Sadness and memories.

This month I lost two friends. 

Not close friends. Just two people that I have known for an incredibly long time and have many awesome memories of. 

My friend Helen passed away at the beginning of the month, victim of a peanut allergy. I didn't know Helen amazingly well - not as well as she knew me. She was an agony aunt to almost everybody around here and had an almost psychic ability to tell when people were in pain and was always ready to lend an ear, a shoulder and a joke to lighten the mood. She wasn't one to talk about herself. Instead favouring talking to others about themselves and issues they were facing. She was a surrogate mum, sister and auntie to almost everyone.  I regret not taking the time to coax more information out of her. But I appreciate the way she always made me feel better about everything. I always said goodbye to her with a smile. 

Today I received the news that another friend of mine passed earlier this week. A victim of his own demons and yet another devastating loss. Alan was a genuinely lovely guy. Always had a smile and time for a chat. He was only 26 - 5 years younger than me and gone too soon. He was the sound engineer for my first bands gigs, he was someone to hang out with and chain smoke with when I was bored, and one drunken night, someone to make out with. He often hung out in the DJ booth with me when I was DJing in our local alternative night club and he always had amusing anecdotes and stories. Never any enemies and never a bad word against him. The world is genuinely missing a ray of light now he's gone. 

I'm sitting on my sofa, in my Marvel pj bottoms and Doctor Who t-shirt, chain smoking and thinking about these two people. When people die, everyone says how lovely they were, how genuinely likeable they were, and how they'll be missed and nothing I have to say is any different but it is different. It's personal. I knew these people. I loved these people. In my own special way. And I feel their loss so very deeply. It's made me think of my own mortality. I wonder who will grieve me when I'm gone. I wonder who will say I touched their lives... I wonder if anyone will be grateful that they knew me. I'm grateful that I knew Helen and Alan. I'm glad I got to spend time with them while they were here. I'm sad that they've gone. I grieve for them and I cry for them. And I hate that life has to continue without them. School runs, dogs barking, medical appointments, politics... All these things continue unabated. Not everyone realises that these people existed. And that breaks my heart. I just want to shout from the rooftop "they were here. They lived. They breathed. They laughed and they cried and they influenced so much of the world around them and you carry on as if they were nothing!" 

The world should stop. If only for a moment. Just to honour these people. And everyone else before them. But of course that's a ridiculous concept. One that both Helen and Alan would laugh at me for. The world is full of death. Every day millions leave this life, leaving behind them sorrow and memories and there are no moments long enough to honour them all. It's only the wish of a grieving heart and nothing more. 

Everyone grieves differently but it will always feel the same. It's a shared emotion. Groups of people all feeling a loss. Pain is subjective but you can never truly feel what someone else feels. But we can guess. We all come together in times of joy and sadness - feeling similar to each other but never truly the same. In our grief we feel sadness that the ones we lost are gone but joy that they were once here. But it's also a private, personal grief. Something no one else will ever truly feel or understand because it is just that. Personal. And it sucks. 

They say that time heals all wounds and in my experience this is true. But the problem with time is that it just takes too damn long. So I know that eventually my private, personal grief will dissipate and though I'll never forget them, it will become less painful, but until then I must go through the motions and stay strong. Just like everybody else does with their private, personal grief. 

An Open Letter To My Ex.

I don't really know how to start this. I've got so much to say but I don't know how to begin. I don't want to rant and rage. I've done that already. I don't want to cry. I've done that already. And honestly, I'm past it all. I waited til now to write this post because I had to gather the strength. I had to be over us. 

A lot has happened in the year since I saw you last. I spent nearly a year fixing myself before even considering getting involved with anyone else. Some of that year was spent in therapy. I needed therapy after you. My doctor tells me I have post traumatic stress disorder. It's not all from you, other events have taken their toll, but you cover the majority of it. I know there's a part of you that's secretly pleased that you still have an effect on me. And that's ok. Because you do and you always will but not just in that way. Not in the way you think.

You see I discovered something in the year since you broke my heart, my bank account and my trust in humanity. I discovered that I actually like myself. Took me a while. I mean for 3 years I had the constant feeling of not being good enough. Your efforts saw to that. It kept me in my place. But my god I am actually pretty damned awesome. I mean seriously, I've got friends who call me a legend when talking about me to other people. I've been called the nicest person you could ever meet. I am regularly told that I am awesome. And it's all because I discovered that I am a no-drama, honest, laid back, accepting kinda gal. The complete opposite of what you turned me into. I still have abandonment issues. I still have trouble committing to anything because I'm terrified of losing anything I commit to. But I can finally see why people love and respect me and want to be around me. I'm still having trouble believing that anyone can find me attractive but one step at a time, eh. 

You destroyed me. You broke my spirit. You crushed any sense of self worth I ever had. You ground me down so much that I still panic if I say something a little bluntly, I worry that anyone could snap at the tiniest thing and start on me out of nowhere. Like you did. I am terrified of arguing with anyone over anything and I feel the need to prove everything I ever say to anyone and provide evidence of wherever I'm going. But you have not beaten me. I may be broken but I am no longer destroyed. 

I realised a little while back that I was always going to love you. 

But that's ok. Because it's not YOU I am always going to be in love with. It's the persona you projected. The lies you concocted. The idea of you rather than the actual you. Once I learned to separate that from the physical you, healing myself because so much easier.

It's like a person suit and believe me, it fits much more than just one person. 

All I had to do was wait for someone who measured up to the idea that I was in love with to come along, and you could be replaced with a much better model just like that. That's the thing with pretending to be someone else, I guess. So easy to replace if you're not real. 

This is how you'll always have an effect on me. You will always be the biggest fuck up of my life. But a fuck up I came back from, with dignity, style and poise. 

I spent a year healing myself. I learned to love myself. I learned to be a better parent. Better friend. Better daughter. Better person. I took everything I learned from being with you, and I decided that it definitely wasn't anything I wanted in my life anymore. Being convinced that you're no better than dirt isn't any good for anyone. It destroys a soul. 

I've got a long way to go yet. I'm still jumpy, I still have irrational fears and worries, I'm still terrified of being left. But I know now that I can cope if I am. Because I had to. I still have trust issues. But they are slowly resolving themselves. 

Basically, I just want you to know that you lost. I won. I am so much stronger than you ever gave me credit for. I was broken but now I am almost completely fixed. I am happy with who I am. I am happy with my own company and I know that I have an amazing support network. My friends and family and the beginnings of a new relationship. 

This time last year, everything was starting to go wrong. I was so scared. It was dark, I was alone, I was desperately ill and I was terrified. 

I have come such a long way since then and I did it despite of you. 

At the end of the day, I am Luna. And Luna is unstoppable. 

The start of a new chapter.

If you ask my family, I don't have a maternal bone in my body. 

If you ask my friends, I'm the mother of the group. 

If you ask me, I agree with the former and argue the latter. 

I'm not a natural born mother. My mothering instinct comes out when my friends need me or if my children are poorly but never at any other time. I've been known to laugh when the children fall over. I've been known to tell them to man up and I've also been known to ignore them when they cry for no apparent reason. In my opinion I am raising self sufficient young men who can look after themselves. I am always there when they need a cuddle, but they have to come to me. I won't go to them no matter how loud they cry. I am always there if they need advice or just someone to talk to. I extend compassion and understanding but I expect them to be able to deal with any situation presented to them.

Except bullying. When my eldest started school last year, he came and told me that a bigger boy was picking on him. 

I swear the office staff at the school started shaking when I stormed in there, children being dragged behind me, and demanded to talk to his teacher. 

Luckily it was all sorted out but I think the staff learned very quickly that although I practice distant parenting, I will protect my children with the ferocity of a mama bear. 

Anyway, as I was saying, being a mother does not come naturally to me. I try hard and I worry about my kids and their welfare, I would move the heavens if I had to, just to help them, but I'm not a very good mother. Which is why days like today are difficult for me. 

My youngest, my 4 year old, started school. 

Last year my eldest started school and though nervous and a bit shakey, I was fine with it. He was ready. He's tall for his age and he's so clever it's unreal. He was ready a long time before he started and honestly, it was a relief to get him out of the house. But this time around... It's so different. My youngest is still a baby. He's short and chunky with chubby cheeks an thighs like a baby, a slight speech impediment which means I sometimes have to translate for him when he talks to people. He's into trains and dinosaurs and not a lot else. He's still a baby. He's not ready for school. 

Except he is. 

It's me who isn't ready. I'm not ready to let go of being by his side all the time and let him into the big scary world. What will happen if he gets bullied?! Well, to be honest, probably nothing. I doubt he'd even notice. It's the older one that's the more sensitive child. The younger one is like a juggernaut. Hurtling through life, oblivious to anything except trains and sandwiches and cuddles. He's so like his mother. 

And so at 8.30 this morning, he stood before me, in his uniform of shirt, tie, smart trousers and shoes and sweatshirt with the schools logo emblazoned on it and I'm not ashamed to say that I nearly cried. I held it in though. He was so excited. He kept jumping up and down and telling passers by that he was going to school. Everyone said what a big boy he was and how adorable he looked. It was like a fucking worthers advert. 

My heart was breaking for the entire trip to school. The firstborn went in through the gates as he has done for a year now. All excited about being in year one now. Secondborn had to go in through the office as he started reception year. 

