber-clad bodies moving to the same rhythm. .
This year I will do as my heart bids and my bank account forbids: I’m flying out to see my beloved. Sweat and rhythm we shall have, without the leather and whips.
Although….

I love fetish freaks.

Tissues, tuna, Hulk-wish

In Sainsbury’s, in the hair styling products' section, someone had deposited a large tin of tuna in brine.
I would like to know if it was done on purpose, if it was meaningful. I'd like to believe it was.
(If they’d chosen the tampons and sanitary products' section I would have been severely offended.)

Apart from those few seconds of mirth and wonderment, I mostly spent today crying. I guess that, amongst other things, PMT is striking again.
On the bus I stood up to a bully and his gang who told me to apologise after he bumped into me when messing about. Oh I don’t think so. I still have all my teeth because, luckily for me, after I expressed my surprise, he backed down. I won’t go into it here but this kind of incident upsets me far more than I’d like. I don’t think I’m equipped to handle this culture of obnoxiousness that has been developing. I don’t like that people have to turn either into bullies or cowards to cope. I’m neither, but I’m only small – just as well that the little voice of self-preservation at the back of my head makes itself heard just before I explode and things escalate.

On the bus home, later, I sat in the back, opposite a nicely dressed man with greying hair. I couldn’t help that tears were running down my cheeks. I closed my eyes, trying to hold in the flow. For a second, I hoped that he might offer me a tissue. Clearly embarrassed, he turned his head away for the remainder of the journey.

Routine
Every Monday morning on the way to see my shrink I walk along the same street; every week, unfailingly, I meet an old lady on her old bike, going in the opposite direction. She is very punctual. I can usually tell if I'm on time or not from the point our paths cross. If we cross after the entrance to the park, I can slow down; if it's earlier than the pilar box, then I better hurry up a bit. There's never anyone else around, or at least not walking, not riding a bike.
We've made eye contact a few times. Today I smiled at her, but she didn't smile back. I'll keep working on it. However, my optimism is slightly tinged with concern : next week I don't have my usual appointment; she might lapse and I'll have to start all over again.

Gothitude
I wonder what on earth I have to blog about for the ad banner up there to forget that I wrote about goths and stop offering links to coolerthanthou.goth or buyournoosehere.co.hell. Stop reminding me that I'm too old for all that.

A glass of warm milk, perhaps
I've watched about twenty minutes of Anger Management before I had to stop it; I was getting too worked up.

Today is a day without.
Lately my week ends seem to follow the same pattern: Friday night, get home, kick shoes across corridor, struggle out of cork-lined tights and demure skirt, collapse from exhaustion after showering cat with unwanted affection. . Saturday: get phone call from friend smirking at the fact that I a still in bed at 9 am. Get slightly irate. Want the whole world to leave me alone or at least to stop telling me how to live my life. Crawl back into bed and contemplate. Staying in bed (alone) for too long on a Saturday morning usually brings on the Evaluation Process. The hedonistic pleasure of creature comforts versus the lack of a meaning to existence. Green tea and brioche versus getting old and saggy. Promises of love versus disease and debilitation. Comfort Kater Murr style versus optimism and risk-taking.
It’s not pretty. By 12 I’m usually close to tears and in dire need of kicking my own ass. Then the day can either take off and improve, or slide into anaesthetised limbo. Like today. And my cat hates me because I cornered him and applied his flea-killing treatment.
It’s another self-indulging day. It’s another two months until Saturday morning in bed can be shared and take on a whole new dimension.

I don’t read News Of the World

Further ammunition for Britain’s gutter press and its ongoing exploitative double-pornography strategy – people out there have no morals – it’s our duty to show you faithful readers just how disgusting they all are, and here’s pictures to prove it.

Bristol University student Rosie Harmen is an 18-year-old lesbian virgin. Last week, faced with a desperate financial crisis she decided to sell her virginity on the Internet. A website been created so that the bidding may continue.

"I've never had a sexual experience with a man so I have no idea what it would be like" she says, beguilingly.

Rosie’s financial desperation, which affects many other students, and slackers, is the result of the excessive tuition fees that she is forced to pay. Although she has a job as a waitress the money she earns (legitimately) is insufficient especially as her university recommends limits to the number of hours students spend in paid employment.

If the auction succeeds, Rosie can continue her university career, hoping one day to become a sex therapist or councillor.

