Wednesday, 25 January 2012

Banjo and the shit.

Banjo and a bag of his own shit.  Cute.

My sister got a pet dog there a few weeks ago.  She lives just around the corner from me so when she was away for her husband's birthday last weekend she asked me to look after him for the night.  I call him Banjo.  He's a real cutie pie.  Anyways, it's the night of the minding so meself and husband walk round to her house to keep the poor, old thing company.  Husband gets distracted by their telly and sits down to watch some crap while I bring the dog for a walk.  We're walking around the green area down the end of our estate, it's surrounded by bushes and shrubs and all that malarkey.  The dog loves it.  He sniffs everything and loves having a good old gander about. So we come to one particular exciting set of brambles. Banjo sniffs at them, he is loving them. He sticks his little snout in and has a root around. There's something in there he wants.  Now, it's pitch black so I can't see a thing, only Banjo looking cute rooting around in the bushes. Then he starts to roll around onto his back.  He looks up at me; on his back with his little paws like a bunny rabbit. Little cutie! He rolls around a bit more before I get bored and yank him away with his lead. After a while we head back to the house. I let Banjo off the lead as he runs in the door and up to Kieran who is dying to give him an oul hug and a pet.  "Aw, Banjo, you're so cute, c'mere Banjo, you cutie little bundle of cuteness." He's hugging and kissing him and giving him a good rub on his little belly.  Then Banjo comes back over to me and I'm about to pet him when husband sniffs the air, then sniffs his hand, then sniffs the dog.  "What's that smell?" I sniff the air, then sniff my hands, then sniff the dog. "Ugh, Jesus! He's covered in shit!" The dog is covered in shit.  It's all over his back, his face, his collar, everywhere. "Ya dirty fecker!" I yell.  How'd it happen though?  I think back to Banjo rambling around in those brambles, looking so cute.  He wasn't being a sweet little dog, he was being a dirty old mongrel, rolling around in some other dog's shite! Needless to say we had to give him a good old scrub. The dirty git.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

My take on tights.

Nutin' sexier than a burd with tights half way downs 'er legs, wha?
I can't wait for Spring so I can throw all my tights away and go bare legged again. Right now, it's bloody freezing so tights are a staple but I have so many issues with them. The crotch never stays put, it's always slowly slipping down as you walk to wherever so you have to do a quick scan for passersby before reefing them back up. The waist always rolls down on them so if you're wearing anything remotely figure hugging you look like you're carrying a baby sized hula hoop around your waist. They are nearly always too tight so they dig into your stomach causing all sorts of mad stuff to happen to your insides - anyone else get tights related indigestion?  Tights are singularly the most unsexy item of clothing ever invented, nothing gets me out of the mood quicker than the word gusset.  But the most annoying thing I have found about tights is how they make your arse itch like mad! Seriously, what's that about? My Jesus, it is so irritating. You're sitting there in your class, office, whatever and feel it coming on. You so desperately want to stick your hand down the back of your knickers and rummage around like a pre-school kid with a bad dose of thread worms. Instead you squirm inconspicuously in your chair, shifting from one arse cheek to the other, letting a bit of cool air at your bum in the hope that the urge will leave you. Usually I end up excusing myself and legging it to the toilets for a good oul scratch. I could spend five minutes scratching before I'm satisfied. Ahhhh, the relief! Once I even  pulled the feckers off and stuffed them in the bin. I couldn't deal with that itchy sensation any more. Maybe that's what we should all do - shove the offending articles in the bin! Ditch the tights! Free the itchy arses! Anyone else with me?

Monday, 9 January 2012

The Gym.

New Years, ugh!  Lucky it's nearly over. I reckon those resolutions have lost their novelty by now for most of you. The daily hours jog you promised yourself you'd do has turned into a quick stroll around the block and back home. I mean, who'd want to spend more than twenty minutes out in those freezing temperatures? It's bleedin' Baltic out there! And the healthy lunch that you'd get up every morning to prepare has become nothing more than an inconvenience, ten more minutes you could have spent lying in bed listening to Ian Dempsey shite on about how much he loves David Bowie before he plays "Heroes" for the trillionth time.  And that session in the gym you swore you'd commit to at least three times a week has dwindled down to your reluctant attendance of the odd step class, consisting of you standing at the back shuffling from one foot to the other while cursing the instructor for her amazing figure and boundless energy.  Ah yes, the gym. The one place in the world where I feel significantly fatter, uglier and dumber than everyone around me.  So here's my list of reasons for hating the gym. Feel free to add to it with a comment below!

Sweet Jesus.  God, help us all.
1. Not knowing how to use the equipment but being too intimidated by the muscled bound oafs who work there to ask for help. Seriously, why don't they get some normal looking people working at the gym? Someone who doesn't look like a steroidal Honey Monster after a body waxing session. 

2. If you exert yourself in any way you will end up looking like Waynetta Slob after a quick one down the alley way with some randomer. This is completely unavoidable.

3. The fact that the last statement is only unavoidable for you! Others will end an hours treadmill session looking refreshed and positively blooming. 

3. The mirrors stuck to the walls everywhere you look will make sure you are constantly reminded of the above facts.

4. Not knowing where to look. When you look in the mirror and watch yourself exercising you will feel like a complete tool/tit. This is especially true when completing squats, probably the most embarrassing exercise ever invented. However, if you chose not to look in the mirrors then where do you look? At the other people doing their exercises? And risk being thought of as a gawping idiot, verging on lewd stalker? Or maybe you could just look into space, look no where and end up smacking some lad in the head with your bar bell. Well done, Nutty.

Me and me husband before we head out for a jog
5. The constant feeling that others are looking at you, judging you and laughing at you. Even though you have no proof of this and it is clearly paranoia of epic proportions due to lack of self worth brought on by exposure to impossibly perfect bodies parading themselves about the place.  

6. Men standing around watching one another bench press. Yeah, they'll say they're spotting but we all know it's all about competition brought on by their feelings of inadequacy. Losers.

7. There is always one weirdo who strolls about the place, picking up this weight and that weight, standing just that bit too close and staring for just that second too long. This guy never actually seems to do any weights, exercises or machines and he is always at the gym. Always. Even when you get up at half seven in the morning in a desperate attempt to avoid him. He will be there.
Model doing a poo, I mean squat. Attractive, eh?

8. It ruins your whole week. If I go to the gym I always feel great after a session, so glad I pushed myself and went and did what I had to do.  But how long does that feeling last? Maybe an hour or two, until you realise you have to go to the gym again tomorrow. Until you remind yourself this isn't a one off thing. You have to keep going to the gym to maintain any kind of fitness level and/or slim figure. How depressing is that? I literally spend hours dreading the gym. It's there in the back of my mind the whole day. Contemplating going, contemplating just legging it home and getting into my pyjamas and watching "Tallifornia" repeats on TV 3. It drives me crazy. Takes any pleasure out of the day. This year, I reckon you should add up all the time you spend feeling good after going to the gym and then add up all the time you spend dreading going to the gym. Maybe after a glance at the results you'll do the same thing I did, not bother your arse going at all.