Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Headline: Woman Maims Boyfriend with Plastic Spoon in Cinema

The other night, we went to the cinema. We bought our tickets. Fine. We decide we definitely need snacks, I want a double cookie dough sundae which is two scoops of cookie dough ice cream and two scoops of vanilla but I ask for a scoop of strawberry instead of one of the vanillas. I pop to the bathroom when S ordered. While I'm in there washing my hands, my phone rings, it is S:

S: "What did you want again?"

Me: "I want a double cookie dough sundae with one scoop of strawberry ice cream instead of vanilla."

S: "Ok, (to server) can I have a cookie dough sundae with strawberries."

Me (still on the phone): "No - with one scoop of strawberry ice cream instead of one of the vanillas."

S (to server): "A cookie dough sundae and one scoop of strawberry ice cream."

Server: "One cookie dough sundae and one strawberry single-scoop?"

Me (yelling down the phone): "NO. A sundae with ONE SCOOP of strawberry ice cream instead of one of the vanillas."

S (to server): "No, a sundae with strawberry ice cream."

Server: "One cookie dough sundae with no cookie dough ice cream just strawberry ice cream?"


S (to server): "Sorry, no, a cookie dough sundae with one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of strawberry."

Server: "Right, a cookie dough sundae with an extra scoop of vanilla and an extra scoop of strawberry"


Monday, 27 April 2009

You must think things through....

On Saturday S and I went to the football. It was very stressful for many reasons. Firstly, they lost. Badly. And unfairly I might add. Secondly, on the way there I lost my favourite bracelet, I will not blog about that as you will find it dull but I wanted it said in case my bracelet is out there and reads this blog and thinks I don't miss it.

Anyway, the match. At this point I will explain that next to our seats is a very fat man (not just there obviously, he has a seat), he is an idiot. Firstly he overlaps onto my seat and constantly elbows me in the boob. Secondly he thinks he is the best footballer ever even though he can't walk up the stairs to his seat unassisted, I'm not actually sure how he gets into the stadium although my guess would be airlifted.

He is very opinionated about the match, gems from Saturday include:

'I could get it to the other end faster' 'Well done ref, you twat' 'Pass it mate, I could do a pass like that before I was born' and 'Get up you wanker, I thought this was a man's game. You woman.'

All loud and in my ear. I did not say anything for fear he would sit on me so I bit my tongue and confined him to the people-I-will-banish-when-I-am-Queen-of-the-World box in my head.

Until he said this:

"Ref you complete twunt - I hope you die in a car crash on the way home"

Now while I commend him on his excellent usage of the word 'twunt', hoping someone dies categorises him as BAD in my book.

So, bored with the dismal game, I set myself to teach him a lesson (comparing myself to a righteous Enid Blyton). I noticed his phone hanging out of the pocket of his jogger bottoms on my side. I carefully slipped the phone out and placed it on the floor. I will point out now that this was not a clever or sensible plan and I am not proud of it.

I settled back smugly and focused on the game. After 10 minutes I decided that it was too wrong, that even though he was blatantly evil, I should not lower myself to his level, I am not a twunt after all.

So operation-return-phone started. Under the guise of scratching my ankle I cleverly picked up the phone, I then stuck it up my left sleeve ready to drop it in his open pocket.

I positioned my hand just right but damn it! the phone was caught up my sleeve, so I moved the entire sleeve into the pocket and jiggled it about.

At that moment there was an almighty cheer as the home side scored and the man stood up in rapture.

With my hand still in his pocket.

There was a pause. Then, loud and clear,

'Alright love, you don't have to beg for it, there's enough of me to go round'.

S is moving our seats next season.

Friday, 24 April 2009

In which I get electrocuted

. . . willingly. Since my '57' post, I have been asked when on earth I was electrocuted twice.

Let's start from the beginning.

Once, a very long time ago, I signed up to participate in a research study at university. What can I say, I was looking for interesting things to do, and what's more interesting than being a human guinea pig? Nothing, that's what.

So I signed up, and the study turned out to be on female reactions to pain. Yeah. Pain. The main show was the session. 'Session' came to be a dreaded word.