"I want a man who is going to make me change my mind" Excuse us?

Rosie’s auction highlights the financial problems that face today’s students. Tuition fees and high living costs (exacerbated by the state of the property market and greedy fat-cat tossers) combine to force students into massive debts unless their parents are willing or able to cough up large amounts of money throughout the duration of their studies. Drop out rates are also high showing that many are forced to make the ultimate educational sacrifice.

"She does have nice norks" - Jess


But, but…. presumably if she is a lesbian she should be looking for a woman? Last time I looked, that was who lesbians slept with.

Complex
I'm undertravelled. Just look at the vast expanse of green territory I haven't set foot in. What am I doing with my life?




At the age of 19, my brother had been there, and there, and there:






I can barely save up for regular hops across the pond.

Incongruous gayness
In the staff room this morning, I noticed a perfect incongruity on the coffee table. It had been placed there by an obviously unsuspecting secretary. (we don’t have PAs where I work, we’re not that modern.) I picked it up with as much nonchalance as I could summon, aware of the possibility of my guilty secret being discovered.
Today The Times’ T2 supplement titled ‘Where have all the gays gone?’, above a Pierre et Gilles type picture of an effeminate blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked sailor. On the first page of one of Britain’s most conservative daily papers, could that be a good thing? I dared not hope for too much, but still smuggled it home – I doubt anyone else would have been interested anyway.

So what conclusions does the Times come up with? Here come the quotes.

’The latest census suggests that gay couples are still reluctant to reveal their sexual orientation. Our correspondent says many gays, particularly outside the cities, experience homophobia’.

Scintillating. Really.

‘It’s even harder to be a gay woman’.
No shit? Thank you, The Times.

‘Gays are still reluctant to come out and therefore are woefully under-represented in the Office of National Statistics census.’
Mmm. I wonder why. Is it because they might lose their job/get their head bashed in, by any chance?


‘There are two basic reasons why gay couples seem to be thin on the ground. The first requires a bit of honesty about the “gay lifestyle”. A lot of gays have the morals of tomcats. Some would rather be married to promiscuity than have a loving, faithful relationship. Certainly much of what passes for the gay scene — the clubs, bars and magazines — encourages sexual adventurism and hanging from chandeliers, rather than the boring stuff of commitment and growing old contentedly. There are hopes that the new civil partnership legislation will throw a large bucket of icy water over all these gays on heat: I doubt it.’

Yay! Exactly what your faithful readership wants to hear, but does not need to hear. Pile it on.
Wait, don’t throw up yet, there’s more –from a gay journalist:

‘When people assume that I’m straight in conversation, I don’t disabuse them. Why should I? I quite often cringe when I hear someone talking very frankly about their gayness. It’s embarrassing; it’s bad manners. It’s the conversational equivalent of the novelty tie — “look at me, I’m so different and exciting compared with you boring old straights.”

And this is why my place of employment subscribes to The Times, and why, sometimes, I feel like I’m selling out.

Dolphin sex

There is more to being obsessed with dolphins than cutesy jewelry or sporting a bad ankle tattoo.
Today's random quote:

WARNING! In the considerations of safety, you should NEVER let a male dolphin attempt anal sex with you. The Bottle-nose dolphin member is around 12 inches, very muscular, and the thrusting and the force of ejaculation (a male can come as far as 14 feet) would cause serious internal injuries, resulting in peritonitus and possible death. Unless you are the masochistic type, you will have a hard time explaining your predicament to the doctors in the emergency ward.

Read the rest on www.dolphinsex.org.

So I took this quizz - and , hey, guess what?

You Are Dominant!

If you're giving out whippings, then this is no surprise to you

But being dominant doesn't necessarily mean you are a sadist

You might just take the lead, call out positions, or decide when it's time for sex

Bottom line: The bedroom is your domain, and anyone who gets with you knows it!

Hours of fun
Lacking porn? Desperate for rude entertainment? Why not pornolize your favourite sites! pornolize, and, hey presto, hours of fun for the whole family. Well, minutes. Maybe not for the whole family.

On the bus there was a couple of Goth kids chewing on Haribo Horror Mix.
Now that's what I call commitment.
I giggled knowingly to try and establish a rapport, but they didn't offer me any. They obviously thought I looked too stuffy.
I don't care, i'll get my own bag.