As he wandered off, holding his teachers hand, a troop of other tiny people following behind him, I saw him look back and give me a massive smile and a tiny wave. He was ready. He was ready and I was not. And my heart was completely and utterly breaking. 

They don't tell you, when you have kids, that no matter how bad you are at being a parent, the emotions are still stronger than anything you've ever felt before. 

I stood there and I watched the third and final piece of my heart walk away from me and towards the big scary world. And I had to trust that it would be safe without me. 

No one warns you that once you've shared a body with a small person, once you've created them and grown them inside you for 9 months, that you will never feel complete without them again. The only time I ever feel right is when they're both cuddled up to me. That's the only time I ever feel complete. 

And now I have to trust that the world won't hurt them yet. Not until they're ready to deal with that. I have to trust that they'll be safe without me. 

And knowing the state of the world, I know that they're not. 

I'm a firm believer in not shying children away from the world, but raising them to improve it. And I'm doing pretty well with the firstborn. He said to me "mama, if I see someone at school crying, I'm going to go and see if they're ok because everybody should have a friend."

He's not even 6 yet. He's not even 6 and he knows compassion. I couldn't have been more proud of him. 

I feel that the Secondborn would know to do that but he wouldn't say it. He'd just go and do it. He's not one to talk about his feelings or motives. 

He's so like his mother. 

Firstborn though... He's so empathetic I wonder where he gets it. Certainly not from me. 

I marvel at these little people, each and every day. 

I don't have a maternal instinct. I lack the capacity to be a soft and caring mother. But that doesn't mean that I can't raise empathetic and caring young men. 

And as I watch them make their way into the big scary world, I can see them shining a little more light and kindness into it and I can't help but feel both heartbroken and joyful that they're doing it without me, and that they're doing it at all. 

Valentines Hints.

So I've been single for a few weeks now. That's actually an understatement but I'm trying not to dwell on how pathetically unloved I am. But in this time I have been dipping my toe into the dating pool so to speak and it's been fairly successful. I have learned a few things about myself, about other people and about how the world works and so today, dear reader, I give you a valentines gift. What with it being Valentines Day today and all (because lets face it, a Valentines post in the middle of July would have been weird.) Today, I present to you...

Luna's Guaranteed To Work Flirting Techniques.

Don't thank me now. Thank me later when you're elbow deep in whatever genitalia you happen to prefer.
You're welcome.

These flirting techniques have been proven (by me so you know they're good) to work on anyone and anything. Trust me. I could seduce a tree I'm just that good. I wouldn't, but I could.

Now you've arranged to meet someone for a drink. This is good. It's the first step to meeting people (the actual meeting people I mean.) It's a social thing, and it's normal. Lots of people meet for drinks and with any luck, you've managed to get this meeting without coming across as too weird or creepy. Well done you. So you're in the pub and the person you have arranged this date with is there too. So far things are going amazingly. You're there, they're there - there are so many there's there it's unreal. How do you go from the "Getting to know you" chat to the "I would like to know you intimately" chat? By following this handy step by step guide my friend!

Step one: Inform your date that you require lubrication.
Don't worry, they will know that you mean you're thirsty. It won't sound weird, everyone knows that if you're in a pub, lubrication is slang for beverage. Say in a loud and clear voice "[Name of date] I require lubrication." and march off to the bar. If you're going dutch then buy your own drink. If not then sort out who's paying and acquire said beverage. At this point, your date will be falling over themselves to find out more about you. Don't hold back. Go to step two.

Step two: Inform your date about your bowel movements.
It may sound odd but go with me here. Everyone likes regular bowel movements. Not a lot of people notice when they are regular but everyone notices when they are irregular. If you have regular (normal) bowel movements and you know this, then mention it. Because it shows that you are the kind of person that pays attention to the little things. Your date will appreciate your attention to detail and will automatically think that you will pay attention to their needs and wants almost psychically. This is good. Because everyone wants a psychic lover. Seriously. I don't know how many times I've been in bed with someone and I've been thinking "left a bit... left a bit... lower..." and they haven't picked up on my thoughts. Psychic lovers will know where your sweet spots are without you having to say anything and that makes the whole sex thing a lot easier in my opinion.
However. If you are not regular, if you suffer from some sort of stomach or intestinal disorder then inform your date of this anyway. They need to know what they're letting themselves in for if they pursue the course of action of dating you.

Step three: Reel off every single fact about yourself as quickly as you can without stopping to breathe.
Your date will be so impressed by your memory and all of the interesting things you've just told them, that they will literally swoon. Hold nothing back. Tell them about your prized collection of celebrity toe nail clippings. Tell them about your cat tapestry hobby. Tell them about the time in school when you had to have a recorder removed from your left nostril by a trained medical professional. These are all interesting factoids and people deserve to know them.
By now your date will be looking uncomfortable and/or nervous. This is good. It means that they want to sleep with you so much that they literally don't know what to do with themselves. Now we move on to the final step. This is the most powerful step. And it's really simple. If, by now, you have decided that you would like to see this person again or at least have intercourse with them, you simply go to step four.

Step Four: Say the following words.
"I have night vision goggles and a lot of free time."
Your date will now be making excuses to leave, such things as the cat has been ill and they really need to check on it, or they think they left the cooker on... This is good. This means that they are so aroused by your sheer magnificence that they need to go and be alone for about half an hour or so (if you know what I mean *wink*wink*nudge*nudge*). Offer to walk them home. If they decline, insist. It's the gentle(wo)manly thing to do. And also it means that you will know where they live. Do not accept any offers of coffee though, you don't want to seem like a desperate slut!

As soon as you are alone, send them a text to thank them for a lovely date and ask for a second. If they don't respond within 2 minutes, send it again. Repeat until they reply. This will show that you are eager to see them again because you admire them and who doesn't like being admired?!

So there you go. Guaranteed, never to fail, pulling techniques.
Good luck my friend. Not that you'll need it!

Self Promotion.

So in case anybody wasn't aware, I am on twitter and have been for some time now. The link is here... https://twitter.com/LilMissLunatic and gosh, I sure would love some new followers. I'm very good in that I will always follow back, once I've figured out that you're not a spam profile anyway and I'll always reply to folk, because I'm a fantastic tweeter. Or twit. Or whichever is more appropriate.

Anyway, now that we've got that shameless plug out of the way, how are you my dear readers? I know it's been a long while since I blogged, but I don't really have much to say that isn't under 140 characters these days. I'm sitting here writing this, on a wednesday evening at 10:50pm, with a menthol cigarette and a cup of chocolate milkshake (I'm so badass) wracking my brains about what to write. I gots the urge but I don't gots the inspiration. I think it's because by this time at night I'm far too tired to actually think straight. I'm full of ideas but the brain's gone to sleep. Which is handy in a not-at-all-handy-really kind of a way. So how about we cut this short (just like me) and keep it as what it essentially is, seeing as I can't think of anything interesting to say: A shameless plug to get more followers on twitter!

So yeah, follow me (literally, if you feel the need to, I could do with more excitement in my life!) and keep up with my day to day ramblings, my angry rants about the school run and other fun tit bits that I may randomly post. Believe me, your life will be all the better for it.

An FAQ about Gay marriage.

The gay rights movement has always been something that I have felt strongly about. My own sexual preferences aside, I just don't understand why one group of people is denied the right to fall in love. Love is universal, or so I believe. It occurs in nature, therefore it is natural. If swans can mate for life then why is it frowned upon for a group of humans to do the same? Love, as the old song goes, is many a splendored thing and in my humble opinion, there isn't enough of it in the world. Here in the UK at the moment we are trying to get the gay marriage bill passed, it's already half way through and I am confident that it will pass. We're basically trying to eradicate the ideas of civil partnerships and replace it with the word marriage. It's only a word, but it's one step closer to true equality for all. Over in America, however, they're still trying to make it legal at all, in any shape or form. As I understand it, there are still many states that don't even allow civil ceremonies. My knowledge on the whole thing is limited, but whenever I read something about it, I always come across the same arguments against it and they are so utterly stupid, that I simply need to voice my opinion on them. So here are some of the most used arguments against gay marriage and equality and my responses underneath. (I have copied these from the first page I found on google that had them all down in one place.)

"It Is Not Marriage...
Calling something marriage does not make it marriage. Marriage has always been a covenant between a man and a woman which is by its nature ordered toward the procreation and education of children and the unity and wellbeing of the spouses."

If calling something marriage does not make it marriage, then I propose that your heterosexual union is not a marriage. If you claim that calling something a name does not make it so, then surely it goes both ways? What makes your union a marriage that cannot be used to call a homosexual union a marriage? The only difference is that (only) one of you has a penis. Really, if you truly love each other, then I don't see any difference. Homosexuality has been rife ever since man first became man and look, millions of years later, we're still here. I really don't think that homosexuality is a threat to the ongoing progressions of our species. If it was, we'd have died out by now. 

"Marriage is for Procreation...
If the gays get married then they are not procreating, therefore the human race is in danger of dying out. Marriage should be kept for heterosexual couples so that they can ensure the continuation of the human race."