Basically, it went like this: I went into the lab. They decorated me with various sensor patches to measure my physiological reactions. They also taped a little shocker to my ankle, and plugged all the cords into a fancy machine. When I was all plugged in, we got started. The machine to which I was hooked sent little electrical pulses, one at a time, to the shocker on my leg. They started really weak, barely noticeable, and gradually increased in intensity. After each pulse, I rated the sensation on a scale that spanned from 'Uncomfortable' to 'Mildly Painful' to 'Very Painful' to 'Maximum Tolerable'.

Once we reached shocks that I was consistently rating between 'Very Painful' and 'Maximum Tolerable', the next phase started. In that phase, I was shown a slideshow of pictures designed to get me emotionally stimulated (negatively and positively). Without going into details, I'll tell you that some were ummm... suggestive and some were quite disturbing. All the while I'm watching this weird slideshow, the machine is sending random shocks to my leg - all of them at the level between 'Very Painful' and 'Maximum Tolerable' - and I am continuing to rate the sensations.

Then we went back to the gradually-intensifying pulses. This time, I got shocked until I rated a pulse 'Maximum Tolerable'. That took a really long time, or at least it seemed long. You try waiting for an agonizing electrical shock every ten seconds, counting down until it hits, and trying to convince yourself to (1) get through one more, just one more, and (2) just rate it 'Maximum Tolerable' so you can be done. Gives me the shivers just thinking about it.

Anyway. I had to do two of those sessions. At the end of one of them, I got a nosebleed. At the ends of BOTH of them, my ankle was bruised and carried an indentation from the shocker for quite a while. GOOD FREAKING TIMES.

(You may be wondering, like many people did, why I went back for the second session after the first one was so hideous. It's because there is nothing worse to me than having anyone call me a 'wuss', or think I'm a pansy. A PANSY I AM NOT. This crazy machismo complex has driven me to do some really weird things - go without eating for four days, for instance. Run barefoot in the snow and evidently, get electrocuted, twice.)

As you may have guessed, I was compensated for my participation in the study. They paid me a lovely sum which I immediately spent on shoes. Which I then couldn't wear for a month until the bruising subsided.

Wednesday, 22 April 2009

'The long awaited wedding post' or 'A day out with my grandad'

OK, apologies for the lack of wedding post before now. I am rubbish. In my defence I have been very busy with... stuff. Important stuff like people's birthdays and sick boyfriends ('I'm too ill to eat... well, I could probably manage something if you cooked...') and umm.. watching Lost and Heroes.

Anyway. The Wedding.

Let me start by saying that there have not been many weddings in my family of late, therefore when they do happen they are VERY exciting. The most recent family weddings have both been concerning relatives on my Dad's side.

Around 18 months ago my cousin Becky was married in Inverness, myself, S and my father all attended, it was a fab day and night and a great chance to catch up with relatives we don't see that often (the previous time being a funeral, which lets face it, is never going to be a laugh a minute), this time it was my cousin Amy's wedding in Durham.

Amy, Becky, myself and my sister Alex were very close growing up, there are three years in between each of us and we had countless holidays where we invented languages, put on plays and teased our families. Then we grew up (as apparently everyone does) and gone were the family holidays and we were left with the occasional phone call and the family grapevine (you know, when you hear from a parent what a relation has done, not an actual grapevine. That would be weird).

Anyway, Amy and Gary's wedding... this time there was going to be full Kerridge family attendance, my 90 year old grandfather declared that he would come to this wedding having missed Becky's. Indeed for Becky's he wrote a letter entitled 'Reason's why I can't go to Becky's Wedding', number 2 was 'I may die on the way and that would spoil the day for everyone'.

The morning of the wedding arrived and S and I ate and dressed in our best (with only 3 changes I might add) and waited for the frantic phone call from my Dad to say he was here. He arrives and we pack ourselves into the car, have all our music selections vetoed by him in favour of a track entitled 'Two Margarines on the Go' and we are on our way.

