Showing posts with label fleetch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fleetch. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
Disney Life Lessons
Last night, Wetsoks, Fleetch and I watched a range of Disney films. As a sidenote, the Fleetch came over to see if I still had a power drill she thought she left with me (like I'd know where any of the DIY things are) and then got suckered in. No one can resist the power of the first film we watched, my ultimate favourite Disney film of all time, Hercules.
That might surprise some of you, given how often I make terrible Lion King quotes, but I have always adored Hercules. It's genuinely funny, has excellent characters including the snarky-but-with-a-heart-of-gold Megara, and intertwines classic Disney storytelling with Greek mythology (albeit a bit sporadically and with some artistic license) without it being such a forceful propaganda piece for marriage. Not like the next films we watched - The Little Mermaid, and then Aladdin. Now, I don't know if you've recently watched either of those, but the life lessons they teach are pretty appalling:
1. If You're Unattractive, You Can't Be Happy
During her busty rendition of Poor Unfortunate Souls, Ursula - you can tell she's the villain because she's mainly black and purpley, which is classic Disney stereotyping - tells Ariel a story of a girl who wanted to be thin, and a homely boy who wanted to find a girl. They came to her for a magical remedy, which fixed everything and presto! Love! She sort of sweeps over the fact that they couldn't pay the price afterwards and ended up being one of those wormy things attached to the floor of her lair in favour of touting her magical wares, as expected of a villain, and points out that Ariel won't need a voice to secure a man because she has her looks. Yes... men don't want you to talk. Ever. You won't need to have an opinion or a personality, as long as you're pretty!
Fleetch: Oh no, I'm a beautiful mermaid princess! My life is hell!
Me: Girl, please. First ocean problems.
Fleetch: Listen to to the lyrics "the girl who has everything" - yes. You have everything you could possibly want, and you're still whining.
Wetsoks: The seaweed is always greener.
Me: True dat. Incidentally, someone should be concerned about her obsession with collecting shiny things. The lyric is "but who cares, no big deal, I want more". Hoarder much?
Westoks: There's a show about people like her.
2. If You Wait, The Universe Will Hand You Stuff
One of the things Aladdin says in the first few minutes is "some day, Abu, things are going to change." Are they? How? You are not even trying to better your situation. The universe owes you squat, street rat.
Fleetch: You know what would solve a lot of Aladdin's problems? Getting a job. Does he think those bakers and fruit vendors can afford his constant theft? I bet they have starving families to feed.
Me: Good point. And sure, I can believe she's a princess, but I refuse to believe that she doesn't understand what 'payment' is. Oh Disney, trying to convince us women need help for even the simplest things.
There was silence for a few minutes while we watched Aladdin descend into the sand tiger cave, and get the lamp. And spoiler alert, Abu the greedy monkey can't help touching the largest jewel even after they've both been warned not to touch anything but the lamp. The flying carpet grabs Aladdin and they sweep towards Abu who is about to be melted into the lava lake created by his own greed and stupidity.
Me: I know this isn't going to be a popular opinion, but... look. The monkey got you into this mess. Leave him there. Who's going to know?
Wetsoks: Wow, dude. That is cold.
Me: I'm just saying. If we're ever in a situation where we're told "touch nothing but this one item and come right back" and you then touch something that endangers all our lives, I won't hesitate to leave you at the lava lake. Consequences. Face them.
Friday, 9 March 2012
Dear Miss H. Granger
When my friend Wetsoks approached me at work the other day, jumping around excitedly, to tell me that our dear friend Fleetch (see here http://witandpendulum.blogspot.com/2011/11/harry-potter-and-draught-of.html and here http://witandpendulum.blogspot.com/2011/11/im-dreaming-of-fake-christmas.html for Fleetch and Wetsoks-related comedy) had emailed to say that she'd sent a package from Americaland, I was likewise thrilled. I miss the Fleetch and the many amusing things she used to do - although one of my absolute favourites was when she would walk around with her bathrobe pulled over her head, yelling "I'm a bacon-making BEAR!" at top volume. She always did have a slightly twisted sense of humour, so it was with no surprise that I found she'd sent this package to Wetsoks, but addressed it to Miss Hermione Granger.
The Fleetch lived in this country for a few years - certainly long enough to know that if you need to pick up a delivery from a Royal Mail depot, you need one or more of the following with you:
- proof of identification, such as a passport
- proof of address, such as a utility bill
- a urine sample
- documents pertaining to the right to name your first-born child
- sacrificial meat to offer to the great Post Dragon who devours all unwanted mail within 5-7 days
So, with this in mind, sending it to someone other than Wetsoks was highly likely to result in hilarity. I totally approved of this. Wetsoks did eventually manage to convince Royal Mail that firstly, Hermione Granger was a fictional character, secondly, that our friend has an odd sense of humour, and thirdly, despite what the package stated, it was actually probably not sent by someone called Severus Snape given that he too is a fictional character and in all likelihood would never have been caught dead using Muggle post. The post office gave in and Wetsoks finally got her package. It turned out to contain not just the promised gift, but presents for all of our group. My present in particular (see below) managed to be both endearing and an insult, for which I must thank the Fleetch.
Yes, that's right. It's a Justin Bieber singing toothbrush. I did not even know that such a thing existed. I challenge you, readers, to find any weirder Justin Bieber related merchandise.
In any case, I wanted to thank the Fleetch for her love and attention. I'm going to have to scour the interwebs to try to beat this one when we send your care package, dude. Challenge accepted!
The Fleetch lived in this country for a few years - certainly long enough to know that if you need to pick up a delivery from a Royal Mail depot, you need one or more of the following with you:
- proof of identification, such as a passport
- proof of address, such as a utility bill
- a urine sample
- documents pertaining to the right to name your first-born child
- sacrificial meat to offer to the great Post Dragon who devours all unwanted mail within 5-7 days
So, with this in mind, sending it to someone other than Wetsoks was highly likely to result in hilarity. I totally approved of this. Wetsoks did eventually manage to convince Royal Mail that firstly, Hermione Granger was a fictional character, secondly, that our friend has an odd sense of humour, and thirdly, despite what the package stated, it was actually probably not sent by someone called Severus Snape given that he too is a fictional character and in all likelihood would never have been caught dead using Muggle post. The post office gave in and Wetsoks finally got her package. It turned out to contain not just the promised gift, but presents for all of our group. My present in particular (see below) managed to be both endearing and an insult, for which I must thank the Fleetch.
Yes, that's right. It's a Justin Bieber singing toothbrush. I did not even know that such a thing existed. I challenge you, readers, to find any weirder Justin Bieber related merchandise.
In any case, I wanted to thank the Fleetch for her love and attention. I'm going to have to scour the interwebs to try to beat this one when we send your care package, dude. Challenge accepted!
Saturday, 17 December 2011
A True Wizard On The Inside
Since the Fleetch's departure is drawing near, I found myself reminiscing about all the good times we have shared together. I wanted to compile a post which summarised all the strange things we yell at each other on a daily basis (and things that have happened but aren't enough to make an entire blog post themselves, and things that are just so damn weird I almost worry about writing them down in case they develop legs and crawl back into Reality as fully-fledged creatures) so here they are:
- "Heads up!" (as I threw half a loaf at the back of the Fleetch's head)
- If we are online talking over MSN, we say "On-Lion! We are On-Lions!" as a reference to the Thundercats fan video (mentioned a few posts ago)
- our running joke about putting a sock on the door handle if one of us is ever entertaining a lady in our bedroom ("Hey Fleetch, you left your sock on the door handle! Fleetch! Did you know? FLEETCH! I'll bring it in. Let me just switch on the light and loudly crash in, yelling your name. Oh, you're in here with someone? Sorry. Let me just put this sock on my own foot, slowly, and I'll leave.")
- Because we spend so long yelling 'fleetch' at each other, it developed into a game of words that sounds like 'fleetch', such as 'steve', 'peach', 'cheese' and so forth. We assume the neighbours hate us and our games. ("They're doing it again!" "Carol, really, you have to let this go." "No! It's 8 in the morning and they are yelling one syllable words at each other. WHY?" "...I'm beginning to wonder if we got married too fast.")
Although these are all completely genius, I think the best example that sums up our time together happened last week. I went to the bathroom, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. As I walked in, I caught sight of my facewash, and then I began to laugh hysterically, because this is what I saw.
Me: Fleetch?
Fleetch: FLEETCH!
Me: I... love what you've done with my products.
Fleetch: I'm expressing my artistic side.
Me: Uh huh.
Fleetch: And spreading the message of Yo Momma. And by message, I mean her legs.
Me: Dude. You're the best. Around. Nothing's gonna ever keep you down.
Fleetch: I know.
Me: If I'd been asked, I would have assumed you'd have gone for the 'Blueberry Cream Pie' first. It's the most obvious joke.
Fleetch: I'll get to that in time. This is just the beginning. Say, you haven't been in your sock drawer yet, have you?
Me: ....No?
Fleetch: Oh, good.
To cap this off, I want to show you an amazing video which one of my Twitter friends recommended earlier this week. Since the Fleetch's favourite Harry Potter character is Snape, I feel it is an apt way to end this post.
So, otterminions, please raise your glasses to my Fleetch, who is indeed a true wizard on the inside (even if she is a Slytherin), and the best friend a girl could ever have.
I'll miss you so much, dude.
- "Heads up!" (as I threw half a loaf at the back of the Fleetch's head)
- If we are online talking over MSN, we say "On-Lion! We are On-Lions!" as a reference to the Thundercats fan video (mentioned a few posts ago)
- our running joke about putting a sock on the door handle if one of us is ever entertaining a lady in our bedroom ("Hey Fleetch, you left your sock on the door handle! Fleetch! Did you know? FLEETCH! I'll bring it in. Let me just switch on the light and loudly crash in, yelling your name. Oh, you're in here with someone? Sorry. Let me just put this sock on my own foot, slowly, and I'll leave.")