Wow. That's a lot of pressure for a newly wed couple. "Come on Dave, we need to save all of humanity..." Not exactly the sexiest example of pillow talk. First of all, human beings have been reproducing since before the very idea of marriage was invented. I'm fairly certain early men were sticking their little soldiers into their women-folk as often as they felt like it without needing a reason besides the fact that they wanted to. The act of sex comes about because of normal physical urges. Sometimes certain parts of the body just want to be played with for a little while. It's in-built and natural. There is nothing in nature that says "you have to shag because you are married." If that was the case then I would have never have met my parents as they would have been locked in their room 24/7 and I'd have a lot of brothers and sisters. My father would be disabled because of exhaustion, not a work accident. My friend and her husband are in a childless marriage as my friends husband is infertile. Does this mean that their marriage is fake? It feels real to them. They love each other and wanted to make it so that if anything happened to one of them, the other was safe from worries like homelessness and poverty. Marriage is basically a nice little word for "legal". Contracts have been signed, property has been shared and metal rings have been exchanged. Marriage is a man-made idea, it comes from humans, not nature. There are no monkies in the jungles of godknows where getting hitched. I promise you this. There are monkies shagging and having babies, but none of them are exchanging vows in order to do this. 

"Religion...
It's against my religion. My holy words say that it's bad."

Good for you. It's not against mine. I don't have one. What else do your holy words say is bad? Shaving? Eating meat on a Tuesday? Do you follow all of the rules properly? Probably not but that's your choice. If you want to follow those rules then go for it, but they are YOUR rules, no-one elses. It's not up to you to decide how someone else lives their life. They're not hurting you, so why are you trying to hurt them? I'm not religious. I admire those that are, I'm sure your religion has been a great comfort to you in times of need, but you have absolutely no right to use it to cause harm on anyone. It's just plain spiteful. Despite my lack of religion though, let me quote from yours. "Judge not lest ye be judged." Yeah. Think about that.

"Children...
If we allow gay unions then it will encourage our children to be gay and teach them that it's ok."

Good. Because seriously, there are too many kids out there that are hating themselves and trying to lead a life that isn't for them in order to make YOU happy. Growing up is difficult enough without being made to think that you're not good enough or that you don't deserve to be loved. I have two sons, and though I'm not very good at this parenting lark, the only thing that I want them to be confident in is the fact that I love them unconditionally. No matter what. The idea of either of my children growing up to think that I could wake up one day and just not love them anymore terrifies me. Love is natural, and a mothers love, doubly so. There is nothing in the world that will EVER stop me from loving them, especially such a stupid thing as loving the "wrong" person. Many people will cry "but don't you want grandchildren?!" to that. And honestly, I'm ambivalent about the whole thing. I will love any child of my child, obviously. However, it's not something I'm desperate for. It's not something I crave or need. All I want is for my children to be happy. And if either having or not having children makes them happy, then I'm happy that they are happy. It's their decision, not mine.

"It Will Lead to Marriage Involving Animals, Siblings, Children, or Groups of People!"

I hate to burst your bubble here, but that already happens. There are people out there, who classify themselves as heterosexual, who are doing these things. I'm not denying that homosexuals do it too, but it's not limited to a specific gender preference. For instance, the 50 year old school janitor who likes to watch the little girls undress. He isn't a homosexual, quite the opposite in fact. So how is allowing gay marriage going to have any effect on this pervert? Quite simply, it isn't. And as it stands, gay marriage is illegal in your state, legalising it doesn't mean that you have to legalise paedophillia or bestiality. You can legalise one thing and keep the others illegal. It's not all one great big package, it's like a breakfast menu, you can pick and choose from the group. The thing that no-one is picking up on though, is that homosexual sex is (usually) consensual  Both parties agree and no-one gets hurt. In bestiality or paedophilia, one party doesn't agree, it's non-consensual and as such as classified as rape and the non-consenting party has to live with the ordeal for years afterwards. No-one in a consenting gay union goes through any kind of ordeal and no-one has to live with the repercussions afterwards. That is why it's ridiculous to class it in with such other acts. The reason we frown upon incest is because it limits the expansion of the gene pool and after a few generations of inbreeding, genetic mutations can occur which can lead to the offspring dying early, being brain damaged or even just so freaking ugly that no-one is going to want to shag them. No matter how drunk. That is a very good reason to try and avoid shagging a family member, however unions of the same sex will not result in children. Not without the aid of medical science or the adoption of an unwanted child anyway, so the gene pool is left untainted and free from mutations that might pass down the family line. If given the choice between legalising a union that can cause defects in a future generation or legalising a union that will not result in a future generation (bearing in mind that some heterosexual unions cannot conceive a child either) then which one is the most logical one to pick? Yeah, gay unions are the safest bet and that is why they should be legalised, they are not harming anyone. 

"It's just not natural..."

Excuse me, but are you wearing glasses? Do you enjoy air conditioning? Do you eat processed foods? Do you live in a house that is kept comfortable during winter with the aid of central heating? Do you wear polyester? None of those things are natural, they are all man-made. If you can enjoy those things then your argument is invalid. Quite besides which, actually homosexuality IS natural. Homosexuality is found throughout the animal kingdom and homosexual acts are often used as a way to blow off steam or solve problems. Really, if you think about it, it's only humans that have a problem with sex and how it should be used. Sex is a natural act and since before humans were human, man was trying to stick his little friend into anything and everything. It's another one of those pesky natural urges. 

"It Offends God..."

Really? You don't think that an all knowing and all seeing deity has better things to be watching than a bit of man on man action? And if he did create the heavens and the earth and all things in them like you believe, then why did he let them be gay in the first place? Personally I don't believe in an omnipotent sky-beard, but I'm fairly certain that if one existed, he wouldn't be looking down on us going "oh dear, they're at it again... tut tut tut." He'd be like "right, that's bad, lets get that sorted with a good bit of smiting." Yeah, I've read the bible (which is more than some christians have) and I remember that he was really into a good bit of smiting now and again. And floods. He loved himself a good flood. If god really disapproves then he'll do something about it. Clearly, the fact that he hasn't means that he couldn't give a toss. And I don't blame him. Who one man loves is not a matter up for debate. It's between him and the man he loves who hopefully loves him in return. Is my friend destroying your life by loving someone? You don't know him, you've never met him and probably never will. He recently married (civil ceremony)  his partner of 6 years and they are very happy together. Is their union affecting your life? Are you suddenly unable to use your legs? Have you gone deaf in one ear? Have you lost all of your money? Your house? Your partner or children all because my friend decided to let himself be happy? The answer is no, you spiteful biggot. His life has absolutely NO effect on your life whatsoever and your need to destroy his is purely down to a psychotic need to control everything around you. Just because you don't approve of it doesn't make it bad. Just look at music of the 1950's, the first talking pictures and the black rights movement. People disapproved of them at first and look at them now. The world is a better place for them being in it. Why are you stopping the world from being a better place?

Some Time Later...

Well, I gave it two months and no answer, so I guess I'm staying here! Besides which, I decided to change direction slightly from where I started and where I ended up. As anyone who reads this may have noticed from their mentions in previous posts that I have 2 small children. At the time of writing they are 2 and 4 years old. They are both boys and they are a handful and as much as they frustrate and exhaust me, I wouldn't change them for the world. I made them, they are perfect. I'm not a very good mum though. I yell and I scold and I ignore and I teach. I don't hug them as often as I should. I don't praise them as much as I should. I don't back down as much as I should. At present my firstborn has gotten into the habit of guilt tripping me whenever I tell him off. He'll argue back when I tell him off so I eventually sit him on the naughty step or send him to his room. After a few minutes he'll wander back in and ask me why I stopped loving him. I realise guilt tripping is a natural part of growing up and learning all kinds of social interactions, cause and effect etc but it kills me every time. No matter how many times I explain that I will always love him, no matter what, and that I have to tell him off when he's naughty but that doesn't mean I have stopped loving him, he still says it and it still feels like a knife to the heart. I know one day he'll just get it. He'll push and push and push and then realise that I'm not going anywhere and it's through choice, not just a sense of obligation, but right now, while he's still so tiny - it's just hard. Sometimes he's so grown up. Being an older brother in a house with only one parent meant that he had to grow up a bit faster than other children his age and it's often said that he's an old soul. He really is. There's something so very knowing inside of him. He understands far more of the world than someone his age should. But at times I look at him and see the tiny, defenceless, squirming baby that used to sleep on my chest with one hand holding a clump of my hair and the other hand being entirely covered by his tiny mouth. He's still so little, being only 4. And it's heartbreaking to know that he won't always be this little. He won't always be so inquisitive, asking about the clouds in the sky or how the television works. As an adult I take knowing those things for granted. If I don't understand how something works or I want to know more about it, I just google it. He's 4, he can't read. His only source of information is other people and so when he is curious, he asks me. I love that. I love being the one he relies on to find things out. Walking to Grandma's house once he asked me what the pretty building over the road was. It was a church and explaining the purpose of the church led on to an explanation about god. Being an atheist I explained to him about belief in a god, what a god is, the different types of religion and gods out there and so on and so forth with reassurances that, as he gets older, if he finds himself drifting towards a tendency to believe in any form of deity, then that's ok with me. I feel this overwhelming urge to let him to know that most of the things that he might choose in life are ok with me. As long as he doesn't hurt anyone, and as long as he's happy, then I'm happy. I have dreams for him. I have an imagination and I like to imagine him achieving great things as he reaches adulthood. But sometimes I forget to stop and look at him (and his brother) and appreciate what and who he is now. He's a little person. He's learning every day, every thing is still new to him. And while right now might be difficult and demanding, it isn't going to last forever. And before I know it he'll be a grown man with a life and possibly family of his own. And he won't need me as much anymore. And as much as his "Why have you stopped loving me?" questions might hurt me today, the thought of not having them tomorrow, well that feels even worse.

