Oh dear.

The house next door has finally been let, and they have taken down the very distinctive "To Let" sign by which I set my sights for home, and now I don't know where I live.

I expect to spend an embarrassing and frustrating few weeks accidentally walking up to the wrong door.

I should have seen this coming.

Balls.

Emergency o clock

The washing up has reached critical mass.

There is nothing left that DOESN'T need washing up.

If only I were less exhausted from a day's hard work (read: lazy). Oh well. Maybe later.

Things that get said in our kitchen:

"Abortion cheese." I don't remember why.

I think communication is a really fascinating thing. For instance, even within my house, we have a plethora of methods of communication. Most prominently, our fridge, which is covered in magnetic letters, and those magnetic words you get for poetry or whatever - one of the 'romantic' sets.

The fridge has been used to express a number of sentiments - most notably, for some weeks, "c*nty romantic long gush" (please don't ask - you don't want to know). Recently, though, it became yet another arena for Benny and Darren's ongoing 'smelly' insult war.

This started with Benny writing "Darren smells, from Benny." The other night, I decided to spice things up a bit and swapped the names, so it said "Benny smells, from Darren." Then, a couple of days later it was pointed out that there was a considerable surplus of letters, so I changed it again, so it said "Benny smells like a gay, from Darren." Today, Benny finally discovered this, and changed it to "Darren smells like a wet gay, from Benny."

See? Communication is utterly fascinating.

Also, following a drunken discussion about words which are just funny with no context or explanation, I wrote 'flaps' in the steam on the bathroom mirror. This was instantly discovered and blamed on Ryan, who responded to my gleeful text informing him of these events with "Disgusting! I would at least have drawn a giant cock." Since then, the word 'minge' and more recently the word 'hairy' have been added above my original message. (Note: I do not condone these actions; I simply recount them. Please bear this in mind when deciding whether or not to dump/disown/excommunicate me.)

Also, the other day I withdrew £10 from a cash machine, and someone had written "Hello!" and drawn a little smily face on the note. Which I thought was really sweet. In fact I fully intend to start writing on all my notes - maybe one of them will come back to me, even!

Yes, I'm boring, I know.

Go away.

Modern Feminism...

As defined by Dave, in one sentence, following news about new public breastfeeding laws:

"Ok, you can get your tits out in public, but we're still not paying you equally."

My boyfriend is the shiz.

Urinal sculptures.

Yep, you heard me.

Observe.

Urinal sculptures? Really? Ok, you find me a guy who wants to urinate in a fucking ceramic orchid.

Sheesh.

I apologise for the content.

Ok, I meant it. I really, really do apologise to anyone too young, or innocent, or, well, my mum, if she happens to read this.

I just wanted to recount a particularly amusing rant I had the pleasure of having, hilariously enough, in front of an old woman on the walk home from town with Catherine today.

We had been talking about Quakers, and how Cornflakes were originally developed as an anti-aphrodisiac, and sexual repression in general.

C: The flaw in their argument is the clitoris. If it's not there for pleasure, what is it? It doesn't DO anything else.
J: I think maybe it kind of evolved.
C: For what?
J: To give women a reason to have sex!
C: Haha! How do you mean?
J: Well, there's not much in it for a woman otherwise, is there? 'Great, so, you get to poke my organs from the inside for a few minutes, possibly resulting in me carrying an incredibly heavy squirmy thing INSIDE ME for nine months, and dealing with all the related nastinesses, then having to expel this thing, now the size of a football, out of a hole smaller than a penny, and look after the result of the whole mess for the next twenty or so years.' If that process doesn't at least start with a fucking good orgasm, frankly, I'd feel ripped off.

Again, I'm sorry.

I'M SORRY!

Interesting.

It's just occurred to me that my new colour scheme (and sexy heading!) look like the Matrix.

Hmm.

In other news! Today I have spent most of a lovely sunny day - well, I say that, it was on the verge of a storm until about an hour ago - inside, signing up to cool internet things, in a frenzy of geeky joy having watched the video I linked earlier and gotten all excited about Web 2.0. Which is, as Drew so accurately pointed out earlier "Basically a buzz word... meaning AppleMacness and MySpace." But still, it gave me something to do for a day.