- Because we spend so long yelling 'fleetch' at each other, it developed into a game of words that sounds like 'fleetch', such as 'steve', 'peach', 'cheese' and so forth. We assume the neighbours hate us and our games. ("They're doing it again!" "Carol, really, you have to let this go." "No! It's 8 in the morning and they are yelling one syllable words at each other. WHY?" "...I'm beginning to wonder if we got married too fast.")
Although these are all completely genius, I think the best example that sums up our time together happened last week. I went to the bathroom, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. As I walked in, I caught sight of my facewash, and then I began to laugh hysterically, because this is what I saw.
Me: Fleetch?
Fleetch: FLEETCH!
Me: I... love what you've done with my products.
Fleetch: I'm expressing my artistic side.
Me: Uh huh.
Fleetch: And spreading the message of Yo Momma. And by message, I mean her legs.
Me: Dude. You're the best. Around. Nothing's gonna ever keep you down.
Fleetch: I know.
Me: If I'd been asked, I would have assumed you'd have gone for the 'Blueberry Cream Pie' first. It's the most obvious joke.
Fleetch: I'll get to that in time. This is just the beginning. Say, you haven't been in your sock drawer yet, have you?
Me: ....No?
Fleetch: Oh, good.
To cap this off, I want to show you an amazing video which one of my Twitter friends recommended earlier this week. Since the Fleetch's favourite Harry Potter character is Snape, I feel it is an apt way to end this post.
So, otterminions, please raise your glasses to my Fleetch, who is indeed a true wizard on the inside (even if she is a Slytherin), and the best friend a girl could ever have.
I'll miss you so much, dude.
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
The Birds And The Butterflies
In order to explain this post's conversations, I have to give a little information to get you up to speed. The Fleetch finished up work about a month ago and since then has apparently done her best to fuse her body to the fibres of our couch by spending as much time as humanly possible on it. I was beginning to question whether she'd ever had legs at all, since it was so long since I'd seen them.
In any case, she'd been reading a lot of fanfiction, sometimes repeating the best/worst (these terms are interchangable where fanfiction is concerned) parts out loud to me as I play video games. These nights have been possibly the most hilarious nights of my life. I have heard eyes described as "orbs" and boobs described as "globes" more times than I care to remember. I have heard many ridiculous euphemisms for sex, and many farcical situations have been described to me ("Okay, so in this one, Luna is Hermione's psychologist-" "No. Stop right there.") in which everyone is equally satisfied with the performance (rarely true), people orgasm simultaneously with multiple other characters (a level of personal time management and organisation that impresses me more than anything), and occasionally people frolic with animals (hey, whatever floats your otter-shaped boat *wink*).
Fleetch: (giggling) Listen to this one- "In Hermione's stomach, the butterflies were wailing."
Me: Ha!
Fleetch: "Wailing", dude. The butterflies were "wailing".
Me: (button mashing) Do butterflies have throats?
Fleetch: I'm pretty sure they aren't capable of howling.
Me: That's such a weird choice of word.
Fleetch: It would have been better if the author had meant "whaling".
Me: (pausing my game) I'm sorry, but "the butterflies in Hermione's stomach were whaling" is not a less confusing sentence.
Fleetch: Just imagine it. "Stupid whales, taking up all the mass. We weigh like a gram! Do you know how that makes us feel? UNDERAPPRECIATED! Die, large sea mammals, die! Man the harpoons, butterfly brethren!"
Me: Huh. I guess no one expects the butterflies. Do they wail while they whale?
Fleetch: Of course they do.
Me: (unpausing) Glad we sorted that out. Oh, hey, you know what we should read? My Immortal, the worst fanfic ever written.
Fleetch: I think I tried to read that once.
We found an audio version on YouTube (link here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4SCYOvh9zA for those of you brave enough to take this titan on) and listened to the first ten chapters in hysterics.
Fleetch: Dark-apostrophe-ness! That's what I'm calling my first child. "Dark'ness Enoby Fleetcherella".
Me: He or she may have a hard time writing that on his or her nursery school paintings.
Fleetch: I can't believe this story. Seriously. "It was snowing and raining at the same time". Bullshit! That doesn't happen.
Me: It does in Emo Angst Land. Snowing AND raining! When one weather condition isn't gothic enough!
Fleetch: You know what my favourite part was?
Me: When Dumbledore, totally in character, yelled "what are you doing, you motherfuckers?"
Fleetch: You know me so well.
That might have been the end of it (since we stopped listening in order to preserve what sanity we had left) except for one thing. As you probably know from the news, the weather here in Scotland has been appalling over the past few days (hashtag #hurricanebawbag in case anyone is interested). Last night, while the Fleetch and I were watching tv, the streetlight outside our window flickered. I glanced up just in time to see what was unmistakably both snow and rain falling at the same time.
Me: (in horror) Fleetch! No!
Fleetch: I saw it too! Oh god, what have we done?!
Me: I feel so ashamed. We mocked that for ages and it turns out we are meterologically ignorant.
Fleetch:. ... Screw it. That story was stupid. We're still smart. Right?
Me: ...Um. Sure.
In any case, she'd been reading a lot of fanfiction, sometimes repeating the best/worst (these terms are interchangable where fanfiction is concerned) parts out loud to me as I play video games. These nights have been possibly the most hilarious nights of my life. I have heard eyes described as "orbs" and boobs described as "globes" more times than I care to remember. I have heard many ridiculous euphemisms for sex, and many farcical situations have been described to me ("Okay, so in this one, Luna is Hermione's psychologist-" "No. Stop right there.") in which everyone is equally satisfied with the performance (rarely true), people orgasm simultaneously with multiple other characters (a level of personal time management and organisation that impresses me more than anything), and occasionally people frolic with animals (hey, whatever floats your otter-shaped boat *wink*).
Fleetch: (giggling) Listen to this one- "In Hermione's stomach, the butterflies were wailing."
Me: Ha!
Fleetch: "Wailing", dude. The butterflies were "wailing".
Me: (button mashing) Do butterflies have throats?
Fleetch: I'm pretty sure they aren't capable of howling.
Me: That's such a weird choice of word.
Fleetch: It would have been better if the author had meant "whaling".
Me: (pausing my game) I'm sorry, but "the butterflies in Hermione's stomach were whaling" is not a less confusing sentence.
Fleetch: Just imagine it. "Stupid whales, taking up all the mass. We weigh like a gram! Do you know how that makes us feel? UNDERAPPRECIATED! Die, large sea mammals, die! Man the harpoons, butterfly brethren!"
Me: Huh. I guess no one expects the butterflies. Do they wail while they whale?
Fleetch: Of course they do.
Me: (unpausing) Glad we sorted that out. Oh, hey, you know what we should read? My Immortal, the worst fanfic ever written.
Fleetch: I think I tried to read that once.
We found an audio version on YouTube (link here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4SCYOvh9zA for those of you brave enough to take this titan on) and listened to the first ten chapters in hysterics.
Fleetch: Dark-apostrophe-ness! That's what I'm calling my first child. "Dark'ness Enoby Fleetcherella".
Me: He or she may have a hard time writing that on his or her nursery school paintings.
Fleetch: I can't believe this story. Seriously. "It was snowing and raining at the same time". Bullshit! That doesn't happen.
Me: It does in Emo Angst Land. Snowing AND raining! When one weather condition isn't gothic enough!
Fleetch: You know what my favourite part was?
Me: When Dumbledore, totally in character, yelled "what are you doing, you motherfuckers?"
Fleetch: You know me so well.
That might have been the end of it (since we stopped listening in order to preserve what sanity we had left) except for one thing. As you probably know from the news, the weather here in Scotland has been appalling over the past few days (hashtag #hurricanebawbag in case anyone is interested). Last night, while the Fleetch and I were watching tv, the streetlight outside our window flickered. I glanced up just in time to see what was unmistakably both snow and rain falling at the same time.
Me: (in horror) Fleetch! No!
Fleetch: I saw it too! Oh god, what have we done?!
Me: I feel so ashamed. We mocked that for ages and it turns out we are meterologically ignorant.
Fleetch:. ... Screw it. That story was stupid. We're still smart. Right?
Me: ...Um. Sure.
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
The Electric Kool-Aid Blanket Test
I recently bought an electric blanket for myself, because the windows in my flat appear to be made of rice paper and let in a draft that could power a windmill. It's nice to crank the blanket up before bed and then slide into a mass of hot, steamy blanket soup. I find it soothing, like a mug of warm milk, or the sight of Laura Dern's beautiful face. The Fleetch, however, reacted quite differently on her first meeting with the blanket. In hindsight, given all that I know of her, I really should have seen this coming.
Me: Go on, try it.
Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.
Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.
Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.
Me: I know.
Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!
Me: I know.
Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!
Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.
Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!
Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.
Me: Please step away from the bed.
Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.
Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.
Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.
Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.
Me: Go on, try it.
Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.
Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.
Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.
Me: I know.
Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!
Me: I know.
Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!
Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.
Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!
Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.
Me: Please step away from the bed.
Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.
Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.
Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.
Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
That's The Power Of Scarves
Today has been an awesome day in many respects. I went shopping with my parents and my cousin, which led to many amusing conversations. It turns out my mother has discovered a new hobby - making scarfs. She's using special wool, which means that they are not really knitted, but more like parted gently into a sea of strings. They do look very pretty, I admit.
Mum: (proudly showing me a green scarf) So, what do you think?
Me: (squinting) It... kind of looks like seaweed.
Mum: (indignantly) Oh, thanks!
Me: In a good way.
Mum: I made a red one too. Your dad got a bit too enthusiastic about the colour.
Dad: (enthusiastically) It was just so warm! I told her it would go incredibly well with a smart black blazer.
Me: That's very metrosexual of you. Well done.
Mum: Yes, and then he came downstairs later that evening with not a stitch on apart from the scarf and a black blazer.
Dad: And didn't it look fabulous?
Mum: Well... yes, I suppose it did.
Me: Ha!
Cousin: I don't know why you ever moved out. This is hilarious.
Me: Exactly this reason.
When I got home, the Fleetch was in her usual place on the couch, surrounded by cats, but before long she came bounding into my room.
Fleetch: Dude. I saw the best video ever on YouTube today.
Me: Oh really?
Fleetch: It's about scarves.