We pick up my Grandad (who by the way, is refusing to wear a suit, rather a 'sports jacket') and immediately calls S 'Scott' which is not his name, rather the first name of Becky's husband and the surname of Amy's. The journey continues in a barrel of fun with a story from my grandad about how he built the cogs for some sort of bridge in Middlesborough.

We arrive, the place is gorgeous, the weather holding out and we settle in the lounge area before the ceremony. My dad, sister and S decide to go to the bar. I am left with grandad. There is an awkward silence. I say that it is a lovely day. Silence. I ask what he and my grandma's wedding was like. He mentions a double decker bus. I decide to move on.

The ceremony is beautiful, Amy looks stunning, all lit up and happy. As is often the case in wedding ceremonies, you have to stand and sit and certain times, it is all going beautifully when during the ACTUAL marriage my grandad declares loudly 'It's no use, I have to sit down, I can't hear what they're saying anyway'.

We come to the line up, we all shake hands and greet each other. My auntie Mary mentions to S that she only sees him at weddings and wouldn't it be nice if there was another one soon. S nearly faints.

The meal, it is all going swimmingly until my grandad decides to examine his fork and discovers that it is NOT 0.10 steel as is usual in cutlery but 0.18! He tells everyone on the table and then shouts over to my Auntie Mary on the top table to inform her.

There is a lull between the main course and the dessert. My grandad takes this opportunity to stand in front of the top table and sing. People look confused.

We mingle with guests, my dad says we should get going. I persuade one more drink and we get to talk with the happy couple. My grandad offers to sing again.

We leave far too early and I sulk as I wanted to dance (mentality of a 4 year old me). As we drop my grandad off, he offers cold potatoes and corned beef to me, my sister and Scott. I remind him that that is not my boyfriend's name, we are living together and have been for three years, I wish he could get it right. There is a pause. I say that I hope he will one day come to mine and S's wedding. Another pause and then,

'Oh Livy, no-one will buy the cow when you are giving away the milk for free.'

Friday, 17 April 2009

Wee cider

So tonight my work place is hosting a 'real ale' festival. Don't ask what makes the ale they are serving real. I mean, they would hardly serve imaginary ale would they? I have the exciting task of 'supervising' this event which means I'm not allowed to do anything fun such as serving the drunk people, no, it is more a 'what if the boiler breaks' type of role.

At first I was very disappointed as they serve no wine, no vodka, no gin.. not even a cheeky reef. No, apparently these 'real ale' people are prejudice towards nice drinks. So with my two free tokens (more on how I got these later) I have had to drink..... CIDER. Now, I am a cider virgin, no park bench teen foolrardalry for me, no. Technically I have had that yummy Jacques fruit cider but, lets be honest, that is more ribenna than anything else. I have found that cider tastes what I would imagine wee to taste of but you know, I deliberately picked an organic cider so I could count it as a fruit portion.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes... how I got my free tokens... the man who runs the 'Real Ale Festival' is a very... large man. So large in fact that I am quite amazed he manages to stay upright, he has obviously put a lot of time and effort into his belly. Kudos to him. We got off to a bad start as he immediately called me the 'Big Girl'. Now, I am not large as in a... lots of pies large, but lets say I am top heavy. Drastically so. I had a few words but no know avail (big girls don't talk evidently). So imagine how thrilled I was when I found out that while big girls don't talk, they do get free tokens. Only two mind as he is a 'business man'.. in his jogger bottoms and extra large t-shirt.

So here I am, enjoying my wee cider and waiting for 11pm to roll round. What time is it now...? 21.47... time for another I feel!

