March – 2009 – My Boyfriend Is A Twat

Monthly Archives: March 2009

>Good Morning Fellow Tortoise Lovers

Monday, March 9, 2009 – 9:33 am

>You’ll be pleased to hear that Herman the tortoise is alive and well. He’s discovered the joy of cucumber and, until this morning, it’s been warm enough to let him run around the house. He actually has a surpriing turn of speed on him.

So. Madam has pronounced herself to be uninspired and I’ve got to blog on her behalf.

Right. Erm. Well. So what’s been going on then? I’ve found the world’s greatest pie chart. Last Friday, I interviewed Margot Wallstrom and you can listen to the first part, over here. I’m about to have a couple of articles published, including one entitled “What Women Really Want” where I spill the beans on this mystery.

The highlight of the week was when The Cartoonist pointed me towards a high quality video of the Buzzcocks performing their first two albums at the Paradiso a couple of weeks ago. It’s going off-line on Friday, so watch it now.

And that’s all I can think of. Apart from when my beloved, whom I love deeply, got confused trying to work out how much older/younger Troubled Diva was in relation to her. She turned round to me and asked “How many months are there in a year?”

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By Zoe | Posted in 1 | Comments (14)

>Why house alarms suck. Big time.

Thursday, March 5, 2009 – 7:35 am

>I’m tired, I really am. After an attempt at an early night when dying from a stomach ulcer, which it has to be said, may not, in fact, be a stomach ulcer but it does sound serious and far better than ‘heart burn’ and ‘burning stomach sensations’, which in themselves are extremely unpleasant but I digress as this sentence is simply getting longer and longer. Anyway, my attempt at an early night was hijacked by some bloody stupid house alarm going on and on and on.

Had the house been burgled? No – unless they were stupid burglars as the alarm went on and on.

Then stopped.

Hurrah! The house-owners had remembered the code to stop the alarm, tapped it in and silence. Resting my head on my box of Rennies I closed my eyes again.

WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, …

Shit. Not Again. I waited for it to stop and it did, after 10 minutes.

As I nestled against the box of Rennies under my pillow I closed my eyes again.

WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, …

My eyes flashed open fast, like the doors of a lift (I did say that I was tired) and lay there listening to the sound of the alarm. Sweet pretty Acid House country music – NOT – blaring in my ears yet again. Do people around here not connect their alarm system up with the local police? Are the inhabitants of the house so stupid as to forget the alarm code/not link up with the police/enjoy the blaring noise as some comfort to them that they won’t be burgled?

5 minutes later. It stopped.

I closed my eyes, nestled into my pillow and smiled.

WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP, WEEEP,…

This time I sat up, bolt-right in bed and yelled “Turn the fucking thing OFFFFFF,” which obviously didn’t work as the alarm continued to ring for another 5-10 minutes.

And again, 5 minutes after it had stopped.

Do you have a house alarm? Do you get an alert on your mobile if it goes off? Are the police allowed to intervene if you cannot make it to the spot on time? Do you have a neighbour with access to your house and alarm code in case of a false alarm?

If you don’t, please line up close together against the back wall.

And after all of that, I now have a dent in my head.

Due to the box of Rennies under my pillow.

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By Zoe | Posted in House alarms, stomach ulcers | Comments (50)

>Come on baby, light my fire.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009 – 4:40 am

>Actually, don’t. The Twat appears to have forgotten about my gastric condition [I am about to die - it feels - from a possible stomach ulcer] and served up a hot curry tonight. Apart from the fact that I have forgotten to take my medication for the past two days is irrelevant. My stomach is on fire and do I really deserve this? No. Is it my fault? Of course it bloody isn’t. But if you are the one that served up a really spicy curry to your poor, suffering partner than you should take the blame.

Oh yes.

You may err, as it is only human, and I may forgive as that is divine. But right this very minute there is not much else that I can think of other than slowly throttling the Twat and quickly carking it myself afterwards. I can see the flames leaping from my belly as I type, and that means one dead laptop aswell. Who cares? I’ll be dead tomorrow. I’ll just be careful not to burn my hands as I type my last mortal words.