Lazer Cake.

I haven't blogged in a while. Not since shit started getting really real anyway. When I started this blog it was to be a written journey through my adventures in motherhood and crafting and somewhere along the way it got too personal on an uncomfortable level. I've deleted those posts because no-one needs to read such messed up headfuckery. What I'm left with now that they are gone is sparse and uninteresting and tainted by the posts that were and I'm in two minds whether to salvage what I have and build on it, or just delete the lot and start again. In a sense it parallels my life at the moment... I don't know how to go forward from here and I'm not sure that I really want to. I'm prone to feeling sorry for myself - I'm a drama queen, its what we do. But do I really want to lay here being all woe is me or do I want to get back out there, brave and tall (hah!) and get on with my life? I'm at a crossroads and I don't know which direction to take. So I ask of you dear readers... Do I salvage my blog and nurse it better or do I delete the whole thing entirely?

Goodbye Planet Earth.

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let us down, probably will. You'll have your heart broken and you'll break others' hearts. You'll fight with your best friend or maybe even fall in love with them, and you'll cry because time is flying by. 

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, forgive freely, and love like you've never been hurt. Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances. you just have to live life to the fullest, tell someone what they mean to you and tell someone off, speak out, dance in the pouring rain, hold someone's hand, comfort a friend, fall asleep watching the sun come up, stay up late, be a flirt, and smile until your face hurts. Don't be afraid to take chances or fall in love and most of all, live in the moment because every second you spend angry or upset is a second of happiness you can never get back.

Live for today, plan for tomorrow, party tonight.

In which we learn how to read mandarin.

I live next door to a chinese restaurant. And I love it.

It's next door so it's handy for picking up food when I'm flush enough to be able to afford a takeaway. Their food is actually really good and their roast pork chow mein is to DIE for. They're also very nice people and let me have a little discount (only about 5% but still a nice gesture on their part I feel) and when my toilet was blocked, they let us use their toilet when firstborn was toilet training. I love living next door to a chinese restaurant but it's not for any of those reasons.

I love it because of the birthday parties.

Every now and then they get a group in for a birthday. They have a special offer in that the birthday person eats for free, so it's a very popular place for birthday meals. And every now and then, in amongst the general hum of chatter that I can hear through the very thin wall dividing us, I suddenly hear someone clearing their throat and I know it's time to pause what I'm watching or turn down my music and then it begins. A rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday To You". And I love it. After everyones sang the song and the birthday guy or gal has blown out the candles on his kung-po birthday cake everyone claps and cheers and occasionally there's a few hip hip hoorays and I like hearing it. I like knowing that just feet away from me, behind the wall that keeps my living room separate from the dining area of a chinese restaurant, someone is experiencing a moment of true happiness. A moment of clarity where they feel contented that everyone is there for them, to celebrate their birthday with them and generally have a good time before leaving that place and returning to the hum drum routine of every day modern life, all the problems they may be experiencing, all the sadness and sorrow and difficult times.

I don't know these people and I doubt I ever will, but for a moment, while they sing, I feel connected to them in some way and even though I'm not there with them (would be weird if I suddenly burst in and joined in singing to a complete stranger...) I'm sat here smiling, because hearing that and knowing that someone out there is happy for a moment, well it makes me happy too. Because there's so much crap in the world, so much chaos and death and destruction, that we rarely take a moment to stop and see what we have to be happy about. What we should take joy in. And so every moment of happiness should be grabbed with both hands and appreciated with all the appreciation you can muster. And it should be used as a crutch to get through the bad times. And sometimes, listening to someone doing something as simple as celebrating a birthday, well sometimes it just reminds me that there are people out there who are finding strength to carry on somehow, and so maybe I can do the same, if I just remember to appreciate the good times and look after what I have got.

Inkage?

Disclaimer: I stole every single photo in this blog entry from google. If it's your picture then blame google for letting me steal it!

I know I shouldn't write this, but it's been on my mind for a while now. And I need to vent because it just bugs me. I'm a 28 year old woman with 2 children of my own. I am very close to my parents and I adore them and would do anything for them. But at 28 years old I am very much an adult with my own choices to make, lifestyle to follow and so on and so forth. At the time of writing this, I am fairly plain looking. I have pretty neutral purple over black hair, 2 lip piercings, my ears pierced twice, one of which has been stretched to 12mm flesh tunnels and I have 6 tattoo's. My mum and dad have always been pretty cool with my appearance. I didn't really start to branch out and try to express myself through my appearance til I was 16 or so but I've always been more on the alternative side of the spectrum, ever since I was little and dressing like Adam and The Ants while listening to my mums Adam Ant vinyl collection. Sadly this was mid nineties but I've always been a little bit behind everyone else. The first time I ever dyed my hair a bright colour I dyed it magenta. I was 16 years old and my hair came down past my bum so it took two bottles. I was so scared of getting into trouble that I did it on a sleepover at a friends house and had another friend come back with me the next day for moral support. Mum saw us walk past the living room window to get to the front door and got there before we did. She threw open the door and yelled "What the bloody hell have you done to yourself??!" I took a step back, grinned sheepishly and said "hi mum, do you like it?" to which she replied (in rather a surprised tone) "Actually yes I do. It looks nice."
And that was my first step into the world of hair dying. Since then I have had every single colour in my hair that the hair colouring industry currently creates. I am an expert at dying, fixing bad dye jobs and bleaching. There is nothing I don't know because I am self taught and I learned from my mistakes. Not that I've ever made any massive mistakes... The time my hair turned green instead of blonde was actually a happy accident as green and blue were the colours I was planning to dye my hair anyway.
When I started college I made friends with the alternative crowd and I stuck with them for years after. I'm still friends with a few of them now although I don't see them as much as I would like to. One of them, who reads this blog bless 'er, (hello Miss Elle!) was particularly conducive in the next stage of my style evolution. She suggested that a lip piercing might look good on me. It was just a random throw away comment during a conversation between about 6 of us but it stuck with me and for a couple of months after that, I wore a fake lip ring to see what people thought. Everyone agreed that it suited me and I think it helped mum and dad get used to the idea because one day I came home from my boyfriend at the times house with a real piercing in the middle of my bottom lip. It was only a stud and it was a little wonky as I'd done it myself, but it was in and before long I had a ring in it. I've still got it there and last year I gave it a little friend and got the side of my lip pierced too. About 3 years ago I decided that I was becoming too mumsy. I had a baby boy and my life revolved around him. I still managed to keep myself looking good but I wasn't looking as alternative as I would like and honestly, even though I still probably stuck out like a sore thumb, I felt like a bit of a wallflower and I felt drab and colourless. Then I decided to fix it by doing something little that wouldn't be too noticeable but would make me feel better about myself. I bought an ear stretching kit off ebay and I started to stretch my ears. My boyfriend of that time and my parents all hated what I was doing and I was getting told every day to take them out and stop being silly but I persevered and now I am up to 12mm where I have been for about a year now and I have a pair of very lovely leopard print tunnels in that the lovely boyfriend bought me last year. I love my flesh tunnels, if I could make them bigger I would but I'm aware that they gross people out, so I wont go any bigger. It's one of the compromises I think my parents and I have come to without actually saying anything!
When I was little my dad was a labourer. He used to go around in a plaid shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or cut off, dirty jeans and work boots. He used to smoke tobacco that he kept in a leather pouch and he was and still is, absolutely covered in tattoo's. He covers most of them up now, but I remember sitting on his lap tracing their outlines when I was really small. The smell of tobacco in a leather pouch always brings back fond memories of Wrestling commentaries and drawing around his tattoos with my finger. Ever since I was little I've always wanted tattoo's and this brings me to my main point. I love tattoo's. I mean to the point of near obsession. I always have done and I always will do. If I was a better artist I would have gone into that profession. The first time I came home with a tattoo my parents were ok about it. It was a small spider on my arm. They weren't too happy with the fact that I was underage at the time, or that I had got one at all but they were ok with what it was and at the time, ok with me having one. The 2nd one they were less fine with but still okish, its on my lower back and it is in memory of my friend who sadly died so they couldn't really say much. And the 3rd one... Well, the 3rd caused a lot of arguments. You see my mum is a massive fan of teddy bears. She's an avid collector. And by collector I mean that she has about 8 black sacks of them in the loft and a further 3 in the spare room and two wardrobes covered in them. She's a huge teddy bear fan. She never let me eat pom-bear crisps when I was little because she thought it was cruel. The ham you could get in the shape of a teddies face? No way. Never, ever, ever. So when I got a kid with a pumpkin head that has a knife in one hand and a decapitated teddy bear at his feet - mum took that as a personal insult. Over the last 10 years or so she's come to get used to it and I've shown her the original comic that I made that it came from and she got it once she saw it in context but she still hates it. She now also hates the fact that I have the word Strength across my shoulders in big gothic lettering and she hates that I have a heart on the inside of my right wrist with the initial of my boyfriends first name in it. And she HATES that I now have a large cobweb around my first little spider tattoo. However she doesn't mind that I have the names of my sons written on a scroll being carried by a badly drawn swallow on my left shoulder. But I suspect thats because it's my kids and she adores them. Anyway. Out of everything I've ever done to alter my appearance, the tattoo's are the one thing my parents hate. Because they're permanent. Hair can be dyed again, piercings can be removed. Tattoo's are forever. And my mum and I often discuss what it'll be like in 40 years time. You see... I have plans for many MANY more tattoo's. At the time of writing I already know what I want for my full sleeve, my half sleeve, one on each foot and one large one on my back. I already know what I want, but I want more elsewhere and I'm still thinking about what to get. And somehow whenever my mum steers the conversation to my ink and she tells me I have too much, I reply with "I don't have enough, I'm getting more" and then she uses the "what will you look like when you're old?" argument. Honestly, I want to say this. But I never will. Because its pointless arguing when our views are so different.