Me: You have my attention.
We watched this video through once without stopping, and spent the entire time squeeing in rapturous delight.
Me: Oh my god. This is the best video ever.
Fleetch: Isn't it? ISN'T IT?
Me: I can't believe I was limiting myself to so few ways to wear my scarf. The European Loop and the Modern One Loop were my staple scarf-moves.
Fleetch: I know, fleetch. I know.
Me: I was so blind and now I can see.
Fleetch: Let's watch again and do them all.
Me: Best. Idea. Ever.
And so we did. We mastered the Double Infinity, the Magic Trick and many more. Even the Mens Tie, which has given me problems in the past (due to my complete inability to follow instructions - see previous mentions of being unable to successfully put together Lego), was my bitch. Afterwards, we performed a small impromptu hugging joyful dance in celebration of the fact that we now have the ability to wear our accessories in different ways (in my case, my collection of 18 scarves, which I firmly believe is a reasonable number) which was possibly the gayest thing to happen in our flat for some time. We scarfed so good, otterminions. We scarfed all over the place. Now go forth and scarf others. I believe in you. And the power of scarves.
Mum: (proudly showing me a green scarf) So, what do you think?
Me: (squinting) It... kind of looks like seaweed.
Mum: (indignantly) Oh, thanks!
Me: In a good way.
Mum: I made a red one too. Your dad got a bit too enthusiastic about the colour.
Dad: (enthusiastically) It was just so warm! I told her it would go incredibly well with a smart black blazer.
Me: That's very metrosexual of you. Well done.
Mum: Yes, and then he came downstairs later that evening with not a stitch on apart from the scarf and a black blazer.
Dad: And didn't it look fabulous?
Mum: Well... yes, I suppose it did.
Me: Ha!
Cousin: I don't know why you ever moved out. This is hilarious.
Me: Exactly this reason.
When I got home, the Fleetch was in her usual place on the couch, surrounded by cats, but before long she came bounding into my room.
Fleetch: Dude. I saw the best video ever on YouTube today.
Me: Oh really?
Fleetch: It's about scarves.
Me: You have my attention.
We watched this video through once without stopping, and spent the entire time squeeing in rapturous delight.
Me: Oh my god. This is the best video ever.
Fleetch: Isn't it? ISN'T IT?
Me: I can't believe I was limiting myself to so few ways to wear my scarf. The European Loop and the Modern One Loop were my staple scarf-moves.
Fleetch: I know, fleetch. I know.
Me: I was so blind and now I can see.
Fleetch: Let's watch again and do them all.
Me: Best. Idea. Ever.
And so we did. We mastered the Double Infinity, the Magic Trick and many more. Even the Mens Tie, which has given me problems in the past (due to my complete inability to follow instructions - see previous mentions of being unable to successfully put together Lego), was my bitch. Afterwards, we performed a small impromptu hugging joyful dance in celebration of the fact that we now have the ability to wear our accessories in different ways (in my case, my collection of 18 scarves, which I firmly believe is a reasonable number) which was possibly the gayest thing to happen in our flat for some time. We scarfed so good, otterminions. We scarfed all over the place. Now go forth and scarf others. I believe in you. And the power of scarves.
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Otter In A Strange Land
It's that most dreaded time of the year in Scotland - winter. I can already hear the jokes "isn't that every day for you people, ha ha" and so forth - well, in short, yes. Please refrain from mocking our climate between November - February, it only makes me feel worse about the impending Snow of Doom. This will inevitably arrive in the next few weeks and barricade us into our homes. I've stocked up on the essentials already; rum, cheese, crackers (although the rum source seems to be depleting at an alarming rate. Personally I blame mice. Pirate mice. Damn them all), new DVDs, extra blankets, etc. In a way, it's a lot like preparing for a zombie apocalypse, just minus the artillery, so I'm well versed in what to do.
The Fleetch has gone to London this week, on a whim. As yet nothing in the flat has unexpectedly broken, nothing requires a manly presence to hammer/screw/replace, so I'm okay. If it does, you'll be the first to know. I can see it now - "While writing this blog post, everything caught fire and exploded! Otterminions! Check out the utter lolz! Now look at these pictures of kittens wearing clothes! Aaaaaand publish. Hmm. The acrid smoke and flying debris has injured me somewhat. I should exit the building, but then I'll lose my WiFi signal.... I'll flip a coin."
I have actually recently tried to make important life decisions while flipping a coin. This invariably fails to work, because I can't accept either answer and insist on doing it repeatedly until I eventually wail and rend my garments in despair at my own horrible indecisiveness. I have to say, I'm not naturally indecisive by nature. I'll admit I am cautious, certainly, but once I've made up my mind about something I hurtle in with all the speed of a cheetah and the grace of a drunken badger. It's just that 2011 has been such a bitchass year. I am older and wiser and more battle-scarred for it, and of course that is otterly sexy, but I'm looking forward to 2012 with all the delightful anticipation of a first date with someone who has no immediate flaws that you can see. This is a dangerous trap which I know well, because no matter how many dates I go on, and how many times I am disappointed, I still traipse off to the next one thinking "perhaps this will be different".
Me: Why do women act like this?
Fleetch: Do you really want to know why?
Me: Um...
Fleetch: (speaking to me as if I am a small child) Because they have vaginas, fleetch.
Me: You are ...wise beyond your years.
Fleetch: (smugly) I know.
I shall leave you with a ripoff from a Gary Larson joke adapted to my own purposes. Don't say I don't give credit where it is due.
Mustelidophobia - the fear that somewhere, somehow, an otter is watching you.
This is happening. Right now.
The Fleetch has gone to London this week, on a whim. As yet nothing in the flat has unexpectedly broken, nothing requires a manly presence to hammer/screw/replace, so I'm okay. If it does, you'll be the first to know. I can see it now - "While writing this blog post, everything caught fire and exploded! Otterminions! Check out the utter lolz! Now look at these pictures of kittens wearing clothes! Aaaaaand publish. Hmm. The acrid smoke and flying debris has injured me somewhat. I should exit the building, but then I'll lose my WiFi signal.... I'll flip a coin."
I have actually recently tried to make important life decisions while flipping a coin. This invariably fails to work, because I can't accept either answer and insist on doing it repeatedly until I eventually wail and rend my garments in despair at my own horrible indecisiveness. I have to say, I'm not naturally indecisive by nature. I'll admit I am cautious, certainly, but once I've made up my mind about something I hurtle in with all the speed of a cheetah and the grace of a drunken badger. It's just that 2011 has been such a bitchass year. I am older and wiser and more battle-scarred for it, and of course that is otterly sexy, but I'm looking forward to 2012 with all the delightful anticipation of a first date with someone who has no immediate flaws that you can see. This is a dangerous trap which I know well, because no matter how many dates I go on, and how many times I am disappointed, I still traipse off to the next one thinking "perhaps this will be different".
Me: Why do women act like this?
Fleetch: Do you really want to know why?
Me: Um...
Fleetch: (speaking to me as if I am a small child) Because they have vaginas, fleetch.
Me: You are ...wise beyond your years.
Fleetch: (smugly) I know.
I shall leave you with a ripoff from a Gary Larson joke adapted to my own purposes. Don't say I don't give credit where it is due.
Mustelidophobia - the fear that somewhere, somehow, an otter is watching you.
This is happening. Right now.
Monday, 21 November 2011
All I Want For Christmas Is Yo Momma
I mentioned Fake Christmas a couple of weeks ago and yesterday we held this amazing annual event in my flat. In honour of this occasion, my friend Wetsoks wrote a festive poem that will in all likelihood make no sense unless you've been following this blog religiously (memo to self: found Church of Otter and write the Holy Book of Fish Tales shortly after):
'Twas 2 weeks before Fake Christmas and all through Fairytale Land,
Nothing was stirring (except yo mamma's hand),
Fleetches were planning with not even a care,
Soon all the lesbian friends would be there!
An Otter was nestled all snug in her bed,
While Fleetch was there watching, playfully stroking her head.
As Wetsoks and Tanya kit took care of the 'kittens',
Sarahnator was putting on some cosy new mittens.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
Otter sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
She flew to the kitchen quick as a flash,
Where D$ha was drinking just a dash.
"Hey gurl! you ready for turducken?"
Otter looked for some buckets to do some fuckin...
With a buzz at the door and a suggestion of strippers,
The lesbians appear in star pants and slippers.
Food cooking in the kitchen, the smell is amazing
Food all through the day, get ready for grazing
"Fake Christmas is here!" Wetsoks cried out with joy
"Peaches and BOOBS and all sorts of new toys!"
I shed a tear of happiness when I read this for the first time. It so delightfully encapsulates everything about this particular group of friends that I love. (Also, it mentions boobs)
Anyway, back to the story. Yesterday afternoon we exchanged gifts. I bought Wetsoks the Harry Potter Cluedo game but of course the Fleetch and I spent hours bastardizing it appropriately and turning it into the mother of all drinking (board) games, complete with an extra card set that we titled The Questions of Doom (which featured both regular questions and special cards we subtitled 'Veritaserum or False' - clearly the Fleetch and I are the coolest people you know) and extra rules for the DA (Dumbledore's Alcoholics) which were specially constructed to get every player drunk in a short amount of time. My favourite rule was "every time any player makes a Yo Momma joke, all players must sip their drink".
Good lord, the carnage.
Fleetch: Okay. Was it...Bellatrix Lestrange... in the Shrieking Shack... with the Jinxed Broomstick?
Wetsoks: Yo momma jinxed my broomstick last night.
Me: DRINK!
Sarahnator: I feel sick.
Tanyakit: That's what yo momma said.
Me: DRINK!
Sarahnator: Oh god.
Fleetch: Can you prove or disprove my theory?
Tanyakit: My cards are all useless.
Me: Just like yo momma!
Wetsoks: DRINK!
Me: (sniggering) I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Your mother tries really hard. In bed.
Sarahnator: I need to stop.
Fleetch: Buckle up, it's not over yet.