To be honest, sleep, in my gorgeous, new bed seems to be the most appropriate thing to do, with my rather large box of Rennies under my pillow. I’d better have a glass of milk next to me too, just in case the water doesn’t cut it – and there you have my tombstone.

She left us with a blog-post and a box of Rennies under her pillow.
Much loved by three children, thousands of newts and a tortoise. And possibly the person who murdered her.

Quite touching but maybe a few words too long. I should twitter more as practise but am in too much pain. Oh take me, sweet bed, take me.

If I am still alive tomorrow then things have gone wrong.

I have yet another lesson in Outlook Distress.

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By Zoe | Posted in stomach ulcers | Comments (15)

>Oh shagtastic; I’ve infected two computers.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009 – 7:00 am

>Yesterday was my first day of working 6 hours something per day and despite being warned about a certain email, to check it carefully in case the attachment was a virus – I went ahead. And tried to open it. It wouldn’t open, and seeing as it was ‘supposed’ to contain my boss’s itinerary for his visit to Italy, I was rather anxious to prove that I can open a zip-file. So I checked with a colleague and we had a go on his laptop.

Nada.

I called the Twat who gave me two links to download which should have then allowed me to open the zip-file.

Still no luck, so the Twat actually came in to the office to help me.

“That’s probably a virus, Zoe.”
“No it’s not. I need to print it out.”
“But it ends in ‘.exe’ – which is more often than not a virus.”
“[Fuck - .exe files - even I know about them.] No, it’s valid.”
“It’s a virus.”
“Meep. He opened it too. On his computer.”
“Well you’d better both run a full scan on your computers then – and also the Server.”
“Meep.”

And that was the success of my first day working 80%. I made a mistake and admitted to it, but really, everyone knows about those pesky .exe files.

I thought I’d let you off what I was going to post about today seeing as it is related to yesterday’s post, and I don’t want to lose any more readers.

I’m feeling geeky instead.

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By Zoe | Posted in Geeky | Comments (10)

>Herman’s lump of poo.

Monday, March 2, 2009 – 7:00 am

>Nothing much disgusts me these days – I put it down to having brought up 3 children. As a parent you end up dealing with vomit, wet underwear and quite a lot of poo in every shade you can imagine and every single consistency that exists. Parenting makes you a stronger person, I think, but that could be said for people in certain jobs who are childless, for example nurses, ambulance men and women and the police force. We all have a bond: vomit and shit.

I’m not too fond of either, but can deal with it because I have had to in the past and so carry on dealing with it. But Herman managed to tip me over the edge.

As I was force-feeding him his chicory one day, I noticed that after he’d lifted the back of his shell somewhat, he’d left a rather large lump of steaming shit. Proud that his bowels were obviously functioning well meaning that things were all good and healthy in that department, I carried on feeding him. Fortunately, tortoises can eat rather quickly and I do enjoy our ‘one-to-one’s’. Soon he’ll be calling me ‘mummy’.

After a while, Herman had had enough and turned around to trundle off to the depths of his welly. I was amused as suddenly the steaming turd that was still glistening under the lamp was in his way. Ready to see how he’d circumnavigate the black blob, I was absolutely repulsed when I witnessed my tortoise opening his beak and gulping back his own shit. One minute it was there, the next – it had entirely gone. Down Herman’s throat.

Believe me. I’ve not kissed him since.

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By Zoe | Posted in Herman, shit. | Comments (161)

>Sellers on Amazon have gone beserk.

Sunday, March 1, 2009 – 11:05 am

>Amazon don’t have any of my books left in stock and although I have quite a few, I don’t feel like giving anything to Amazon by selling via them. I took a look at the independent sellers who still have copies of my book and there are seven. The price range for these books is between £4.45 (used) and £109.89 (one is still new). That’s madness to the extreme.

Order from me, people, and not only will I sign it, but so will the Twat. Worth even more then and I’m selling at a mere £5.00 (plus p&p).

On another note, it’s a lovely day today so I really should clean out the pond as the newts will be getting frisky.

Sales gone mad and frisky newts.

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By Zoe | Posted in 1 | Comments (9)