I instead reply that I will never regret them because they are a part of who I am. And even if I change, they're still a part of who I was at one point, it's like a pin in the map of my journey through life. So then she changes it and says that on girls they're tacky and trampy. I also wish I could show her this counter argument but taste is subjective and what I think is beautiful someone else may find repulsive.

For example, here are some photos of beautiful women with tattoo's that I found through the medium of google.

And then allow me to introduce my two idols in the world of tattoo's.

Miss Kat Von D - tattooist to the stars. Quite literally.

And now Miss Micheline Pitt - pin up model and make up artist.

Now you surely cannot deny that at least one of those women is nice looking? Personally, it's my ambition in life to look like Kat Von D or Micheline Pitt. Yeah, the tattoo'd, punked up version of a Barbie Doll. I'll never get there but a girl can dream. And so when my mum says that women with tattoo's look trampy, tacky and slutty, I think of these classy, beautiful women and I sigh. Because she'll never see it and I can't explain it and it's just one of those things that we will never agree on. And I'm ok with that. Because at the end of the day it's my life, my body and my skin and I'm not hurting anyone. 

But as much as I love tattoos (there are two things in the world that can make me drool over someone for physical appearance alone and they are tattoo's and flesh tunnels!) I do have my limits. For example I would never get a tattoo on the front of my neck/throat. Would freak me out too much for one thing. And I would never get a tattoo on my breasts. My main reason for this is because it's the first part of a woman to sag. I know this because I am already sagging. (but then breast feeding two children ain't gonna keep 'em perky!) and when my nipples are regularly visiting my knees, I don't want to see the picture that I previously adored looking like it got pulled out of the printer too fast. Another is my face. I quite like my face. On a good day it's extremely pretty. On a bad day it's plain and average but I rarely if ever look in the mirror and think that I am ugly. Only in my deepest darkest moments have I ever thought that because it's simply not true. I'm not being vain, I'm stating a fact. I'm very fortunate in that I have my mums good genes and look younger than I am and I look like both of my parents who, in their youth, were rather good looking, so I am lucky enough to be quite pretty so why would I change something that doesn't need changing? I already have a lot of make up which I rarely wear, so if I wanted to change anything I could just apply some slap and look tonnes different that way. 

There are reasons that I have what I have where I have it though. While we're on the subject of my face I always thought my lips were too thin. I have a nice top lip but the bottom lip could do with being a bit fuller I always thought. So I got my lip pierced, in a way I think, to enhace what I already had there. I always hated my flabby bingo wings, so I got arm tattoo's to get over my fear of showing them in public and distract from the flabby saggy bits underneath. I hate feet but have recently come to realise that my feet aren't actually that bad looking, so intend to get a small tattoo on each foot in order to boost my confidence in getting them out more. I have what I have in order to help myself feel better about myself. And I'm sorry but I have a dream of walking down an aisle in a white dress with a full sleeve tattoo on show and I'll be damned if that dream is trashed. I love tattoo's. I think they enhance beauty and, if done correctly, help a woman show off her feminity. And so I intend to keep going until there are literally 5 patches of bare skin left on my body because tattoo's are an art form. Some people like to hang art on their walls and admire it from afar, I like to hang it on my body and admire it really close up. And yes it hurts. And yes it's expensive. But both of those statements also apply to having children and I would never ever give them up for an easier life, so why would I give up something I love almost as much?

Story? Probably not.

I awoke with a start.

I was laying on something cold and hard and my head was pounding. I had no idea where I was, much less who I was. I hoped I wasn't in any danger. I tried opening my eyes but with no visual improvement I decided that I was either blind or someone had failed to leave the light on for me. I groped around a bit and decided that I was on a floor. I might be wrong and it might be a ceiling, but I was fairly certain that unless the laws of physics had drastically changed during my time of unconciousness, the chances of it being a ceiling were fairly slim. Either way, I thought to myself, it might be an idea to try and stand up. I don't know why this thought occured to me, but hey, it was something to do... I stood up and immediately regretted the decision when my  head cracked on a low beam. With pain induced bright lights flashing in my eyes I swore a bit, lost my balance and fell over. So far this was going well. I still couldn't remember who I was, this was slightly concerning to me, but the more immediate matter pressing on my mind was where I was, as my bladder decided to inform me that it had reached full capacity. I got onto my knees and crawled in a generally forwards direction. I kept going for a few seconds before suddenly realising that it might be an idea to check my pockets for anything that might be of some help. I stood upright on my knees and started patting myself down. After a few seconds I ascertained that I was wearing a dress of some kind, with some kind of soft and fluffy jacket over it... Handily, in my left pocket was a mobile phone - no signal. A cotton reel and a tea spoon. In my right pocket was a lighter, what appeared on closer inspection (using the lighter to see) to be a packet of methol cigarettes and a red lego brick. Not the best start but two things to light my way at least. I used the lighter to try and see around the room. It was very large and sparse with wooden floorboards, walls and ceiling. I stood completely upright and made my way (carefully) towards the nearest wall. Using the lighter to guide my way I groped along it until I reached a small box with a switch on it. I pushed the switch in and was immediately blinded by a single light bulb in the middle of the ceiling sparking into life. With my eyes barely open I put the lighter back in my pocket and attempted to open them fully. As I blinked around the room I took in everything. The room was empty except for a small wooden box in the centre of the room, near where presumably, I had woken up. There were no doors or windows which was puzzling. By this point I was becoming really concerned about my bladder and it's lack of space. I went over to the small box on the floor and picked it up. It was very basic dark wood with a bronze lock on the front. I couldn't see a key anywhere but felt optimistic that it might hold a clue to my whereabouts or something in it. I thought for a few seconds before remembering the tea spoon in my pocket and, carefully easing it into the crack between box and lid, levered up the lock until the wood splintered and the lid came free.


I stared in amazement. Then I blinked, and then I stared some more. Then I got angry. Inside the box was a solitary slice of toast. This was clearly the work of a mad man. Had I been here before? Did I do this to myself? I sat on the floor frustrated and fed up. I was in a room with no doors or windows, desperately in need of the toilet, with a slice of toast in a box. What the hell was going on??? As I sat there I tried to remember who I was. I had no idea of a name and only hazy memories of a blue sky, a childs laugh and a warm fireplace. Who the hell was I and what was I doing in this sodding room? More to the point, how did I get in here??? At that point one of the walls disappeared. Deciding that my day couldn't possibly get any worse, I stood up and walked to where the wall had been. Behind me the light went out. I walked on in darkness for a few seconds before there was a loud scuffling noise and suddenly I was surrounded by bright light again. Things had improved slightly, I appeared to be in a bathroom of some sort. Everything was gold in colour, the toilet, the sink, the lavish bath with tiger paws at the bottom, there were pot plants in gold pots, even the toilet roll holder was gold coloured. As I caught sight of my reflection in the large mirror above the sink I noticed that the box that contained the toast was now on the side of the sink. I had left it on the floor in the dark. I turned around and the wall that had disappeared to let me in here had been replaced by a deep red velvetty wall with a large sign on it. The sign read "In the interests of hygiene, please wash your hands before leaving the rest room." My bladder, deciding to take matters into it's own hands (so to speak) decided to lurch at this point and remind me that I needed to empty it. So I went and sat on the toilet and after a few seconds, felt a wave of relief rush over me. I remembered to wash my hands and with a nod to the sign, decided to wait and see what happened next. I didn't have to wait long.

Token fashionista blog.

So... I just had a shower. Probably slightly more than you needed to know but I need to lead up to my point and that's where it started. I was in the shower. And then I wasn't. And then I got dressed. And then I went back to the bathroom to brush my hair. And the bath (the shower is over the tub) was still draining. STILL draining. 15 minutes after I had shut off the water and fallen over the side of the bath in an attempt to exit elegantly, and it was still draining. Luckily I was prepared for such an event. I went over to the other side of the bathroom, retrieved my trusty plunger (99p from tesco) from down the side of the toilet and I took to the bath like a professional plumber. (by which I mean I hit the plug hole with the sucky end a few times and giggled at the noise it made) after a few minutes it was draining quicker and satisfied with a job well done, I returned the plunger to its home under the toilet cystern. As I stood upright and grabbed my hair brush I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and realisation suddenly hit me. It was almost epiphany-like. For years and years I have been struggling through life not quite knowing WHAT I am. I know WHO I am and I'm fairly happy with that, there could be improvements but on the whole I'm not too shabby. I'm funny (apparently) I'm attractive (and vain) and I'm friendly. It could be a whole lot worse. But I've never completely known WHAT I am. Ask anyone who's known me over the last ten years and you'll get a broad spectrum of answers from goth to punk, from rockabilly to chav (my lovely mother) I've been categorized by others according to what I look like on any given day and never really had a say in it. I've never really been comfortable with my body shape and as such I have always had the tendency to dress in all black. Black is a slimming shade (it's not a colour) and so it's one that covers most of my wardrobe. However I am also influenced a lot by the music that I listen to. So for a few years at college I was in baggy jeans and band hoodies. Then when I was working in a care home I was in short skirts, fishnets and DM boots with lots of safety pins everywhere. Then when I was working in an office my civvy clothes were quiffed hair, leopard print shoes and swing skirts. I have been many different things, always influenced by whatever musical genre I am into at the time. Always on the alternative side of the spectrum though. However when you have as ecclectic musical tastes as I do, it's difficult to keep consistency. What do you wear when you're jumping around to the greatest hits of Del Shannon? How about Blondie? Gogol Bordello? How about if you listen to all three of those in one morning?

