Oh, I'm sorry... did I just hurt your feelings?

So it's Tuesday morning and the sun is absolutely glorious, blazing in through my windows and warming my cockels as I write this. I woke in a good mood and I guess although I'm still relatively in a good mood I am slightly fucked off.

This isn't due to the fact that getting my children ready for school and out of the door in record time is one of the most stressful things a woman can experience, no. I got that shit down over the past few years, leetsauce. It isn't due to the fact that I am still coughing up a lung every 10 minutes due to the husband fetching home SARS off the god damn plane from his business trip. And it's not due to the fact that Vampire Diaries was yet again, not aired last week. It's none of those things....

No apt title..... meh err... Dick Landlords and Jizz shots... s'all I got man!

My Landlord is a douche.

His name is John. John is an asshole. John is a 70 something, uptight stony faced miserable wanker who quite clearly has not been laid in over some 20 years. Ok I don't know that for sure, but I would put my money on it. These things are not what make him a douche. 

Terror at the Hands of The Tea-less Handyman...

I had a visitor today, who was the most odd looking man I've seen in a very very long time. A handy man. A handy man called Dirk.

I think Dirk is a serial killer, or potentially a serial killer.....

And the BAFTA goes to .........

Grrr I can't sleep... It's midnight and the land of nod just will not embrace me and so I find myself sat here, writing random shit drinking tea, dunking Ginger Nuts and contemplating the shopping spree that I have been roped into going to with Michelle tomorrow morning... for wedding shit.

I'm not a huge fan of weddings, to be honest I find them kinda boring.. until the reception starts and everyone gets mullered and all wait with baited breath to see just who will either a) make a prick of themselves and fall ass over tit on the dancefloor, b) be brave enough to cop a feel of ol' Aunty Janet who's better known for her army interrogation and torture expertise or c) who has a domestic... Nothing like a good ol' domestic at a wedding, there's always one!!

Bringing up Psycho 1 & 2

I wouldn't say that I was 'destined' to be a mom, infact, when I decided that I wanted a baby (some 10 years ago now) I was in Asda doing my grocery shopping cooing over a pretty ugly baby in a pushchair. I figured hey, one more mini me in this world wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Strange decision to make, this having a baby shit, particularly since I hate kids. But nonetheless, I got up the duff, bun in the oven and had a shotgun wedding because we wanted to do it all properly. Man oh man, did I think I knew EVERYTHING back then. Ante-Natal classes? Fuck no, I don't need to learn how to fuckin breathe, I do that shit everyday, just tell me what God damn drugs I can get... 

Life was simpler, before I woke

Apologies for being a lazy slow ass bitch with the ol' posting but I've been somewhat sick, stressed and just so ggrrrrrr that it's been impossible to sit down and pen it. Add to that the fact that it's half term and the children have royally fucked me off and stressed me to Hell and it's only day 1 of the school holidays *thumbs up* Awesometastic start!! Further, it's day 1 of quitting smoking.

It wasn't a well thought out idea to quit smoking, in true Raven style, I've just impulsively decided to stop. Surely, it can be that simple, right?  

Feelin' totally sad and pathetic

Well, I've been sick now for almost a week. And if you read my earlier post on sneezing, snot and shit you'll understand when I say I didn't get my rocks off, I fail to see how anyone could have found me sexy and all I have to show for this dire chest infection is a crippled back from coughing and hacking a lung up  . Still, it did mean I could be deadbeat for a while without feeling guilty.

It's not until you're ill, and I mean really ill and not some sniffle, that you realise a few things, well I certainly did.

Atishoo Atishoo, we all... get off???

The interwebz is an awesomesauce tool, I think most would agree, but some of the stuff you find on the net can be just so.... out there? I'm trying to choose my words carefully as I promised myself that when I started this blog I would try to keep an open mind and not allow it to be a place where I trash talked shit I either a, disliked, or b, do not fully understand.

I found something I just .... don't understand, even though I searched for it of my own free will *clicks fingers* just like that. 

Spaztastically misunderstood.....

I failed to report yesterday and quite clearly I'm not dead. Nope, I managed to survive a further night of dancing, drinking, piss taking and robbery. Yep, we got robbed. Some punkass mutha stole Dani's handbag that had a mass of ridiculously expensive things inside and 3 sets of keys. I know I know, we should refrain from taking things out with us, whilst inebriated, but us chicks NEED to carry so much shit it's untrue. I've now been forbidden from carrying my visa card and house keys out with me when I go and party, which is probably a good idea.

So yeah, today at the vets, something odd happened....

Curried Hangovers are just fckin wrong :/

I look so hawt right now, if Damon Salvatore saw me as I am right now, he'd devour me.... No seriously, I am so hungover and when I look in the mirror I feel violently sick. Positively, radiantly lookin like a cracktrampwhore on meth with Leprosy.