Thursday, 16 April 2009

My 57

For lack of anything else to post, and because I've seen a lot of people do this and loved reading their lists, here are 57 random facts about moi:
1. I love cheese.
2. My cheese tooth is out of control.
3. My favourite color is black.
4. Since black isn't a colour, my real favourite is green.
5. And orange.
6. I have a sister and two brothers.
7. I'm older than all of them.
8. I am fiercely protective of my family.
9. I organise my food shopping by category at the tills (frozen stuff together, dairy together, meat together, non-perishables together, non-food items together, etc.).
10. It drives me crazy when the cashier mixes up my categories.
11. I get really annoyed when I see the '7 items or less' signs at the supermarket. Do they not know it should be '7 items or fewer'?
12. I am deathly afraid of beavers.
13. I can't watch Lady and the Tramp because of this fear.
14. I would like you to know that the fear is not irrational. Beavers are the size of a three year old and can chew through tree trunks. I can't think of many things scarier than that.
15. I always touch the ceiling when coming down stairs.
16. I don't have any first cousins.
17. I have LOTS of second cousins.
18. I don't really know what second cousins are.
19. I never go to bed without washing my face and brushing my teeth. NEVER.
20. When I was at university I kept 50p on my person at all times in case I needed to buy a Toffee Crisp.
21. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain.
22. S has a pretty low tolerance for pain.
23. If he reads this, he will get mad and say "that's not true!"
24. He won't read this.
25. My children are named already.
26. My biggest hangup with not having children for a few years is my fear that someone else will use the names I've picked, and think that I copied them when I use the names.
27. Seriously.
28. I once played the Mayor of Munchkinland in The Wizard of OZ.
29. I was once in the Vagina Monologues at uni.
30. I was the one that faked 52 orgasms on stage.
31. I got a standing ovation every night.
32. This made my boyfriend at the time very nervous.
33. In my university Spanish class, I set the record for saying the Spanish alphabet the fastest.
34. I'd bet anyone £5 that my record has not been broken yet.
35. It was the only thing I was good at in that class as everyone else was doing Spanish degrees and I was doing Linguistics.
36. Even though I have A-Levels in French and German and a GCSE in Spanish, I can't speak any of them properly.
37. I wish I could.
38. I occasionally tell people I can indeed speak all three when I want to feel clever.
39. This has backfired on a number of occasions. Not least in a job interview.
40. I was the last girl that two guys kissed before their gap years.
41. I promised them both I wouldn't go out with anyone else while they were gone.
42. I lied.
43. I try really hard not to be critical of people's spelling, grammar, and pronunciation mistakes.
44. It doesn't work.
45. I wish I was nicer.
46. I'm lazy.
47. I think height is the single most attractive physical trait.
48. That doesn't mean I think short people are ugly.
49. I think men have it FAR easier than we do, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.
50. However, to be a guy I'd have to give up the life I have now and
51. I would never do that.
52. I am the most superficially judgmental person you will ever meet.
53. I am the least actually judgmental person you will ever meet.
54. I was once voluntarily electrocuted. Twice.
55. If there is music on and I am left alone in a room, I am guaranteed to get up and dance and mime.
56. I always get caught.
57. I love my life (at least 80% of the time).

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Crossing Lines

Did you all have a lovely Easter weekend? You did? Fab. Mine was great too. Now I promised my lovely cousin Amy a funny post about her wedding which we went to on Saturday. I'm still working on it so she (and you) will have to wait, but that's ok because she is on her honeymoon until Thursday anyway. So while you eagerly anticipate that I will share with you something that has been troubling me since... well yesterday.

An 'associate' of mine told me that because Obama won the US election last year, I will see many of the luxuries I enjoy disappear. I was confused, mainly because we don't live in America. No, she counter-argued, this doesn't matter because we are still defending our borders by carrying on in the Middle East, and that if the troops are pulled out and brought home, the war will come with them.

(She also said that no one in their right mind would want a man with the middle name Hussein to be president, which constituted a deal-breaker of stupidity for me and which, consequently, sent me to the sound-proof room in my head to scream.)

After the screaming had subsided and I was thinking fairly rationally again, I became fascinated with what she said about the borders. Regardless of whether that's true - that we are waging war in the Middle East to keep the bad guys from coming here - the concept fascinated me. It reminded me of the whole, 'if someone breaks into your house, can you lawfully kill them?' debate. S and I had debated this previously:

"S, if there was a baddie across the road, and I knew he was going to come in here and get me, could I shoot him?"

"Liv, we don't have a gun..."

"But if we did."

"You really want to talk about this...? Fine. You mean while he is across the road? Not on our property?"

"Yeah . . . if I knew he was just waiting for his chance to come in here and get me, could I execute a pre-emptive strike and just shoot him out there?"