There was a heartbreakingly lovely moment when the Fleetch turned to me and I could see the sweet yearning in her eyes, the beautiful desperation that signals that you have only moments before the Yo Momma joke erupts out of you. It is a tide of hilarity that cannot be contained by a single human form. We shared a silent, gleeful look, before turning back to the group. Everyone else exchanged a glance and raised their glasses wearily without a word.
God bless us. Every one. But especially yo momma.
'Twas 2 weeks before Fake Christmas and all through Fairytale Land,
Nothing was stirring (except yo mamma's hand),
Fleetches were planning with not even a care,
Soon all the lesbian friends would be there!
An Otter was nestled all snug in her bed,
While Fleetch was there watching, playfully stroking her head.
As Wetsoks and Tanya kit took care of the 'kittens',
Sarahnator was putting on some cosy new mittens.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
Otter sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
She flew to the kitchen quick as a flash,
Where D$ha was drinking just a dash.
"Hey gurl! you ready for turducken?"
Otter looked for some buckets to do some fuckin...
With a buzz at the door and a suggestion of strippers,
The lesbians appear in star pants and slippers.
Food cooking in the kitchen, the smell is amazing
Food all through the day, get ready for grazing
"Fake Christmas is here!" Wetsoks cried out with joy
"Peaches and BOOBS and all sorts of new toys!"
I shed a tear of happiness when I read this for the first time. It so delightfully encapsulates everything about this particular group of friends that I love. (Also, it mentions boobs)
Anyway, back to the story. Yesterday afternoon we exchanged gifts. I bought Wetsoks the Harry Potter Cluedo game but of course the Fleetch and I spent hours bastardizing it appropriately and turning it into the mother of all drinking (board) games, complete with an extra card set that we titled The Questions of Doom (which featured both regular questions and special cards we subtitled 'Veritaserum or False' - clearly the Fleetch and I are the coolest people you know) and extra rules for the DA (Dumbledore's Alcoholics) which were specially constructed to get every player drunk in a short amount of time. My favourite rule was "every time any player makes a Yo Momma joke, all players must sip their drink".
Good lord, the carnage.
Fleetch: Okay. Was it...Bellatrix Lestrange... in the Shrieking Shack... with the Jinxed Broomstick?
Wetsoks: Yo momma jinxed my broomstick last night.
Me: DRINK!
Sarahnator: I feel sick.
Tanyakit: That's what yo momma said.
Me: DRINK!
Sarahnator: Oh god.
Fleetch: Can you prove or disprove my theory?
Tanyakit: My cards are all useless.
Me: Just like yo momma!
Wetsoks: DRINK!
Me: (sniggering) I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Your mother tries really hard. In bed.
Sarahnator: I need to stop.
Fleetch: Buckle up, it's not over yet.
There was a heartbreakingly lovely moment when the Fleetch turned to me and I could see the sweet yearning in her eyes, the beautiful desperation that signals that you have only moments before the Yo Momma joke erupts out of you. It is a tide of hilarity that cannot be contained by a single human form. We shared a silent, gleeful look, before turning back to the group. Everyone else exchanged a glance and raised their glasses wearily without a word.
God bless us. Every one. But especially yo momma.
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Harry Potter and the Draught Of Intoxication
The Fleetch and I were cooking casserole earlier. I do so enjoy cooking with her, partly because it's fun and partly because she insists we drink while we cook. I opened the alcohol cupboard and peered inside.
Me: So what do you want?
Fleetch: Gin. Give me gin.
Me: With what?
Fleetch: Whatever we have. GIVE. ME. GIN.
I poured the Fleetch a cocktail of gin, apple juice and some random pink mixers, hoping that the outcome would not be a horrific blend of flavour. I added extra gin just to be on the safe side.
Me: Taste this.
She tasted it cautiously.
Me: Is it... ginny enough?
Fleetch: It's perfectly Ginny! Ginny Weasley!
Me: Ha! That's awesome!
Fleetch: Makes me wish I could have a Ginny and Tonkic.
Me: Maybe I'll have Peach Snapes.
Fleetch: We have just found my new favourite game.
Me: Fancy a Vodka Krum?
Fleetch: Perhaps a Longbottom Iced Tea? Or a Harvey Wallgranger?
Me: Where will the Sorting Hat put you? Griffinschlager!
Fleetch: Bitch please. You know I'd be a Slytherin.
Me: Ugh, dude. Ravenclaw is clearly the superior house.
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth.
And I did. But mainly because it was full of Peach Snapes. I shall leave you with that imagery.
Enjoy.
Me: So what do you want?
Fleetch: Gin. Give me gin.
Me: With what?
Fleetch: Whatever we have. GIVE. ME. GIN.
I poured the Fleetch a cocktail of gin, apple juice and some random pink mixers, hoping that the outcome would not be a horrific blend of flavour. I added extra gin just to be on the safe side.
Me: Taste this.
She tasted it cautiously.
Me: Is it... ginny enough?
Fleetch: It's perfectly Ginny! Ginny Weasley!
Me: Ha! That's awesome!
Fleetch: Makes me wish I could have a Ginny and Tonkic.
Me: Maybe I'll have Peach Snapes.
Fleetch: We have just found my new favourite game.
Me: Fancy a Vodka Krum?
Fleetch: Perhaps a Longbottom Iced Tea? Or a Harvey Wallgranger?
Me: Where will the Sorting Hat put you? Griffinschlager!
Fleetch: Bitch please. You know I'd be a Slytherin.
Me: Ugh, dude. Ravenclaw is clearly the superior house.
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth.
And I did. But mainly because it was full of Peach Snapes. I shall leave you with that imagery.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
I'm Dreaming Of A Fake Christmas
I was talking to my friend Wetsoks yesterday about various different things, but mostly about how excited I am that this will be the first year I am involved in Fake Christmas.
Don't get me wrong, I am also looking forward to real Christmas, but since the Fleetch leaves midway through December, I am afraid I may descend into an unyielding despair and spend the remainder of the year padding about the flat wearing only my polar bear onesie and an expression of grief. Anyway, our group of friends has a get-together every year that they have entitled Fake Christmas - given that some of them visit parents/relatives in different countries and often different continents for Real Christmas, it's not always easy to ensure that everyone is together at least once. Fake Christmas apparently has all the trappings of Real Christmas - presents, crappy Christmas films (including an atrocity called 'Peach' starring Lucy Lawless, which I am simultaneously dreading and looking forward to) and plenty of delicious festive food, delivered over one single joyous day.
Wetsoks: We exchange gifts and all the usual stuff. But the best part is the food.
Me: I love Christmas food.
Wetsoks: There are important details that must not be left out. After all, it's not Fake Christmas without pigs in blankets.
Me: Naturally.
Wetsoks: Or Brussel Sprouts.
Me: I'm not quite as keen on those, but sure. Who am I to alter any detail of Fake Christmas?
Wetsoks: One year, we had 'toducken'.
Me: You had....what now?
Wetsoks: 'Toducken'.
Me: ....Um.
Wetsoks: It was a chicken inside a duck inside a turkey.
Me: (gaping) I think my brain just exploded in happiness. OH MY GOD. Seriously? So much meat!
Wetsoks: You know the best part?
Me: (drooling) What?
Wetsoks: We wrapped it in bacon.
Me: (twitching) Stop. Stop. You're killing me. I've never wanted anything so badly before, unless you count that Lionel Richie teapot which says "Is It Tea You're Looking For?"
Wetsoks: And...
Me: There's more?!
Wetsoks: (whispering) Last year we also had.... sausage stuffing.
Me: (squealing like a toddler full of Smarties) This isn't just any Christmas! This is M&S Fake Christmas! This is like if Carlsberg did Fake Christmas! I don't even know what I'm saying anymore!
Wetsoks: Maybe I've overexcited you. You should take off your shirt.
Me: You almost had me. Nice try. Also, we're on the phone. How would that even benefit you?
Wetsoks: You'll do it sooner or later. I just need to wear you down.
Me: Well, this sounds like every relationship I've ever had. What are your thoughts on moving in after the Fleetch leaves?
Wetsoks: I like it but I'm afraid of commitment.
Me: Again, this conversation is familiar. "I fancy you but I don't like making decisions. Take off your shirt."
Wetsoks: Ha! Love is harder than crime. When's your next blog post?
Me: It might just be a crudely-drawn picture of a 'toducken', with hearts around it.
Wetsoks:.... I could live with that.
Me: Sweet.
Don't get me wrong, I am also looking forward to real Christmas, but since the Fleetch leaves midway through December, I am afraid I may descend into an unyielding despair and spend the remainder of the year padding about the flat wearing only my polar bear onesie and an expression of grief. Anyway, our group of friends has a get-together every year that they have entitled Fake Christmas - given that some of them visit parents/relatives in different countries and often different continents for Real Christmas, it's not always easy to ensure that everyone is together at least once. Fake Christmas apparently has all the trappings of Real Christmas - presents, crappy Christmas films (including an atrocity called 'Peach' starring Lucy Lawless, which I am simultaneously dreading and looking forward to) and plenty of delicious festive food, delivered over one single joyous day.
Wetsoks: We exchange gifts and all the usual stuff. But the best part is the food.
Me: I love Christmas food.
Wetsoks: There are important details that must not be left out. After all, it's not Fake Christmas without pigs in blankets.
Me: Naturally.
Wetsoks: Or Brussel Sprouts.
Me: I'm not quite as keen on those, but sure. Who am I to alter any detail of Fake Christmas?
Wetsoks: One year, we had 'toducken'.
Me: You had....what now?
Wetsoks: 'Toducken'.
Me: ....Um.
Wetsoks: It was a chicken inside a duck inside a turkey.
Me: (gaping) I think my brain just exploded in happiness. OH MY GOD. Seriously? So much meat!
Wetsoks: You know the best part?
Me: (drooling) What?
Wetsoks: We wrapped it in bacon.
Me: (twitching) Stop. Stop. You're killing me. I've never wanted anything so badly before, unless you count that Lionel Richie teapot which says "Is It Tea You're Looking For?"
Wetsoks: And...
Me: There's more?!
Wetsoks: (whispering) Last year we also had.... sausage stuffing.