Yesterday was Sunday and I was doing the housework. I have a routine - on sundays I change the beds and tidy the bedrooms. I decided to have some music on as I did so and I decided to choose some music that I haven't listened to in rather a long time. (Warning: this is a PMM. Proud Mama Moment.) the kids decided to help me and at 2.5 years and very nearly 4 years, they are perfectly capable of helping me do some light dusting, put away toys and do some hoovering. The firstborn even stripped my bed for me and he did it very well. Anyway, we're jumping around my room (it's the one with the cd player in it) to the music I have chosen and firstborn pipes up "I really like this Mama, who is it?" tears well up in my eyes as I crouch down to his level and proudly announce "It's Adam and The Ants darling, I used to love these guys when I was your age too." we embrace and then we carry on jumping around like loons with firstborn teaching secondborn how to shout "Stand And Deliver" at the top of his lungs. It's the middle of summer, the windows are wide open and I'm sure people outside can hear us but I don't care. I've just had a moment where I have looked at my children and seen myself in them. Completely and utterly from my genes. And I am so proud. Why? Because they like something I liked at that age that isn't food or television related. Anyway, later in the day I decided to get on the computer with firstborn on my lap while secondborn is off playing or eating foreign objects or something and I decide to bring up Adam And The Ants to show firstborn what they looked like. And within seconds firstborn has raised a very good point. "You have a coat like that Mama." "You have those boots Mama." and finally... "You look like that Mama."

In the words of a 3 - nearly 4 year old. I dress like Adam And the Ants.

I'm fairly happy with this comment. I've always considered myself to be dashing. Hell it was even my facebook name for a while: Dashing Luna Kendell. Til facebook decided that it wasn't a real name and changed it back to my original one. I could even, if pressed, say that I was dandy. I've even had an affinity with highway men before so put all that together and you've got a description of me hidden in a verse of Stand And Deliver.

But. What would one call this style?
I once went out on a night out with friends in fancy dress. It was meant to be Heroes and Villains night, but due to unforseen circumstances I ended up with literally half an hour to get a costume together. I ended up in a long military style coat, skinny jeans with knee high boots, a white shirt and underbust corset and for the entire night I was referred to as The Hero From Fable 2. Fable 2 being one of my favourite xbox games I didn't mind and for the halloween a few weeks later, that's what I went for. I had more time so I made the weapons and port keys from the game to fully finish off my costume.

And it was the most comfortable costume I've ever worn, so comfortable that since then, my standard daily dress is boots over jeans. Even on the hottest days I've worn that, teemed with a 17th century style thin shirt. I generally quiff my fringe to get it out of my face and often wear a ribbon in my hair so I do look a bit like Adam Ant has been physically thrown into the magical world of Fable 2.

Ok. So we now know what I am. But what is it called? Adam And The Ants were classed as New Romantic. The highway men that the look is based on were from the 16th and 17th century. And if you type "dandy highwayman" into google... Well, you get this...

I am none of those. For starters I am not a man. I am very much a woman.

So until I can think up a decent name for my style and get it used in every day descriptions, I am going unnamed. Hey, maybe I should take suggestions and draw one out of a hat? The winner gets a worthers original. Possibly pre-sucked.

10 Reasons Why Werewolves Are Cooler Than Vampires.

Yes, the last 2 posts were dull and boring and personal and no-one needs to know about my private shit, so back to what this blog is meant to be about - My random thought processes. So here you have it...

10 Reasons Why Werewolves Are Cooler Than Vampires.

10: Werewolves aren't dead.
I don't know if it's just me personally or whether others may agree with me on this but the whole idea of dying is fucking scary. It's not the death part or whatever happens afterwards that freaks me out, it's the idea of dying painfully that scares me. I think that's part of the reason behind my incredibly irrational phobia of zombies. Don't get me wrong, zombies are cool and stuff, but they are walking corpses and if they catch you, they will tear you limb from limb and wear your intestines like a headband. Although I've been past some pubs where the regulars would probably do the same thing if you paid them enough, I'm fairly certain those types of bars only offer service to a very particular type of clientele and I very much doubt that it's the walking undead. Vampires are also dead. Folklore states that in order to be turned into a vampire (or zombie) you must first be killed in order for the transition to happen. Both instances (vampire and zombie) involve being bitten and that ain't my bag. Biting in small doses can be alright if you're into that kinda thing (see how I'm not mentioning whether I am or whether I am not? Less personal! See?) however I think I would draw the line when blood started leaking. Seriously, I once sliced my finger open with a pizza knife and I still can't look at it in the same way anymore. I refer to it as "Ah, my arch nemesis. We meet again." so bitten so hard that you start gushing blood = bad. Dying = bad. Both together = painful death. No. No. No. It' just ain't happening. According to folklore all it takes to become a werewolf is a scratch during the full moon. Of course it's only by chance that you would get scratched and not completely maimed and disfigured and killed, however if you get scratched, you got away without dying and you don't have to die for the transition to take place. You can happily stick a plaster over the wound (and some antiseptic cream, you don't want it to get infected now) and carry on for another 28 days until the full moon hits and you turn into a howling hairy animal intent on killing as many chickens as you can find in the only rural areas surrounding your city.

09: Werewolves are scarier than vampires.
Ok, so I'm going to have some people disagreeing with me on this one, but these are my opinions, so if you want to start a fight you can just go away and pick on someone who isn't possibly PMTing all over the place. I don't like big dogs. Big dogs scare me. Their barks and their growls are intimidating and if I see one when I'm out with the kids, I will cross the road from it. Folklore states that vampires can hypnotise humans into being their slaves and whatnot, that's pretty scary, I'll admit. No-one wants the loss of free will and/or being fully in control of their actions. Vampires are also supposed to be able to lift ten times their own weight and have lightening quick reflexes. Even Bruce Lee would be hard pressed to keep up with one. And that's all very well and good, but I refuse to be intimidated by someone in victorian evening dress when there's a fucking great big dog with saliva dripping from his massive fucking razor sharp canines to be scared of. Vampires might be better at fighting, but they aren't better at appearing scary. I'd rather try to fight off a vampire any time. Although to be fair, if faced with a werewolf I would be trying to get scratched, but that's possibly more to do with me being a bit of a simpleton than anything else.

08: Werewolves can go out in the sun.
Seriously. Sunlight? Jesus christ, vampires. I hate using the word gay in a derogatory way because... Well, I don't really distinguish between the genders all that much and if it wasn't for my rather lovely boyfriend I would probably be gay right now. After the last boyfriend anyways... Buuuuut getting back on track, I don't like to use the word gay in a derogatory way however not being able to go out in the day light is pretty gay. I mean, I don't know how it works in other countries, but over here it would be a bit of a shitter. Think about it. Your only choice is to go out after dark, lest you succumb to very painful, very final death. So you're waiting in your little coffin (it's very cosy, you have a drinks holder and an ipod charger and everything) and then your phone alarm goes off to tell you that it's past sun down (or you might feel it somehow, I don't know. I don't know how this shit works) and so you figure you'll go out and buy yourself a pretty dress. Your only options in the middle of the night are Tescos and Asda's and they close at 10pm and 4pm on the weekends. Not to mention bank holidays.  Eventually you're going to succumb to internet sites and have stuff delivered. However, the postman came at 9:15am on a beautiful sunny July day and you were not available. The package has been taken back to the royal mail sorting office and it's only open between 9am and 2pm. What do you do? You can't ask a neighbour, you're a fucking vampire - you live miles away from civilization! You have to go out one night and hypnotise someone into being your slave and to me, that's just effort. Werewolves are only in wolf form at night, for 3 nights out of the month. They can still go and buy clothes from proper clothing shops like Peacocks.

07: Vampires are stuck in the body they had when they died.
So this means if you're old when you were turned then you're old forever.
Fat when turned = fat forever.
Virgin when turned = virgin forever.
Pure flesh when turned = no tattoo's for you sonny jim!
I am the sort of person that gets bored very easily with what they look like. I am always dying my hair various colours, I have piercings and tattoo's and I plan to get more of each. I like to style my hair differently, I like to wear clothes that make me stand out from the crowd. I could be attention seeking but I'm 28 years old, I'm fairly certain now that this is just the way that I am programmed. It wold personally drive me mad if I got a hair cut and 20 minutes later it was exactly the same as it had been for the last god knows how many decades. Imagine being 57 years old forever. Imagine (if you're a girl) it always hurting like the first time every time you have sex if you were a virgin when you were turned... I mean yeah, vampires have the whole living forever thing and werewolves have an average human life span, but if you're a werewolf and you're overweight, you can just jump on a treadmill. You can go easier on the red meat. You can lose that weight and you can get a hair cut and look fabulous for it all. If you're a vampire you are stuck as you are and you cannot change a goddamned thing and to me, that would suck more than dying in the first place did.