"No. You can only shoot people who are threatening you in your house and I wouldn't advise that as you would probably go to prison."

"Damn it." (I didn't really say damn it, well I did but I didn't really mean it. It's not like I actually want to shoot people, but I did think it sucked that I had to sit there like a sitting duck, waiting for him to come and get me.)

So . . . I want to know what you all think. Is it justifiable to attack someone off of your property - on THEIR property, even - in self-defense? Is keeping war out of your own country a good enough reason to wage it elsewhere?

I think not. But it appears that there are people who disagree.

Your thoughts?

Thursday, 9 April 2009

Because I am a FREAK

I frequently change the water in my fish tank (rather, I get S to do it while I watch and give instructions... 'Careful of that fish!' 'Don't touch that!' 'You've missed a bit on the left.').

Why, you ask?

Because I've seen one too many episodes of Ray Mears (thank you, S) and I read 'The Life of Pi' (remember -, and I have daymares (like nightmares, but in daydream form) of needing to drink the water in the tank.

You know, like if there was a massive flood or tornado that somehow barricaded all the doors to my flat, plus crushed the pipes underground so that there was no running water.

In that situation I'd have to drink fish-water, and I need to be prepared for that.

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

On condiments and expertise

There are certain qualities, I think, that define bloggers. Not all bloggers maybe, but many of them. I've surmised that as a general rule, people who blog are opinionated, have a wide range of interests, and are very talkative under the right circumstances. I'd even go so far as to say that many bloggers are a touch narcissistic (totally including myself here), which leads me to another of the defining qualities, one which may not apply to every person who has a website but which CERTAINLY applies to me.

I think I'm always right.

Seriously, I am only exaggerating a really really little bit here. It is a huge, HUGE challenge for me to see other sides, to consider other opinions valid. When one of my best friends told me she likes Will and Grace better than Friends, I yelled at her. Really yelled. And I may even have choked up a little bit, with real tears, because she wouldn't listen to me and she was SO, SO WRONG. And it's just wrong to be that wrong.

I am mortally offended (MORTALLY. OFFENDED.) by those who say they prefer salad cream to mayonnaise. And I say 'say' because truly, I don't believe they do like salad cream better. They're just pretending, to push my buttons.

Same goes for those who prefer their steaks well-done . . . they just haven't had a good steak. In spite of the many lively debates I've had on the subject with various friends, I maintain that no one in their right mind would ever PREFER a well-done steak to one that's pink in the middle.

Sometimes I learn that I was wrong, for instance my ex boyfriend Tim used to say that eating sweet things gave him headaches and made him dizzy and zapped his energy and other nonsense. This made me very angry as it meant we never had icecream and I fought with him about it endlessly, telling him it was all in his head and if he would just eat ANOTHER cookie, the headache would go away and he would get more energy, and so on and so on.

And then he went to the doctor and was diagnosed with hypoglycemia, which made him, technically, right.

And yet I STILL argued with him about those things. Even after he got a MEDICAL DIAGNOSIS. Because I know more than doctors, that's why. Med school, schmed school.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I know I'm obnoxious and drive my friends and relatives crazy. . . so, when I post stuff on here that makes me look like I'm a self-righteous, intolerant prat with a big old bloated ego, well, that's because I am one.

And you should tell me so.

Friday, 3 April 2009

Complexities of food

At 7.30 this morning I asked S what we were going to have for tea and listed all the options we had.

S looked at me blankly with that hint of confusion that I am so used to seeing from him.

'Why?' he asks.

'Because I want to decide now so I can decide what to have for lunch and breakfast' I respond.

There is silence, S looks like he is desperately trying to find the words that best illustrate his thoughts.

'Liv, why don't we have breakfast, then decide on lunch and then tea?'

'Oh no' I reply, 'I can't possibly do that, I always decide on my tea in the morning so my day has focus and I can look forward to it.'

'Lasagne' says S with a look of exasperated exhaustion.

Wednesday, 1 April 2009

Today I am...

Confused because somebody on one of those 100 Top.. shows said that Edna Mode from "The Incredibles" is the funniest movie character in the last 10 years.