Me: (squealing like a toddler full of Smarties) This isn't just any Christmas! This is M&S Fake Christmas! This is like if Carlsberg did Fake Christmas! I don't even know what I'm saying anymore!
Wetsoks: Maybe I've overexcited you. You should take off your shirt.
Me: You almost had me. Nice try. Also, we're on the phone. How would that even benefit you?
Wetsoks: You'll do it sooner or later. I just need to wear you down.
Me: Well, this sounds like every relationship I've ever had. What are your thoughts on moving in after the Fleetch leaves?
Wetsoks: I like it but I'm afraid of commitment.
Me: Again, this conversation is familiar. "I fancy you but I don't like making decisions. Take off your shirt."
Wetsoks: Ha! Love is harder than crime. When's your next blog post?
Me: It might just be a crudely-drawn picture of a 'toducken', with hearts around it.
Wetsoks:.... I could live with that.
Me: Sweet.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
Otter Upon A Time
My friends and I were watching a new TV show last night, called Once Upon A Time. The gist of the plot is that fairytale characters were once real, and people in the modern day world don't remember being in their respective roles (the teacher was actually Snow White, the little boy was Pinocchio, the therapist was, slightly oddly, Jiminy Cricket). As we watched, mostly yelling criticisms of different things at the screen (the plot, the fashion, the abominable haircuts) something occurred to me.
Me: (slowly, thinking it over) Has anyone ever realised how odd it was that Gippetto was so excited about Pinocchio becoming a real boy?
Fleetch: (considering) Huh. Actually, you may have a point there.
Me: I mean, it's kind of....you know. Dodgy.
Wetsoks: Dude! He made a son. He wanted a SON.
Me: Well, sure, that's what he told people. I'm just saying, if he wanted company he could have built a wooden lady puppet. Something about the whole thing just seems off.
Wetsoks: You wouldn't be saying that it if Gippetto had been a woman who wanted a child.
Fleetch: We can discuss the double standard of child rearing biological impulses in our society later. Stay on topic, bro.
Me: (narrowing my eyes) I don't trust puppet-makers or puppets. It's unnatural.
Tanyakit: So, what's happening now?
We all looked at the screen, aware that every time we had one of these conversations we missed massive chunks of dialogue and middling acting.
Sarahnator: How ironic - in the modern world, Prince Charming is the one in a coma.
Tanyakit: He's not that charming. He threw a sword at a woman.
Fleeetch: To be fair, she was the Wicked Queen who had just threatened to curse them and ruin the happiness of everyone in the land. I'd probably throw a sword at her.
There was a brief silence.
Tanyakit: (thoughtfully) What was their last name?
Sarahnator: Whose?
Tanyakit: Snow White and Prince Charming. Their kid is called Emma Swan. So their last name was Swan? How did that happen?
Wetsoks: She grew up in foster care.
Me: (not listening) Does that mean Snow White was Snow Swan after they got married? Or Snow White Swan?
Tanyakit: Prince Swan sounds odd.
Me: Presumably he has a first name. Like, 'Jeremy' or something.
Tanyakit: (cracking up) Jeremy Swan!
Fleetch: This show is confusing. Wait, what's happening now?
Wetsoks: (sighing) You know, if you paid attention you'd know what was happening.
Me: Where's the fun in that? Ooh, who's he?
In summary, I still don't have much idea what happened during the two episodes we watched, but I do know that I had a great time. And really, that's all the fairytale ending I need.
Me: (slowly, thinking it over) Has anyone ever realised how odd it was that Gippetto was so excited about Pinocchio becoming a real boy?
Fleetch: (considering) Huh. Actually, you may have a point there.
Me: I mean, it's kind of....you know. Dodgy.
Wetsoks: Dude! He made a son. He wanted a SON.
Me: Well, sure, that's what he told people. I'm just saying, if he wanted company he could have built a wooden lady puppet. Something about the whole thing just seems off.
Wetsoks: You wouldn't be saying that it if Gippetto had been a woman who wanted a child.
Fleetch: We can discuss the double standard of child rearing biological impulses in our society later. Stay on topic, bro.
Me: (narrowing my eyes) I don't trust puppet-makers or puppets. It's unnatural.
Tanyakit: So, what's happening now?
We all looked at the screen, aware that every time we had one of these conversations we missed massive chunks of dialogue and middling acting.
Sarahnator: How ironic - in the modern world, Prince Charming is the one in a coma.
Tanyakit: He's not that charming. He threw a sword at a woman.
Fleeetch: To be fair, she was the Wicked Queen who had just threatened to curse them and ruin the happiness of everyone in the land. I'd probably throw a sword at her.
There was a brief silence.
Tanyakit: (thoughtfully) What was their last name?
Sarahnator: Whose?
Tanyakit: Snow White and Prince Charming. Their kid is called Emma Swan. So their last name was Swan? How did that happen?
Wetsoks: She grew up in foster care.
Me: (not listening) Does that mean Snow White was Snow Swan after they got married? Or Snow White Swan?
Tanyakit: Prince Swan sounds odd.
Me: Presumably he has a first name. Like, 'Jeremy' or something.
Tanyakit: (cracking up) Jeremy Swan!
Fleetch: This show is confusing. Wait, what's happening now?
Wetsoks: (sighing) You know, if you paid attention you'd know what was happening.
Me: Where's the fun in that? Ooh, who's he?
In summary, I still don't have much idea what happened during the two episodes we watched, but I do know that I had a great time. And really, that's all the fairytale ending I need.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Do It Like An Otterdude
Before I begin my madcap ramblings for the day, I want to say thanks to all my awesome friends on Twitter, who really took the Yo Momma thing yesterday and ran with it over the Inappropriate Horizon. I especially enjoyed the science-related Yo Momma jokes, because I am a massive nerd, and find particle physics hilarious. Humour is an individual thing, so I'm told. Anyway, let us saunter boldly into the sunset of Fleetchdom, while I relay the most recent conversation between me and my flatmate.
Me: Hey, Fleetch, check out my horoscope for today. It's so amazing, I might actually pay attention to it for once.
Fleetch: Why, what does it say?
Me: "Rather than setting yourself up for disappointment, consider declaring the day a personal holiday instead. Anything you can do to stir up excitement is a good idea. Remember, you can always fulfill your responsibilities tomorrow."
Fleetch: Did you write that yourself?
Me: Huzzah! The universe has spoken! Let the otter chaos commence!
Fleetch: That is pretty awesome.
Me: That's what yo momma said. Last night.
Fleetch: Uh huh.
Me: In bed.
Fleetch: ...Uh huh.
Me: While I was touching her.
Fleetch: ... Yep.
Me: In a sexual manner.
Fleetch: .....Um.
Me: Do you see where I'm going with this?
Fleetch: I do, yes.
Me: Good.
There was a brief silence.
Me: (exiting the room) By the way, she says hello.
Fleetch: Mmm. Wait... what?!
Me: Hey, Fleetch, check out my horoscope for today. It's so amazing, I might actually pay attention to it for once.
Fleetch: Why, what does it say?
Me: "Rather than setting yourself up for disappointment, consider declaring the day a personal holiday instead. Anything you can do to stir up excitement is a good idea. Remember, you can always fulfill your responsibilities tomorrow."
Fleetch: Did you write that yourself?
Me: Huzzah! The universe has spoken! Let the otter chaos commence!
Fleetch: That is pretty awesome.
Me: That's what yo momma said. Last night.
Fleetch: Uh huh.
Me: In bed.
Fleetch: ...Uh huh.
Me: While I was touching her.
Fleetch: ... Yep.
Me: In a sexual manner.
Fleetch: .....Um.
Me: Do you see where I'm going with this?
Fleetch: I do, yes.
Me: Good.
There was a brief silence.
Me: (exiting the room) By the way, she says hello.
Fleetch: Mmm. Wait... what?!
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
By The (Will)Power Of Greyskull
Before the Fleetch left to visit her family in the States for a week, we'd spent some time discussing a particular issue of mine. I won't go into detail now, except to say that it is terribly exciting, juicy and the most interesting thing ever. I'm kidding. It really wasn't that juicy. Anyway, at the end of the conversation I got up and started to pile our dinner plates into a wobbling, dangerous column so I could carry them to the kitchen.
Fleetch: I think I'm going to go to bed soon, dude, I'm up early tomorrow.
Me: Yeah me too.
I looked at the Fleetch. She was already focused on doing something pointless with her new iPad.
Me: So. Any wise words of advice before you leave?
She looked up from her iPad and gave me a slow, considering once-over.
Fleetch: Don't be a dick.
I opened my mouth to respond, closed it, opened it again, thought better of it and settled for just standing there, amazed that the exact advice I needed to hear was expressed in merely four words.
Me: ..... Huh. Thanks.
Fleetch: Anytime.
When the Fleetch returned after a hard week of partying with her family (including an amazing Harry Potter themed Halloween party that her sister threw, which honestly looks like the actual film set - at one point when she was showing me the photos, I asked how they managed to get the door to look like the entrance door to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and she replied that that was already part of the house. It just happens to be a kickass massive wooden double door. You could have hidden a family of four behind it comfortably) I realised that I still hadn't paid her for my half of the Malta trip. I messaged the Fleetch.
Me: Brah. I still haven't paid you for Malta, so remember to give me your bank details later tonight.
Fleetch: This....is...PERFECT.
Me: Is it also Sparta?
Fleetch: Yes. Now imagine me facekicking people in the office.
Me: Um... I'm trying...
Fleetch: Feel free to read that as either me kicking people in the face, or kicking people with my face.
Me: I prefer the idea of you using your face to kick people.
Fleetch: Yeah, it's more my style.
Me: I can just imagine your appraisal - "Fleetch, while we value your skills and believe that you make a great addition to the team, we're not sure that it is...appropriate for you to facekick your colleagues every time you experience extreme emotion."
Fleetch: Goddamn Health and Safety.
Me: Tch. I know, right?
Fleetch: I think I'm going to go to bed soon, dude, I'm up early tomorrow.
Me: Yeah me too.
I looked at the Fleetch. She was already focused on doing something pointless with her new iPad.