We decided to stay in last night and so I invited my friends round for dinner. I love cooking and considering curries are my guests' favourite dish, I decided to make one. I hate curry. Indian curries to be precise. I think it's all the 'bits' in it. Just gross. So even though I slaved like a mutha all afternoon to produce this Indian banquet, I myself just nibbled on rice and naan breads, thus not lining my stomach adequately and so following 3 bottles of wine, I was mullered. My home stinks of curry now, and no amount of Oust will make it go away, fml.

I can barely remember most of what we talked about last night but I woke up thinking about a prostitue school and vaguely remember Dani's asking if I would enrol. Apparently, I would attend. I think they make this shit up the next day to freak me out. 

Quite clearly I am fuckin useless today, I'm still in my PJ's and it's 3pm. I've managed to force some food down me, little by little but I'm not 100% sure it's gonna stay there. Regurgitated tuna jacket spuds, I would imagine, are like Exorcist sick coming back up. I hope I don't find out :/

I'd write more but tbh, I'm screwed. If I could do anything right now, it would be to crawl back into 'The Womb' and stay there for at least a week.

The route I must travel now, to become and feel once again human? Hair of the dog. Has to be...

If I'm still alive tomorrow, I'll report :)

Ciao for niao

Raven xoxo

Role Reversal....

So, it's no secret to those around me, except for my Poppa Bear, that for some 5 years I worked professionally as a stripper/lap/pole dancer. Working every weekend in the clubs, coupled with my 'normal' working week' as a legal secretary my life was insanely hectic for most of those 5 years. Thankfully, I have an amazing husband that took on almost 80% of the running of the house and child rearing whilst working flat out with Police shifts which enabled for this kind of rat race lifestyle.

I loved that job, truly. It was incredibly hard work both physicaly and mentally, couple that with the competition of other girls working and it's a job that can totally break you if you don't have a thick skin but it is one of the most liberating jobs for a person to have. Gone are most of the crack joints now and replaced with somewhat nice, subtle gentlemen's clubs. It's what the industry needed to be honest. 

Dude, wtf... Did you just probe me?

As kids, my parents brought me and my siblings up to be somewhat open minded and to never worry about criticism in being true to what we might want to believe in. They taught us that being different, or unique, was absolutely fine as it is always better than 'being a sheep and following the flock' That was one of my dad's favourite sayings... most of the time he'd say it after I'd moan that I had Rola Cola for school when all the cool kids had proper hardcore Coca Cola. Nevertheless, I took what he said to heart and I finally accepted that it was a-okay to be different. My dad has always been confident in what his beliefs are, no matter how far fetched they seemed at the time but it wasn't until my mom passed away 2 years ago that he kinda took this to a whole new level.

Wax on, wax soooo off....

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Scared shitless.... more please??

What is it, about being scared shitless, that we all love? Obviously, I'm not talking about our every day lives, but more films or roleplay scenarios. All the crazy fucked up ideas you see in films being methodically and graphically played out infront of you in the name of entertainment conjured up by some strange, unstable and normally paedo looking Director *Tarantino springs to mind, but he is God of movies so we'll let it go*. I'm a bugger for watching horrors, thrillers and some films that I can only categorize as *superbly sick and fucked up*. In the latter category I have films like Human Centipede I & II, Itchi the Killer and pretty much any Freddie Krueger stuff. Freddie haunts me tenfold. Even now, when I'm all grown up, I still can't face him. Over the last few years I have tried to confront my fear of Krueger, and my last attempt caused me to mow down an old geezer.

Surviving 2012..... A chick's guide...

I really really need to stop watching Controversial TV. It's taking over my life as I know it. Most days whilst mooching about I'm generally thinking about mundane tasks i.e. bill paying, chores, waxing etc but lately I find myself considering how I'm going to survive 21.12.12.

Ordinarily I'm a pro-active girl. I pride myself in adhering to the 5 P's. Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. But how does one prepare for what the Mayan calendar sugguests? How does one prepare for a prediction of.... ''Yeah well, sommat's gonna happen, we just don't know what it is yet'' In light of my worries, I decided to broach the subject with my GF's this morning over coffee.

I'll err.... just get my coat?

Every morning, weekday, after my closest friends and I have dropped the children at school, we go to a little old lazy Spanish place called Salvadors in a miniscule village where we live. Every day, our orders are the same. Sombre for me and my chicas (in English that'll be coffee made with hot milk) and 2 descafenado's (wtf, weird de-caf shit) for two of our 'Circle of Trust'. Such Circle comprises of 5 of us. And we are all entirely different. You'd be forgiven, looking at this unit of 5, for thinking that we are well dressed and spoken mommas' that hold some wierd Tupperware and Avon parties but take it down to brass tacks and we are seriously not on that radar. We turn up at every parent/teacher occasion there is, and also at every footie match our kids play in. Now ok, we may be English hooligans at the sports gatherings (Afterall, every true Brit  loves nothing more than winning at something, pulling our shirt over our heads thus impairing our vision and running in a zig zag formation, shouting *who are ya? who are ya?*  but I like to think that we bring some ...... pride, some ettiquete and class to our community. That was... until..... today....... 

