I think porn objectifies women, you’re much prettier than her, and no, I’d much rather have a night in with you than out with my mates

(or what men say, and what they really mean)

(read: too knackered and lazy to write anything decent so katy scabbed this from her inbox for you reading pleasure)

What men say: Let’s be friends
What they mean: I fancy all your mates

What men say: Let’s try something different tonight
What they mean: I want a threesome

What men say: I think of you as a sister
What they mean: I try not to think of you at all

What men say: I think things are moving to fast
What they mean: I wish it would grind to a halt

What men say: We’re going on a romantic holiday this weekend
What they mean: I got drunk last night, cheated on you, and now feel guilty

What men say: You’ve got lovely eyes
What they mean: You’ve got lovely breasts

What men say: You’ve got lovely breasts
What they mean: Can I play with them please?

What men say: Do you fancy a drink?
What they mean: I’m going to ply you with alcohol until you fancy me!

What men say: I’m not going to be back in time for dinner
What they mean: I’m watching a footie match in the pub with my pals

What men say: I’ll call you tomorrow
What they mean: I’ll think about it for at least a week

What men say: I think we need some time apart
What they mean: You’re dumped. I’m off

What men say: Of course I love you
What they mean: I haven’t given it any thought whatsoever

What men say: I enjoy spending time with you
What they mean: The PlayStation’s broken

What men say: I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep
What they mean: I can’t get it up

What men say: I fancy a takeaway tonight
What they mean: Your cooking makes me want to hurl

What men say: I’m wrong
What they mean: Anything to shut you up

wowfabgroovy! yahoo! wheeeeee!

(or we got snow!)

How cool is that? Lookee here, that’s what I saw when I looked out the window this morning. That’s our garden, covered in lovely, powdery, gorgeous snow. If you look really closely at the pond (click for full size version) then you can see little wee pawprints from where the fox who visits us has padded his way across the frozen water.

Now, a lot of you may be all ‘ooh, big deal, snow’, but this is the most snow we’ve had since 1981, so it’s pretty darned cool as far as I’m concerned! We don’t really get snow in merry olde englande – at least, not in these here parts. The best we can usually expect is sleet – black and slushy, and fairly icky. But this is real live snow!

Admittedly, even good snow does have its sucky side. Such as the roads being all buggered up meaning that your plans to go out with your mates are scuppered because you can’t get where you need to be. But who cares, when there’s loads of funky stuff to get up to with snow, baby!

Cool things I like to do with snow include lying down and making snow angels, the obligatory snow fights (and shoving handfuls down people’s backs), building anatomically correct snowmen, and, my favourite of all, sledging. Of course, there are other, erm, things, you can get up to in the snow, but some things are just better in the warmth, if you catch my drift. Drift – geddit? Oh dear, things are really going from bad to worse…

But, one of the all time best things to do on a wintry day – snow isn’t obligatory for this, but it does help – is to come in from the cold, and snuggle up in a cosy sweater, drink hot chocolate and eat lots of comfort food. Mmm, sound good?

So, without further ado, I think I’m going to go and roll around on the lawn before it all melts away. Mwah!

Food, glorious food

(or yet another Christmas has passed us by)

I may explode. You see, I’ve survived another Christmas, which means another Christmas dinner. In our house, this is no ordinary meal. Oh no. This is the mother of all meals, to supercede and exterminate any other meal which dares to contest its hegemony.

Such are the hazards of being a Jewish family at Christmas. Aside from the whole doing-Christmas-without-doing-the Christmas-bit, and having a Chanukiah as your decoration, there’s the matter of having a Jewish mother doing the cooking. See, eleven for dinner doesn’t mean food for eleven people – even moderately hungry people. A Jewish mother will try and actually feed the five thousand. And you will be expected to eat this gargantuan meal: on pain on death or torture. It’s damn good food – I mean, a foodaholic like me doesn’t sniff at an amazing spread such as my Mum laid out on Christmas Day. But even a little piggy such as myself has her limits. Sometimes you just have to say no – but this isn’t an option for the Jewish mother. Nuh-uh. “Aren’t you going to have another potato?”. “Go on, have another slice of turkey, you’re not really full”. “Nooo, I’m sure you can manage another kilo of stuffing, there you go”. “Don’t you like the parsnips? Well, there you go, another seven to be going on with”.

Don’t even think about saying no. Jews own guilt – Catholics just rent it. Refusing the twelfth helping of the offering that your Jewish Mum has lovingly prepared is a crime you just don’t dare commit, or risk having some kind of fatwah taken out on you. You’re offered that food, and dammit, you’ll eat it!

And so it goes. So I’m now feeling incredibly full ‘n’ happy, I’ve watched a lot of really, really bad telly, and even squeezed in a redesign. Merry Kitschmas to you, one and all!

PS: It was a terrific meal. Love you loads Mum. xx
PPS: Yes, it’s another redesign. No-frames (praise the lord) and sharing a l’il bit of love all around
PPPS: Bo Selecta. Respect.

On the first day of kitschmas my true love sent to me…

(or what a load of crap you can get)

Lookee! The SF Chronicle did a special on The 12 Days of Kitschmas – When Taste Takes a Holiday. And it’s so very true. What is it about the holidays that brings out the utterly tasteless in even the most discerning individuals?

I mean, they happen to show some really quite cool stuff. Like this mini-disco ball. How much would I love to receive that, for my very own l’il disco diva boudoir? Or this fresh ‘n’ funky flower glow lamp? I love ‘em!!

But normally, the rest of us aren’t so fortunate. I mean, what could we have possibly done in a past life that was so bad as to mean that we deserved to get a set of matching oven gloves in the shape of a chicken and a shark as a gift from some decrepid relative? Or a pair of decidedly revolting paisley socks? Or a jumbo box of Meltis Newberry Fruits/Eat Me Dates? Does anybody in the world actually like these goods? What could possibly be going through their minds that they would conceive that we would be delighted to receive them? Or is it just their chance to have a good old laugh as they watch us squirm?

But, let’s face it – Christmas is all about kitsch, really. I mean, why else would we find ourselves, year after year, collapsed on the sofa after stuffing ourselves silly, watching some G-d-awful programme like Noel’s House Party, or some dire film like Ernest Saves Christmas – or worse: Home Alone? I mean, Christmas wouldn’t really be Christmas without the tacky factor. Wouldn’t it be a real disappointment if you sat down and watched something really mentally stimulating, and felt throughly invigorated?

So, as you can tell, I’m planning on vegging out and being utterly braindead (for a change). What are your plans?