Monday, 22 March 2010

Down the salt mines

Yesterday I:

Lost a child at a packed, boiling hot Mexican fiesta in a museum. Child, as is often the case, had no idea it was lost. 5 men with walkie-talkies and a hyperventilating mother begged to differ.

Cried like a snivelly baby for no good reason as the CFO failed to drill (non-essential) holes in a cement wall for me.

Cried again at this.

Obsessively researched snake massage.

Struggled with 177 photos of Charleroi.

Revised the spellings of "oeuf" and "oeil" with a profoundly uninterested child until my eyes were rolling 360° in my head.

Broke up 177 quarrels. Badly. Impatiently. Occasionally roaring like Uncle Matthew in the Nancy Mitford books.

Changed sick child's sheets twice.

Cleaned out the bath following sick child incident.

Recoiled in horror at the sight of my hideous skin in the bathroom mirror (blame water). Smeared it obsessively with unguents. Recoiled even more violently on returning to the bathroom mirror some hours later to see the gel-type unguent I had smeared on it was peeling off, giving me the allure of a hideously sunburnt, or possibly leprous, mole rat. I am assuming this is punishment from the gods for having the hubris to start a beauty blog. Even a stupid one.

Drank wine and ground my teeth for several hours, stopping to answer a series of profoundly puzzling questions on ageing from child who kept appearing on the staircase, shiftily. ("What is it like, getting older? Do you get more aggressive? Are you still the same?"). Tried not to answer TOO honestly ("You will always feel puzzled and confused and not quite a grown up inside, however old you are, whilst becoming ever more crushingly conscious of your own mortality, darling") whilst not tipping over into Mary Poppins/Enid Blyton "It's a jolly adventure!". Probably failed on both counts.

Wrote about Charleroi until 2am.

Slept fitfully and dreamt horrible dreams of meeting up with old lovers (at cabinet meetings, on delayed trains) with NO MAKE UP. NONE. Nothing to cover the peeling, leprous mole rat skin. No eyeliner. Woke up sweaty with the horror of it all.

Today has been much calmer, thankfully, but now I have to go back down into the biscuit salt mines and make mean biscuits until I dream I am becoming a doughy, tasteless biscuit myself.

What do you think my gingerbread men should say this time? I was thinking just "Fuck Off", but I'm not sure I can muster 3 Fs....

27 comments:

Lisa-Marie said...

Did you get a margarita(sp?)this time? I realise you had the small children at the time, but you could have asked for a takeaway cup.

Sounds like you day was quite, quite busy. It's terrifying looking after kids(good, but terrifying).

Also, my ex lives in the same city as me, and even though I am now happily married, and we are good friends, and I kind of wonder why I ever fancied him, I still feel the need to look casually amazing whenever I know I will see him. Go figure.

NON-WORKINGMONKEY said...

For the biscuit men, I suggest "Cockbiscuit", if you can fit it across their tiny gingerbread man chests.

Jaywalker said...

Hee, NWM, I will try. But I might have to do it in two rows; ie.

Cock

Biscuit.

Still good.


(No margarita Lisa Marie. The queue stretched all the way to Holland).

Alienne said...

How about 'No Bollocks'?

Anonymous said...

I should not have clicked on the link. *sob*
Timely post. Hubby(ie?) and I met a lovely American couple in a bar at the weekend. They were all over puppy, admiring how cute he was, etc. They said how much he reminded them of their old dog.
'Oh?' I asked.
'Yes' they said. 'He had to be put down.'
'Oh no, I'm so sorry. Was he old?'
'No, just 3 years.'
'Ill?'
'No'
'Accident?'
'Nope. We had to move here so we had him put down' - it was too complicated blah blah blah'

FUCKERS.

Fran

hairyfarmerfamily said...

'Twatweasel' is my current favourite, and 'Village Idiot' is always popular, although if letter brevity is key you could always go with a nicely ambiguous 'Ass'.

shooz said...