06: One for the girls.
I'm a girl. I have lady problems. Every month. And I hate it. I hate it so much because for 3 days out of the month I want to lay down and die and for the other 2 or 3 I want to punch someone in the face. With a brick in my hand. And the entire time I am craving chocolate and that is NOT helping me with the weight loss thing. Besides that I also have water retention, incredibly epic moodswings and what looks like a crime scene in my pants every hour or so. It's not fun. And believe me, if I had the chance of growing fangs, fur and 4 extra nipples every month instead of what I currently go through, I would choose that one in a heart beat. Believe me, if you're a guy, you have no idea how lucky you are. You utter utter bastard. As far as I'm aware vampires don't have this problem either, however every meal involves bloody mess of some form and I'm lazy and I hate cleaning.

05: Blood rage.
Werewolves don't get this. Vampires get the blood rage if they let their hunger build up apparently. According to folk lore entire villages have been decimated in one night by a vampire in an attempt to satiate his/her intense hunger. Werewolves are vicious, bloody killers, but they do it because they are animals. They become wolves and so they act like wolves. They can't be held accountable. They just have to take precautions if they don't wish to take any human lives.

04: Garlic.
I love garlic. I mean, I couldn't eat spaghetti bolognese without it. I know that vampires can't eat spaghetti bolognese anyway, but they can't even be in the same room as a clove of garlic. That's a bit weird honestly. I mean come on - onions don't have the same affect do they? Shallots? "Aha Dracula, my house is safe for it is guarded by the mighty LEEK!!!!!!!!"

Yeah I don't think so.

03: Detection.
As I've already stated up there, night time living can be a bit of a bugger in this country and unless you're a nurse or a cleaner there aren't a lot of jobs that you can take at night that would mean you could carry off the pretence of being "normal" whatever that is. Sooner or later you're gonna get found out and you'll have to leave the area, your home and whatever material posessions you may have and lay low for 20 years or so. Werewolves don't have this problem. Normal job in the day, remote rural location in the night for the full moon induced transformation. No-one needs to know and if they see it, you can bet your left butt cheek that if they tried telling anyone they'd be laughed at. And then looked at. Through a tiny window. By doctors and medical professionals in the field of psychiatry. As long as you don't kill anyone or draw attention to yourself somehow you can pass yourself off as a naturist or a monthly L.A.R.P player. Trust me, the power we geeks have these days, anything is possible.

02: Physical Improvements.
I'm short sighted. And I am overweight. I also have mild arthritus and next to no upper body strength. According to folklore, all of these problems would go away as the full moon nears. So in the week leading up to the full moon I wouldn't need my glasses, I wouldn't hurt myself just standing up from my chair and I would be able to pick my kids up without groaning "jesus christ you're getting heavy you fat bugger" every time. I'm also incredibly unfit and I exhaust myself just going up the stairs to use the toilet, so being able to run up and down them rather quicker than I currently do it and without wanting to pass out when I reach the top would be nice. As I stated in one of the posts before this one, everything stays the same if you're a vampire, so no improvements besides strength and speed. Personally I'd take being able to actually see stuff 3 feet away over being able to move faster than the speed of light. But thanks anyway.

01: Twishite. (Twilight)
Stephanie Meyer KILLED the idea of what a vampire was supposed to be. She destroyed it and then spat on it's remains. Look lady, the only sparkly creatures that live in forests are fairies ok, not vampires. And I'm sorry, but if I see someone covered in glitter I either assume that they have just emerged from the best strip club ever or that they have been kicked out of the disco era. Either way, it's not cool. Vampires are meant to be blood thirsty killers with no emotions and no morals. Not creepy stalkery undead paedophiles. So well done there, you crazy crazy mormon. The only things, as far as I can see, that have stayed consistent with hundreds of years of folklore were the werewolves. But I can honestly say that I couldn't get through the first film without wanting to bludgeon myself to death and I read the first page of the book before deciding that it would make excellent rizla paper so I really have no idea about whether she decided to change that too. Either way, I now associate vampires with the kids arts and crafts section of my local Wilkinson Plus store and it's all thanks to Stephanie Meyer. Hundreds of years of mythology, millions of different folklores passed down millions of different bloodlines, hundreds of classic novels, all destroyed within one set of books from a brain dead pie lover. Well, kudos to her for what she has achieved (money) and all that she will continue to achieve (more money).

Stephanie Meyer - shine on you crazy diamond.

2011 Round Up. People What Have Done Died.

Yes, yes, I am aware that we are in mid January now but honestly, I really couldn't be bothered to write anything of interest until now! The boyfriend is at work until around midnight and the kids are asleep and I've got nothing else to do so I may as well talk about all the famous people that died last year. Well not all of them, just the ones I was aware of and/or had actually heard of. I would write something on a more personal note but 2011 was such a mixed up year that I'm not entirely sure I've got it straight in my head yet and lets be honest, all it would say is "wow 2011 sucked huh?" so lets discuss something slightly more interesting yeah?


"Celebrity" Deaths! Huzzah! What a joyful topic!


Well it all started on January 2nd 2011 when British actor Pete Postlethwaite died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 64. This was a particularly saddening death for me as he was actually one of my favourite actors. Not in a sense that I thought he was amazing at everything he did, just in the sense that he was IN everything I loved. I'd put on a film and go "Oh it's 'im!" in my best cockney accent and guaranteed I would love that film. I don't know whether that was anything to do with him being in it or whether we both just had REALLY similar movie tastes... Here's a picture.

Contemplative Pete.

Another death on the same day doesn't exactly qualify as a celebrity death but still made me look up from my beans on toast when it was announced on the news was that of  Major Richard "Dick" D. Winters.  It's not a name that many people know but I was fortunate the year before to have watched the entirety of Band Of Brothers in just 2 days and this show, set in WWII was about Company "E" which Major Richard Winters was in charge of. The entire thing is based on stories and interviews from him and his regiment, diary entries and whatever news clippings the producers could get hold of and it's a pretty accurate portrayal of what the Company experienced. Knowing it was all true and seeing the soldiers as old men talking about their time serving in the army and talking about those no longer with us had me reduced to tears so many times that I almost had a toilet roll fort around me as I watched it all. I'm welling up now as I remember it. Winters died, having suffered from Parkinsons Disease, aged 92 on the 2nd January 2011 and was buried next to his parents in a family plot 6 days later. It's sad that a re-enactment show had to bring his existence to my attention but I'm so glad that it did, he may not have agreed with me on this, but the man was a hero and he inspired an entire regiment to become heroes with him. 

Dashing Dick.

Then on the 4th author Ronald Gordon King-Smith otherwise known as Dick King Smith passed away aged 88. Dick King Smith was famous for writing The Sheep-Pig (otherwise known as Babe), A Mouse Named Wolf and The Invisible Dog. All excellent books that I intend to read my children at some point!

You can't take the farm out of

the farmer.

After that on the 4th January there was also Gerry Rafferty which quite royally sucked, this man was responsible for at least 2 of my alltime favourite songs. "Stuck In The Middle With You" when he was with the band Stealers Wheel (although admittedly it's not my favourite song for the reason it should be, mainly because of a very famous scene in a film that it is used in where an american police officer has his ear cut off...) and Baker Street, when he was not. He was 63 years old and died of liver failure after battling alcoholism for most of his life.

Gerry Rafferty. Nice glasses.

That was it for 20 more days until suddenly, on the 24th Jaunuary, death struck again. This time a name that none of you will recognise, it is only by lookig at his achievements that you will know who he was. Bernd Eichinger was a producer and director and was famous for making such movies as... The Neverending Story, Resident Evil and The Fantastic Four. He sadly died of a heart attack at the age of 61 at his home in Los Angeles. 

 Bernd Eichinger weilding an award of some kind...

Then on the 31st of January, Mark Ryan passed away. Another name that wont mean much unless you look at his achievements. He was a guitarist during the 70's and in 1977 he joined Adam and the Ants. After leaving them, he joined The Photons, and was involved with The Moors Murderers. The vocalist in both bands was Steve Strange, who later became the singer for Visage. He also was in King, alongside The Damned's Captain Sensible. This guy had connections! He died aged 51 from complications caused by liver damage.

This is his best Dara O'Brian 

impression.

February passed fairly quietly in the morbid world of celebrity death spotting, but soon came March with a new wave and the first to fall was American musician Mike Starr who was famous for being the original bassist in Alice In Chains. He died after a tumultuous career on the 8th March 2011 aged 44 of a prescription-drug overdose. 

The only pose he had...

March 15th saw the death of another musician, this time from the world of rap. Nate Dogg was known for his fine collection of hats, his rap trio 213 and his solo career in which he collaborated with Dr. Dre, Warren G, Tupac and Snoop Dogg. He released 3 solo albums between 1998 and 2008 and passed away aged 41 from complications of multiple strokes. Not a nice way to go. 

Nate Dogg. Feat, a rather nice hat.

On the 17th March 2011 we lost Alfred. Known to his friends, family and fans as Michael Gough he was best known for playing Alfred in the Batman films between 1989 and 1997. He was also in Dracula, Alice In Wonderland, Dr Who, A Christmas Carol and Sleepy Hollow. He died aged 94 after a short illness. 

Alfred! You're needed!

On March 23rd Liz Taylor passed away aged 79 due to complications related to heart failure. If you don't know who Liz Taylor is then you've obviously been living under a rock since the early 40's. She was a screen siren known for such movies as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Cleopatra, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and Doctor Faustus and she was beautiful.