Me: So. Any wise words of advice before you leave?
She looked up from her iPad and gave me a slow, considering once-over.
Fleetch: Don't be a dick.
I opened my mouth to respond, closed it, opened it again, thought better of it and settled for just standing there, amazed that the exact advice I needed to hear was expressed in merely four words.
Me: ..... Huh. Thanks.
Fleetch: Anytime.
When the Fleetch returned after a hard week of partying with her family (including an amazing Harry Potter themed Halloween party that her sister threw, which honestly looks like the actual film set - at one point when she was showing me the photos, I asked how they managed to get the door to look like the entrance door to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and she replied that that was already part of the house. It just happens to be a kickass massive wooden double door. You could have hidden a family of four behind it comfortably) I realised that I still hadn't paid her for my half of the Malta trip. I messaged the Fleetch.
Me: Brah. I still haven't paid you for Malta, so remember to give me your bank details later tonight.
Fleetch: This....is...PERFECT.
Me: Is it also Sparta?
Fleetch: Yes. Now imagine me facekicking people in the office.
Me: Um... I'm trying...
Fleetch: Feel free to read that as either me kicking people in the face, or kicking people with my face.
Me: I prefer the idea of you using your face to kick people.
Fleetch: Yeah, it's more my style.
Me: I can just imagine your appraisal - "Fleetch, while we value your skills and believe that you make a great addition to the team, we're not sure that it is...appropriate for you to facekick your colleagues every time you experience extreme emotion."
Fleetch: Goddamn Health and Safety.
Me: Tch. I know, right?
Saturday, 22 October 2011
Even Rocky Had A Montage
As you'll know if you read the previous post, my friends and I had planned a day of excitement for Wetsok's birthday. As a rule, the Fleetch and I tend to be on time if arriving at a party individually but if we try to go together we are invariably late. I'm not quite sure why (although there is far more potential for dicking about if both of us are in the flat at the same time and alcohol has been consumed) but in the past we have averaged about a 30 minute delay when trying to get somewhere together, so it was with some surprise that we arrived early at the carvery this morning. Our other friends turned up shortly after, and we tried to catch the eye of a passing waitress so we could start ordering. She ignored us. We tried again with another waitress, who also strode past. It wasn't too busy, but there seemed to be a lot of bustle, so we didn't fuss. Eventually a waitress appeared at our table.
Wetsoks: We have vouchers for the 2 for 1 breakfast.
She pushes forwards the vouchers.
Waitress: Ah, but there's only five of you.
The waitress glances around the table, and her gaze settles on me.
Waitress: Are you...a little one?
Me: (speechless with indignation) .....?!
My friends descended into fits of rapturous delight.
Tanyakit: (giggling) Yes, she is. Do we get some kind of extra discount for her?
Me: (choking) Mffrrrmgh!?!
Waitress: I'm so sorry, I just... I thought you were...younger than the rest....
I sulked. My friends laughed. The waitress looked apologetic.
Fleetch: Do you have, like, a children's special?
Wetsoks: Do you want some crayons, honey?
Me: I hate you guys.
The waitress took our order as fast as she could and scurried off looking slightly ashamed. My friends continued to laugh heartily at my discomfort.
Me: You know what? Laugh it up. Because she must have thought I was your child. Which means one of you looks old.
Wetsoks: (shrugging) I could look old enough to be your mother.
Me: No. No, you couldn't.
Tanyakit: Speaking of children, I was thinking about this the other day - when the zombie apocalypse happens, you should probably be the one to start repopulating.
Me: (in horror) What?
Tanyakit: Well let's face it, you're the youngest and you're quite healthy. Chances are you'd probably survive.
Me: Probably?!
Sarahnator: I can assist with the birth.
Tanyakit: Do you have medical experience?
Sarahnator: I've seen every episode of ER.
Fleetch: Excellent.
Me: (panicked) I'm not birthing children. Now or after the apocalypse. Have you seen my hips? They're narrow. I'm not built for it.
Tanyakit: Pfff, thin women have babies all the time.
Me: It would end up coming out of my stomach, like in Alien. I am not having post-apocalypse children. I'm putting my foot down on that dream right now.
The group sighed in mournful unison for a few moments (trying to guilt me into planning my future offspring after civilisation as we know it comes to an end) and then the restaurant door opened. A family came in, with four children of varying ages.
Wetsoks: Oh, look Otternator, it's your little playdates!
Me: I really hate you guys.
We had much hilarity on our archery/air rifle/paintball/axe-throwing course, and while I am happy (and surprised) to note that we all came back with our limbs, we did sustain a few bruises along the way. I won't bore you with the details, but I drew a picture that will hopefully capture the mood (yes, they actually got me crayons at dinner, much to the confusion of the staff, because I'm friends with the kind of people who think it is the height of hilarity to do things like that, and I absolutely love them for it).
Here is my artistic interpretation of the day's events, in crayon
And here is the Fleetch's artistic representation of the day's events, dedicated to me:
We may have differing views on what the day was supposed to be about.
Wetsoks: We have vouchers for the 2 for 1 breakfast.
She pushes forwards the vouchers.
Waitress: Ah, but there's only five of you.
The waitress glances around the table, and her gaze settles on me.
Waitress: Are you...a little one?
Me: (speechless with indignation) .....?!
My friends descended into fits of rapturous delight.
Tanyakit: (giggling) Yes, she is. Do we get some kind of extra discount for her?
Me: (choking) Mffrrrmgh!?!
Waitress: I'm so sorry, I just... I thought you were...younger than the rest....
I sulked. My friends laughed. The waitress looked apologetic.
Fleetch: Do you have, like, a children's special?
Wetsoks: Do you want some crayons, honey?
Me: I hate you guys.
The waitress took our order as fast as she could and scurried off looking slightly ashamed. My friends continued to laugh heartily at my discomfort.
Me: You know what? Laugh it up. Because she must have thought I was your child. Which means one of you looks old.
Wetsoks: (shrugging) I could look old enough to be your mother.
Me: No. No, you couldn't.
Tanyakit: Speaking of children, I was thinking about this the other day - when the zombie apocalypse happens, you should probably be the one to start repopulating.
Me: (in horror) What?
Tanyakit: Well let's face it, you're the youngest and you're quite healthy. Chances are you'd probably survive.
Me: Probably?!
Sarahnator: I can assist with the birth.
Tanyakit: Do you have medical experience?
Sarahnator: I've seen every episode of ER.
Fleetch: Excellent.
Me: (panicked) I'm not birthing children. Now or after the apocalypse. Have you seen my hips? They're narrow. I'm not built for it.
Tanyakit: Pfff, thin women have babies all the time.
Me: It would end up coming out of my stomach, like in Alien. I am not having post-apocalypse children. I'm putting my foot down on that dream right now.
The group sighed in mournful unison for a few moments (trying to guilt me into planning my future offspring after civilisation as we know it comes to an end) and then the restaurant door opened. A family came in, with four children of varying ages.
Wetsoks: Oh, look Otternator, it's your little playdates!
Me: I really hate you guys.
We had much hilarity on our archery/air rifle/paintball/axe-throwing course, and while I am happy (and surprised) to note that we all came back with our limbs, we did sustain a few bruises along the way. I won't bore you with the details, but I drew a picture that will hopefully capture the mood (yes, they actually got me crayons at dinner, much to the confusion of the staff, because I'm friends with the kind of people who think it is the height of hilarity to do things like that, and I absolutely love them for it).
Here is my artistic interpretation of the day's events, in crayon
And here is the Fleetch's artistic representation of the day's events, dedicated to me:
We may have differing views on what the day was supposed to be about.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
The Empire Needs You
My lovely friend Wetsoks has a birthday coming up on Saturday, so I decided to write this post in her honour. Our group of friends have planned an entire day of fun, which naturally caters to her tastes - these tend to towards Mexican food and dangerous activities, so I'm looking forward to this with quite a lot of excitement. We had an email conversation during the week which was as follows:
Sarahnator: So we're meeting for breakfast, then going for the archery/axe-throwing lesson, then to the hospital to bandage up the wounds one or more of us will have managed to obtain, then dinner, then drinks at Tanyakit and Otternator's flat. Is everyone OK with this?
Me: Dontcha mean Fleetch and Otternator's flat? Unless they switched without me knowing. Also, don't you wish your otter was hot like me? Don't you wish your otter was a freak like me? DONTCHA?
Wetsoks: And at some point, one of you will take your shirt off for my entertainment, right? It is my birthday after all.
There was a long, pressing silence, devoid of emails.
Me: Everyone quit looking at me. Teamwork, people. Teamwork.
Tanyakit: I'm fairly certain that Wetsoks lost her take-your-shirt-off privileges when she suggested some Yo Momma comment you made was too far.
Me: That is an excellent point. And one I fear you may pay for dearly at home, when your bedroom is suddenly and inexplicably infested with "kittens".
Tanyakit: Speaking of those buggers, there's a little "kitten" on my ceiling. I noticed it before I left on Friday, but I couldn't reach it.
Fleetch: You need the hoover, dude. Just suck those "kittens" up next time they wander into your house. No need to gather them up in a cup and toss them out of the window, or flush their remains after you mash them against the wall.
Me: I really hope no one from IT is reading these emails. Out of context we sound terrifying.
Fleetch: Yo momma sounds terrifying.
Wetsoks: Sociopathic, indeed.
Fleetch: Or just bizarrely angry at "kittens".
Me: This needs to go into our script, Fleetch. I can see it now - we'll need one conversation to explain it, and then later while someone is on the phone, in say a restaurant, or waiting in line for a sandwich, they'll have a whispered conversation; "Margaret, I don't... No, I can't come over. I told you why...Listen, I don't care if the "kitten" is looking at you! Just kill it with your shoe or something."
Fleetch: Totally. "Just try not to get its guts all over the wall like last time".
Me: And then the camera zooms out and the entire line of people are staring in horror at the person on the phone.
Wetsoks: Disturbing.
Me: Yo momma is disturbing. In bed.
And on that note - Happy Birthday, dude. We love you.