As a Glaswegian living in London (and hopefully going to the underground farmer's market on Sunday), I'd quite like to see some that say "Ya fanny" or "cuntybaws". "numpty" is less offensive but still quite good. But I'll happily settle for cockbiscuit and fuck off

Jaywalker said...

I like No Bollocks. I reckon I probably have 3 "O"s. I am going to check.

Lisa-Marie said...

I just realised I didn't suggest anything.

If you were selling the in Scotland, you could write 'Bawbag'. Also 'contains no nuts' as it's a wee bit food and biscuit themed, but it might be hard to squish in.

Shooz, I applaud 'Cuntybag'

Jaywalker said...

Nut free might do it?

Lisa-Marie said...

Aye! less words, same insinuation. Good plan!

bbonthebrink said...

How about BUM SMACK or BUM CRACK (a favourite combination of words from our 5yo)

Em said...

How about the classic 'Fucker'?

kcm said...

Why not provide them with vestigial tits and camel toe? Then if they are arms & legs akimbo you can label them just simply "TART". And see how long it takes most people to realise. :-)

kcm said...

Or of course they could be the usual plain and simple and say "GENITALLY CHALLENGED".

redfox said...

Perhaps NO NUTS rather than NUT FREE?

redfox said...

Or perhaps not.

Ellie said...

Coconut oil for skin. I know exactly the dreams you mean too.

the polish chick said...

fran, did you kick them in the teeth? fuckers is right. bastard twats! syphilitic cocks! uff, i'm MAD!

how about straightforward: poo
it's simple, it's brown, it's short and to the point.

WV: feesses hm, how a propos!

Margaret said...

Puttana? Motherscratcher? Jerk-off. Ooh! Do jerk-off!

Anonymous said...

Damn, I wish I were as funny as you. Well done!

(yes, I mean the blog author, though the suggestions/replies are awesome in their own right)

Anonymous said...

Polish Chick, I condensed the conversation on here, but actually it took place over more than an hour, with me not liking to ask and upset them.
When they finally explained it was kind of surreal - we just stared at them, lost for words. I cannot fathom that someone would KILL a bouncing young dog because of INCONVENIENCE. And I cannot believe that a vet would do that????????????? They have ethics, no? So now I have nightmares about a shotgun in the garden scenario.

How about 'WTF?' Waffle? Or has that been done already?

Fran

frau antje said...

Crowded Mexican fiesta = sick child. I cannot even convince inanimate objects to behave in a manner that requires no maintenance, but 'what is getting older like'? That almost makes it worth it, not but almost. Perhaps sick child is what the Dutch had in mind when they came up with the slogan, "Live first, then clean up."

Those letters are German, no? Do you have umlauts? Arschlo(mit umlaut)cher (assholes), leck mich (particularly disgusting, but appropriate for sweets, if not anthropomorphism), Schlappschwanz (pussy, wimp...most German words would have to go vertically on the biscuit men). Or maybe dillweed, people will wonder what you've put in them. Somewhat partial to the Nederlandse lul...

Oh, and I know Americans who don't kill their dogs. Yay.

Anonymous said...

It's not a thing about Americans, Frau Antje. Assholes come in all shapes and sizes. And I should not have mentioned the nationality - it's irrelevant. I know plenty of Americans who are totally daft about their pets.
It's a thing about... god knows.. .what would you call it? But it did really upset me. And I really didn't misunderstand. They thought it was kinder than leaving it in a home.
And.. okay, I'm ranting. I shall step away from this blog.

Fran

IsabelleAnne said...

Have you any biscuits that say "PMS"?

Beatrice said...

How about a sweet little nice cookie reminding us that it's the f... CRISIS? These should be very popular in City!

the polish chick said...

fran, i certainly hope they don't have children! what if they couldn't get a sitter?

kind of (to a far far lesser extent) reminds me of an ongoing argument i have with my mother-in-law regarding the cropping of bits of dogs. she always explains that a tail is cropped becasue it could get broken, to which i reply that i had once broken my left wrist, and thank god she wasn't my mother.

borche - a sexy ukrainian sportscar