 Liz Taylor.

April kicked in and the first 2 weeks passed by quietly, which was nice as my birthday falls in that time. Then on the 14th Trevor Bannister of Are You Being Served and Last Of The Summer Wine passed away aged 76 due to a heart attack at his allotment. I loved watching both Are You Being Served and Last Of The Summer Wine when I was a kid, I remember sitting with my parents on a sunday evening watching one or both (I forget which) of  these classic british programmes. Fond memories indeed :)

Are you being served? At all?

Then on the 19th a personal blow for me, Elisabeth Sladden passed away from cancer. She was better known as Sarah Jane in Doctor Who and The Sarah Jane Adventures. Although she was only the doctors assistant between the years of 1973 and 1976, she reprised her role so many times in subsequent years that she never really left and became instead, like a permanent cast member. When she rejoined the 10th doctor (David Tennant) for the last time none of us realised it would be her last and I was thrilled to see her again. It is with sorrow that I write this entry.

Good dog K9, gooooood doggy...

On the 25th April punk lost an icon. The enamouring Poly Styrene from band X-Ray Specs. She died aged 53 from breast cancer that had spread to her lungs and her spine. The punk world was silenced this day as we all mourned for a pioneer of women in punk. 

All her real hair.

On May 7th music lost another legend.  This time from 60's band The Walker Brothers, John Walker. John died aged 67 from liver cancer. I don't have very much say about this except that the music created by John and Scott (Engel) has helped me through a lot of bad times, especially this one: Make It Easy On Yourself. 

Such nice looking boys. Your Nan would be proud. Or not...

Probably not.

May was a very quiet month, death wise (although not as quiet as February) but then on the 20th the wrestling world was rocked by news of the death of WWE legend Macho Man Randy Savage. Randy died aged 58 from a heart attack that occured while he was driving with his wife. He apparently became unresponsive and lost control of his vehicle, crashing into a tree. Initial reports indicated that it had been the collision that had killed him, despite the fact that both he and his wife had been wearing seatbelts and she had suffered only mild injuries (you know, besides the shock at seeing your husband dead in the seat next to you and all...) but later tests revealed that Savage had suffered from an enlarged heart and advanced coronary disease which had basically built up and caused a fatal heart attack. 

So macho he's The Macho King. 

Or Mr. Madness. 

In New Zealand there isn't really much to do except raise sheep, sell wool and star in dodgy day time television Soaps such as Shortland Street. (I apologise, I know that none of that is true!)  So on June 6th 2011 New Zealand was rocked by news of the death of one of their most famous farmyard animals, national icon Shrek.  Shrek the sheep died aged 16 after being put to sleep on the advice of a local vet. Shrek gained fame in 2004 after he avoided being caught and shorn for six years. After finally being caught on 15 April 2004, the sheep was shorn by a professional in 20 minutes. The shearing was broadcast on national television in New Zealand, which delayed the airing of the easter special episode of Shortland Street by 45 minutes. There were literally tens of complaints.

See how he blends into the rock? That's how you evade

capture for 6 years.

On June 20th news hit us of the death of Ryan Dunn. Ryan was famous being a part of Jackass and Viva La Bam alongside Bam Margera. This death made me angry because it was a needless death. As well as himself, Ryan Dunn managed to kill a production assistant, Zachary Hartwell in what has been described as a car crash of epic proportions. Don't get me wrong, death is a sad business, especially when it happens to someone so young (Dunn was just 34) but Dunn had been drinking. 2 hours before his death he had posted a photo to twitter of himself and Hartwell drinking at a local bar. A toxicology report after death showed Dunn had a blood alcohol level of 0.196% — more than twice the state's legal limit of 0.08%. Police have also added that the speed that the pair were travelling at may have been a contributing factor. They were apparently travelling at between 132 and 140 miles an hour in a 55 mile an hour zone. Really Mister Policeman? Y'think? Now I'm not saying Ryan Dunn is fully to blame, both of the passengers in that car were very drunk and either one of them could have ended up driving that night but that's exactly my point. Neither of them should have been driving and the fact that they were was just plain stupid. I can feel my blood boiling as I write this as I think about the loss that their friends and family must be feeling. How needless it all is and what a waste. Ryan Dunn died aged just 34 on the 20th June 2011, his death was caused by stupidity.

The photo uploaded to Twitter.

The wreckage of the car after it was discovered.

Ryan Dunn.

On June 23rd my personal world was rocked when I heard about the death of Peter Falk. Although most will know him as Columbo, I will always know him as the kindly grandfather from my favourite childhood film The Princess Bride.  Falk died at his home on the evening on June 23rd aged 83 . The cause of death was revealed as cardiorespiratory arrest, with pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease as underlying causes. I'm not ashamed to admit that I had a little cry over this news. 

Just one more thing...

July only had one celebrity death but it was a shocker all the same. 27 year old singer Amy Winehouse was found dead at her home at around 4pm on the 23rd July 2011. The cause of death was alcohol poisoning as Winehouse's blood alcohol content was 416 mg per decilitreat the time of her death, more than five times the legal drink-drive limit. I'm not going to say it wasn't coming, she had battled alcohol addiction for most of her career if not life, but she was 8 months younger than me so it was a bit of a shock that it happened now. Would be that I start to enjoy her music now! Here's a classic song that I fully identify with. (Minus the drug refrences)

We only said goodbye with words...

See how pretty you look when you're not drunk Amy? Amy?

Ah crap...

August only saw the death of Khamis Gaddafi, son of Muammar Gaddafi who was caught and shot by american troops in October of 2011. Neither of which I will go into as politics aren't my strong point. 

September held The Lokomotiv Yaroslavl plane crash which I am only mentioning as I was literally gobsmacked when I heard about it on the news because of the sheer scale of it. On the 7th of September 2011 a plane carrying the players and coaching staff of the Lokomotiv Yaroslavl professional ice hockey team, crashed near the Russian city of Yaroslavl. The aircraft ran off the runway before lifting off, failed to gain altitude, struck a tower mast, caught fire and crashed 2 km from Tunoshna Airport. Of the 45 on board, 43 died at the scene. One of the two rescued from the wreck, Alexander Galimov, died five days later in hospital  and only the flight engineer Alexander Sizov survived. Investigations of the crash focused on pilot error and technical failures. An investigative committee was set up which examined Yak-Service's records, conditions at the airport, plane wreckage and flight recorder data. Simulations of the plane takeoff were held to compare with recovered flight recorder data. Testing discovered that pilot error was the cause as a braking force was found to have been applied by the chief pilot during takeoff. According to the chief of the investigative commission: "the immediate cause of the Yak-42 plane crash was the plane crew's erroneous actions, namely the pilot stepping on the brake pedals before raising the nose wheel because of the wrong position of the feet on the brake platforms during takeoff." An entire hockey team wiped out in one day, in one moment. It doesn't bear thinking about.

She's definitely a write-off.

On October 8th the music world was rocked once again by news of the death of former Weezer bassist Mikey Welsh. He had been found dead in a hotel room in Chicago, from a suspected drug overdose leading to a heart attack. He had posted less than a fortnight before on his twitter: "dreamt i died in chicago next weekend (heart attack in my sleep). need to write my will today" followed by "correction - the weekend after next". Now there's some creepy prophecy shizz right there. Mikey was 40 years old and he was part of one of my favourite bands of all time for one year, in which time they released an album (The Green Album) which has one of my favourite Weezer songs on it - Island In The Sun. 

I've just noticed he had a leopard print guitar strap on his bass!

This loss is even worse!

Leopard printey... With a hint of Freddy Kreuger...

On the 29th October Sir Jimmy Saville passed away aged 84. He was best known for the long running television series Jim'll Fix It which ran from 1975 to 1994. He was also a well known radio voice, presented Top Of The Pops and a huge advocat for charity. He is estimated to have raised some £40 million for various charities throughout his life. Jimmy was, in my opinion, a British Icon, as famous as Big Ben or the Houses of Parliament. 

Now then, now then...

After that the only death worth mentioning is that of Mutassim Gaddafi and even then only because I mentioned his brother and father up there. 

November hit and on the 3rd we heard of the death of Flattus Maximus, known to his friends and family as Cory Smoot. Flattus Maximus was the the name of a former character and guitarist in the heavy metal band Gwar. Cory wasn't the first person to play Flattus, there have been others before him, but after his death the character was officially retired out of respect for him, which is nice I think. Cory was 34 years old and a medical examiner concluded that he died from "coronary artery thrombosis brought about by his pre-existing coronary artery disease". In his system also was found "cocaine and opiates". The band quit the tour they were on and are still on a break now as they mourn the loss of their friend.

I've woken up looking like this before.

In December Twitter went absolutely insane over reports of the death of North Korean leader Kim Jong Il. Twitter was, as usual, correct and Kim Jong had indeed passed away. He was 70 years old and died of a suspected heart attack while on a train on the 17th December. He was batshit mental, looked a bit look my great Nan (at least before she died)  and probably shouldn't have been in charge of an entire country, however I did love him in Team America.

I'm not entirely sure if this photo is of Kim Jong Il

or my great Nan...

So in conclusion, 2011 FULL OF DEATH!!!!!!!!!! Less of that this year 2012 ok? And yes, that also includes the Mayan end of the world prophesy. Lets not do that, eh? There's a good 2012...