Sarahnator: So we're meeting for breakfast, then going for the archery/axe-throwing lesson, then to the hospital to bandage up the wounds one or more of us will have managed to obtain, then dinner, then drinks at Tanyakit and Otternator's flat. Is everyone OK with this?
Me: Dontcha mean Fleetch and Otternator's flat? Unless they switched without me knowing. Also, don't you wish your otter was hot like me? Don't you wish your otter was a freak like me? DONTCHA?
Wetsoks: And at some point, one of you will take your shirt off for my entertainment, right? It is my birthday after all.
There was a long, pressing silence, devoid of emails.
Me: Everyone quit looking at me. Teamwork, people. Teamwork.
Tanyakit: I'm fairly certain that Wetsoks lost her take-your-shirt-off privileges when she suggested some Yo Momma comment you made was too far.
Me: That is an excellent point. And one I fear you may pay for dearly at home, when your bedroom is suddenly and inexplicably infested with "kittens".
Tanyakit: Speaking of those buggers, there's a little "kitten" on my ceiling. I noticed it before I left on Friday, but I couldn't reach it.
Fleetch: You need the hoover, dude. Just suck those "kittens" up next time they wander into your house. No need to gather them up in a cup and toss them out of the window, or flush their remains after you mash them against the wall.
Me: I really hope no one from IT is reading these emails. Out of context we sound terrifying.
Fleetch: Yo momma sounds terrifying.
Wetsoks: Sociopathic, indeed.
Fleetch: Or just bizarrely angry at "kittens".
Me: This needs to go into our script, Fleetch. I can see it now - we'll need one conversation to explain it, and then later while someone is on the phone, in say a restaurant, or waiting in line for a sandwich, they'll have a whispered conversation; "Margaret, I don't... No, I can't come over. I told you why...Listen, I don't care if the "kitten" is looking at you! Just kill it with your shoe or something."
Fleetch: Totally. "Just try not to get its guts all over the wall like last time".
Me: And then the camera zooms out and the entire line of people are staring in horror at the person on the phone.
Wetsoks: Disturbing.
Me: Yo momma is disturbing. In bed.
And on that note - Happy Birthday, dude. We love you.
Monday, 17 October 2011
Thundercats: Ho's
The Fleetch and I were talking about a friend of a friend recently, who happens to be one of the most beautiful women I've ever had the fortune to meet in real life. It helps that she is exceedingly nice, intelligent and funny, but mostly it's about her perfect face. My god, her perfect face. The conversation was as follows:
Fleetch: She is so PERFECT.
Me: Isn't she?
There was a dreamy, happy silence as we both contemplated this idea.
Fleetch: I feel like nothing next to her. In a kind of "you are a goddess made flesh, and I am a mere mortal unworthy to look upon you."
Me: Agreed. She's quite close to being the actual perfect woman.
Fleetch: Totally. Except... I don't know. I'd want the perfect woman to be a bit more...violent.
Me: Violent?!
Fleetch: Well no. I mean, I want her to be able to kill dinner for me.
Me: I guess I see the appeal. As long as she was also super girly. Sort of like Buffy, except actually like Faith.
Fleetch: Right? Just something a little more aggressive, animalistic. That would be my perfect woman.
Me: Body of a woman, mind of...of....a CHEETAH!
Fleetch: A fucking what?
I am now giggling too hard to be able to converse like a normal, sane person.
Fleetch: (in amazement) Did you really just say 'mind of a cheetah'?
Me: (wheezing) It just came to me!
Fleetch: Dude. That's genius.
We spent the next few minutes in complete hysterics, imagining a cheetah-woman hybrid roaming at will around the flat, stealing from the fridge, growling from her perch on the top of the door and generally mangling our soft, unprotected human flesh (the Fleetch has this theory that humans are nature's marshmallows, and I must say it's a convincing argument).
Fleetch: No, seriously. I see what you mean. Huh. Mind of a cheetah. Who'd have thought?
Me: It's actually an obvious choice, when you think about it. After all, the Thundercats had Cheetara.
Fleetch: Excellent point.
Fleetch: She is so PERFECT.
Me: Isn't she?
There was a dreamy, happy silence as we both contemplated this idea.
Fleetch: I feel like nothing next to her. In a kind of "you are a goddess made flesh, and I am a mere mortal unworthy to look upon you."
Me: Agreed. She's quite close to being the actual perfect woman.
Fleetch: Totally. Except... I don't know. I'd want the perfect woman to be a bit more...violent.
Me: Violent?!
Fleetch: Well no. I mean, I want her to be able to kill dinner for me.
Me: I guess I see the appeal. As long as she was also super girly. Sort of like Buffy, except actually like Faith.
Fleetch: Right? Just something a little more aggressive, animalistic. That would be my perfect woman.
Me: Body of a woman, mind of...of....a CHEETAH!
Fleetch: A fucking what?
I am now giggling too hard to be able to converse like a normal, sane person.
Fleetch: (in amazement) Did you really just say 'mind of a cheetah'?
Me: (wheezing) It just came to me!
Fleetch: Dude. That's genius.
We spent the next few minutes in complete hysterics, imagining a cheetah-woman hybrid roaming at will around the flat, stealing from the fridge, growling from her perch on the top of the door and generally mangling our soft, unprotected human flesh (the Fleetch has this theory that humans are nature's marshmallows, and I must say it's a convincing argument).
Fleetch: No, seriously. I see what you mean. Huh. Mind of a cheetah. Who'd have thought?
Me: It's actually an obvious choice, when you think about it. After all, the Thundercats had Cheetara.
Fleetch: Excellent point.
Sunday, 16 October 2011
The Teaches of Fleetches
The Fleetch and I journeyed a long distance yesterday evening, all the way to the fair city of Glasgow, to meet my friend Hot Emma (her official title, and it is well deserved). We'd all bought tickets to see the fantastic Peaches DJing at a local club, and it was an excellent night. For those of you who don't know Peaches, this is a little taster of her music and is in fact my favourite song of hers.
We decided that the teaches of Fleetches are like also very much like sex on the beaches. Huh. What? On a slightly related note, the Fleetch and I had the following conversation earlier in the week:
Me: You know what I really like? Rum.
Fleetch: That's very pirate-y of you.
Me: I know, right?
There is a brief silence.
Me: By the way, we're out of rum.
Fleetch: (eyeing me suspiciously) Are the two things related?
Me: I refuse to address such accusations. Much like I imagine a pirate would.
Fleetch: You know, we should really start making Fleetch-related cocktails at home.
Me: That is a genius idea. Like a "Fleetch On the Beach", or a "Fleetchito".
Fleetch: A "Strawberry Daiqufleetch". Oh, wait - a "Fleetchmopolitan"!
Peaches performed a brilliant set which had the entire crowd dancing and throwing themselves around like toddlers on a sugar high. She wore what I can only really describe as a 'boob dress' - literally, a dress with enormous breasticles sown on - as seen here:
Peaches also ensured that the crowd remained sticky throughout the night by spraying us with champagne and beer, held between her legs in a rather suggestive manner. After the bus dropped us back in Edinburgh, we walked home. On the way I saw a constructive digger, looming all shiny and alone in the darkness, so I dared the Fleetch to ride it, which she did without a moment's hesitation.
We decided that the teaches of Fleetches are like also very much like sex on the beaches. Huh. What? On a slightly related note, the Fleetch and I had the following conversation earlier in the week:
Me: You know what I really like? Rum.
Fleetch: That's very pirate-y of you.
Me: I know, right?
There is a brief silence.
Me: By the way, we're out of rum.
Fleetch: (eyeing me suspiciously) Are the two things related?
Me: I refuse to address such accusations. Much like I imagine a pirate would.
Fleetch: You know, we should really start making Fleetch-related cocktails at home.
Me: That is a genius idea. Like a "Fleetch On the Beach", or a "Fleetchito".
Fleetch: A "Strawberry Daiqufleetch". Oh, wait - a "Fleetchmopolitan"!
Peaches performed a brilliant set which had the entire crowd dancing and throwing themselves around like toddlers on a sugar high. She wore what I can only really describe as a 'boob dress' - literally, a dress with enormous breasticles sown on - as seen here:
Peaches also ensured that the crowd remained sticky throughout the night by spraying us with champagne and beer, held between her legs in a rather suggestive manner. After the bus dropped us back in Edinburgh, we walked home. On the way I saw a constructive digger, looming all shiny and alone in the darkness, so I dared the Fleetch to ride it, which she did without a moment's hesitation.
Young man! There's no need to feel down!
Monday, 10 October 2011
The League of Extraordinary Shark Knights
I mentioned the Shark Knight joke in a previous post, but for those of you who didn't read that (shame on you, it was a pretty good one) I'll explain. My friends and I went to see a film called Shark Night 3D at the cinema a couple of weeks ago, and the general consensus was that it was awful. It's not like we expected it to be great, after all it was essentially a B-movie plot ramped up to suit the summer blockbuster needs of the masses, but it had been described as a combination of 'Saw' and 'Jaws' which sounded good but in fact was a great big pants-on-fire lie. The Fleetch decided that Shark Knights would have been a better title, and went off for some time on a tangent about how sharks would ride elephants in jousting tournaments (the physical handicaps sharks face in having fins and not hands with which to hold the lances was breezily brushed over and ignored). So when one of my friends spotted a local job advertisement for a position as Panda Team Leader at Edinburgh Zoo, the following email conversation occurred. I have put it in conversational form because it is easier on the eye this way, and dare I say, snappier.
The Sarahnator:I want to have a team of giant pandas. With this team I will rule the world.
Me: Ah but remember your arch-enemies, the villainous league of Shark Knights who ride their death elephants o'er the lands of man.
The Sarahnator:I want to have a team of giant pandas. With this team I will rule the world.
Me: Ah but remember your arch-enemies, the villainous league of Shark Knights who ride their death elephants o'er the lands of man.
Fleetch: Yeah, I would ride through with my great white sharks on elephants and trample your giant panda team. Sorry.
The Sarahnator: Ah but you forget, my giant pandas are riding on giant rhinos and are quite unbeatable.