Eric, Eric... Where art thou? ....

Well, it's been a shitty last week. I haven't felt too great and to top it all off, my baby boy has been missing for 7 days. Alright, calm down, I don't mean an actual baby boy. I'm referring to my cat. One of my cats, I have five. Now before ya'll go thinking I'm some bat shit crazy, piss smelling chick that cat calls in the night you can think again. I actually own just two of them. The other three are..... hangers on?!

Sweet Innocent Sucker!

GDI it's chilly today, ok so it's like mebbe 21 degrees but for me, that's farkin cold. (I'm staring dreamily at my lovely summer dresses as I type this wishing for my hot sunshine to come) that's gonna take forever so for now I guess I carry on freezing my tits off and sounding like I have some unique speech impediment due to uncontrollable teeth chatter.

So my sister is pregnant, bun in the oven, up the duff. Exciting news but if I'm being honest, it's a damn scary prospect. Although she's 25, and educated to a reasonable standard, she just lacks common sense and pretty much believes anything she is told. Picture a chick version of the Milky Bar kid and you have my sister. Let me take you through some of the most radical things I have made her believe over our sibling years.... you'll see where I'm coming from then!!!

Monday mumblings....

Monday evening and I'm just about recovered from the weekend which, infact, turned out pretty good. Friday night was full of the usual, beers, tequilas, drinking and the obligatory moonwalking which us chicks like to do when wasted in killer heels of course! Was fun times all over, even more so due to the fact that Dani and I insisted on singing 80's anthems just for the cheese factor. Oh, and the shoes? They worked out just fine, more than fine even, they looked yummy yummerson!!! and my feet didn't even bleed lol.

Zut Alors....!!

Well spank my ass and call me Nancy!!!! Friday the 13th, generally considered by most as a day of bad omens but low and behold.... my freakin shoes are here!! and they fit all snug, and nice and yummy and they smell so good.... I think I love them so :)

Anyways, it's Friday and I love Fridays. This evening I will be donning the abovementioned hooker shoes and will most likely sing to them whilst I'm completely wasted with my buddy Dani. I only get to hang with her once a week since we both have demanding schedules... she works and well I.. um I write here and I spy on neighbours (new digs have a wicked ass vantage point for spying/stalking ... whichever term you choose to use) I keep abreast with world news, and am currently in training, serious training I hasten to add, to see how many Cadbury Creme Eggs I can fit in my mouth at once. Yep Easter next, my favourite of all holidays because you see those creme eggs everywhere and I am an addict which is odd really, seeing that I'm not a huge fan of chocolate. I wouldn't say I have a healthy diet, I eat what I like when I like and I'm a skinny bitch. I'm under no illusions that when I hit my 40's, I'll probably be trying to squeeze my sorry ass into some size 20 'mom jeans' but until such time I'm going to enjoy the looks of incredulousness from peoples faces when I order huge meat orientated dishes at restaurants with generous helpings of full fat side orders with a proper beer to wash it all down. I defo ain't some 'I'll have a salad *bat eyelashes* kinda girl. I have needs :)

The girl who's shoes evade her....

Wasn't gonna write today but I have a serious shoe issue that just needs addressing.  I love shoes, what chick doesn't? I wouldn't say I own a stupid amount of shoes, I'm just particular about which I buy and wear. They don't have to be designer, just.... different. A pair for each occasion is good enough for me. And whilst I think about this shoes situation it occurs to me how we adopt a different walk, as chicks, for each different pair. Take my trainers for example, when I wear those I'm feelin' all sporty and limber so I walk with a springy step! My New Rocks, in those I walk with attitude that says... ''Dude, rly? You talkin' to me?. Pretty sandals with girlie flowers, they give me the grace and innocence walk and finally, my hooker shoes, they... well you get the picture?....

Finally...

Yep yep, finally I have a place to jot down and share the ridiculous, fun and slightly entertaining aspects of my life. It's took some time I must say, constantly nagging at the man in my life to create me this blog thing but part of that is my own fault with my constant ''err, can we swap this picture for that, and can you type in this font, oh wait, I want a totally different colour and picture'' .... yeah, drove him nuts, infact, if I ever use the words ''computer.... broken..... don't worry..... I fixed it... BSoD'' in the same sentence, it's quite apparent the twisted, contorted look of pain that crosses his face. He swears blind I have some metal plate in my head that just breaks shit as I wonderously glide by.. Bill Gates I am not. I know only how to play MMO's, abuse people's walls on Facebook and scan porn, all other pc skills are deemed a waste in my eyes. However, watching retards hurt themselves on Youtube, that's kinda growing on me...