Fleetch: My elephants wear crocodiles like slippers on their front stumpy legs, and have manes of various poisonous snakes. Your rhinos are about to get SERVED.
The Sarahnator: My rhinos are steampunk zombies and have no fear of crocodiles or snakes.
Me: Are the rhinos wearing Victorian period garb? Wait, no, that would only hinder them in battle.
Fleetch: I also have a Trogdor.
Me: Trogdor!
Fleetch: TROGDOOOOOOOR!
Me: Trogdor was a man.
Fleetch: He was a dragon man.
Me: Actually, he was just a dragon. But he was still TROGDOR!
If you've never heard of Trogdor, I urge you to watch this video now. It is a hilarious clip from the cartoon Strongbad, and a genius song.
Fleetch: I also have a Trogdor.
Me: Trogdor!
Fleetch: TROGDOOOOOOOR!
Me: Trogdor was a man.
Fleetch: He was a dragon man.
Me: Actually, he was just a dragon. But he was still TROGDOR!
If you've never heard of Trogdor, I urge you to watch this video now. It is a hilarious clip from the cartoon Strongbad, and a genius song.
Sunday, 9 October 2011
Blending Into The Background
I mentioned the vegetable box in the last post (the one where the Fleetch and I put zombie makeup on just for fun, much to the bewilderment of our neighbours, especially when we had to take the trash out) - it was fantastic because there was so much of it, but at the same time there was SO MUCH OF IT. I bought a blender on Monday after convincing myself that by liquifying the fruit and vegetables, I would be able to reduce the physical mass and there would be the added bonus of tricking my body into accepting more vitamins than it has had since I was about 7. I made a delicious smoothie from grapes, apple, banana and orange/mango juice, and then in typical otter fashion, I counteracted a lot of the healthy goodness by adding alcohol. Mischief knows no bounds. Funnily enough when I called my mother for our weekly chat, we had the following conversation:
Me: So, I bought a blender.
Mum: Oh, good. So you'll make smoothies and things?
Me: Yes, the Fleetch and I made some already.
(There is a brief pause)
Mum: You should probably add something to that.
Me: Way ahead of you, Mum.
Mum: Vodka?
Me: Peach schnapps.
Mum: That's my girl.
However, a problem arose when the Fleetch and I decided to invite our friends round yesterday evening. We expected the second vegetable box to arrive in the afternoon, so we had offered to cook a nice homemade healthy meal for all six of us, plus special ice cream smoothies. While I was waiting for the vegetable box to arrive, I wandered into the kitchen and considered making a breakfast smoothie for myself, but as I looked around, I noticed a crucial part of the blender was missing. I could see the two blending cups and two lids, but not the attached spinny thing (I'm using the technical terms straight from the manual, obviously). I figured the Fleetch must have absent mindedly tidied it away, so I looked for it. It wasn't in the drawers, or the cupboards, or the sink, or the dishwasher. I searched the kitchen for over an hour, muttering in confusion to myself, and couldn't find the spinny thing. Even the discovery of a banana note didn't help my mood (the Fleetch had drawn what I later discovered were jellyfish on it for some reason known only to her, but what I first assumed to be coconuts on fire). Eventually, the Fleetch came home.
Me: Dude. I can't find the attached spinny thing for the blender.
Fleetch: You're kidding! I looked for it yesterday and couldn't find it either
Me: The other problem is, the vegetable box never arrived.
Fleetch: So what you're saying is, we have four people coming over for dinner and we promised them two things, neither of which are happening now?
Me:.... Pretty much.
Fleetch. ......Dayum.
Me:..... Yeah.
Fleetch: Well, look. It must be here somewhere, right? It's not like we'd have taken it out of the flat.
Me: Or out of the kitchen. That doesn't even make sense.
We searched for the spinny thing for the next hour, while our guests arrived and sat around growing hungrier and drunker. We moved the washing machine. The Fleetch took a knife to the back of the kitchen sink cabinet to see if anything had fallen down there. We checked the hall, our bedrooms, the living room, even followed the cats around accusing them of stealing the spinny thing. Eventually, wearied by the search, I met the Fleetch in the kitchen.
Me: Dude. I think we have to give up.
Fleetch: No! We will NEVER give up!
Me: I think you've gone blender-crazy. You have to let it go.
Fleetch: (poking at the blender) It's just that it must be here somewh-........Oh. Oh, crap.
Me: What?
There is a long, horrible silence, while she holds up the spinny thing, which has been attached to the blender the entire time and we make desperate, we-are-such-idiots eyes at each other.
Me: (whispering) Let's just say we found it.
Fleetch: (whispering) Okay.
Me: We'll be heroes. No one has to know.
Fleetch: Yeah right, like you're not going to blog about this.
Me: True dat.
Me: So, I bought a blender.
Mum: Oh, good. So you'll make smoothies and things?
Me: Yes, the Fleetch and I made some already.
(There is a brief pause)
Mum: You should probably add something to that.
Me: Way ahead of you, Mum.
Mum: Vodka?
Me: Peach schnapps.
Mum: That's my girl.
However, a problem arose when the Fleetch and I decided to invite our friends round yesterday evening. We expected the second vegetable box to arrive in the afternoon, so we had offered to cook a nice homemade healthy meal for all six of us, plus special ice cream smoothies. While I was waiting for the vegetable box to arrive, I wandered into the kitchen and considered making a breakfast smoothie for myself, but as I looked around, I noticed a crucial part of the blender was missing. I could see the two blending cups and two lids, but not the attached spinny thing (I'm using the technical terms straight from the manual, obviously). I figured the Fleetch must have absent mindedly tidied it away, so I looked for it. It wasn't in the drawers, or the cupboards, or the sink, or the dishwasher. I searched the kitchen for over an hour, muttering in confusion to myself, and couldn't find the spinny thing. Even the discovery of a banana note didn't help my mood (the Fleetch had drawn what I later discovered were jellyfish on it for some reason known only to her, but what I first assumed to be coconuts on fire). Eventually, the Fleetch came home.
Me: Dude. I can't find the attached spinny thing for the blender.
Fleetch: You're kidding! I looked for it yesterday and couldn't find it either
Me: The other problem is, the vegetable box never arrived.
Fleetch: So what you're saying is, we have four people coming over for dinner and we promised them two things, neither of which are happening now?
Me:.... Pretty much.
Fleetch. ......Dayum.
Me:..... Yeah.
Fleetch: Well, look. It must be here somewhere, right? It's not like we'd have taken it out of the flat.
Me: Or out of the kitchen. That doesn't even make sense.
We searched for the spinny thing for the next hour, while our guests arrived and sat around growing hungrier and drunker. We moved the washing machine. The Fleetch took a knife to the back of the kitchen sink cabinet to see if anything had fallen down there. We checked the hall, our bedrooms, the living room, even followed the cats around accusing them of stealing the spinny thing. Eventually, wearied by the search, I met the Fleetch in the kitchen.
Me: Dude. I think we have to give up.
Fleetch: No! We will NEVER give up!
Me: I think you've gone blender-crazy. You have to let it go.
Fleetch: (poking at the blender) It's just that it must be here somewh-........Oh. Oh, crap.
Me: What?
There is a long, horrible silence, while she holds up the spinny thing, which has been attached to the blender the entire time and we make desperate, we-are-such-idiots eyes at each other.
Me: (whispering) Let's just say we found it.
Fleetch: (whispering) Okay.
Me: We'll be heroes. No one has to know.
Fleetch: Yeah right, like you're not going to blog about this.
Me: True dat.
Monday, 3 October 2011
Night Of The Fleetching Dead
I really love Halloween. It's probably my favourite holiday - don't get me wrong, Christmas is fun but doesn't involve dressing up in the same way, and don't even get me started on how Easter makes no sense whatsoever. Luckily the Fleetch does too, and is happy to indulge my odd habits. A couple of weeks ago, I bought some facepaints, studied some of the zombie images Google provided and set to work on some of my friends during our 'zombie party' (which involved zombie video games, related food and for some reason, the Formula One qualifiers, because zombies and racecars go hand in hand)
I staggered out of my bedroom on Saturday morning. The Fleetch was waiting.
Fleetch: Hey.
Me: (makes a moan that only vaguely resembles a greeting)
Fleetch: Uh huh. Hey, have you been in the kitchen yet?
Me: (fighting the retching instinct at the thought of going near any kind of food) No, why?
Fleetch: The vegetable box arrived. It's huge.
What she possibly should have said was "the vegetable crate", because good lord, the mass of produce we have amount to possibly more fruit and vegetables than I've ever eaten in my life. We stood around for a while, hungover, staring at the crate.
Fleetch: There's also meat in the fridge. The pack of beef we have is almost the size of my head.
Me: What the hell are we going to do with all of this?
There was a brief pause.
Fleetch: Let's put on zombie makeup tomorrow and get drunk and cook it.
Me: Naturally.
And so we did.
As an ode to My Drunk Kitchen (if you've never seen it on YouTube, I recommend it highly - essentially the clue is in the name), we've named this night My Dead Drunk Kitchen. Long may it continue.
I staggered out of my bedroom on Saturday morning. The Fleetch was waiting.
Fleetch: Hey.
Me: (makes a moan that only vaguely resembles a greeting)
Fleetch: Uh huh. Hey, have you been in the kitchen yet?
Me: (fighting the retching instinct at the thought of going near any kind of food) No, why?
Fleetch: The vegetable box arrived. It's huge.
What she possibly should have said was "the vegetable crate", because good lord, the mass of produce we have amount to possibly more fruit and vegetables than I've ever eaten in my life. We stood around for a while, hungover, staring at the crate.
Fleetch: There's also meat in the fridge. The pack of beef we have is almost the size of my head.
Me: What the hell are we going to do with all of this?
There was a brief pause.
Fleetch: Let's put on zombie makeup tomorrow and get drunk and cook it.
Me: Naturally.
And so we did.
As an ode to My Drunk Kitchen (if you've never seen it on YouTube, I recommend it highly - essentially the clue is in the name), we've named this night My Dead Drunk Kitchen. Long may it continue.
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