:o)
Every day, I come downstairs with my children in the morning. The TV is turned on, and more often than not, we tune in to CBeebies. I like it. It's doable. Interesting snippets. Fun programmes.
And obviously, because I'm such a good mom, it makes for an awesome baby-sitter.
And when I really started to enjoy CBeebies over the summer, whiling away the hours waiting for Isaac to get his ass out, I really got into this.
Awesome. I love to get up on my feet and dance to random crazy stuff anyway, but I LOVED jigging to this with Noah. It's a great idea. I never knew they did seasonal songs. I thought it was a one-off until THIS came along.
The. SHIZZLE. Right down to the crazy Vivaldi shit in the middle. A lot of people wouldn't spot it but I thought it was plain frigging genius.
So obviously, I was all, "Omfg I cannot WAIT to see what they come up with for winter/Christmas.
And then it arrived.
I have a few questions.
1: Why the fuck are they singing/mumbling Christmas crap outside an office block?
2: What the fuck is with the ridiculously fake snow?
3: Why can none of them dance in time to the music?
4: What the hell are they singing?
5: Why do the presenters look like they have ice poles shoved up their asses, prompting those shit-scary grins?
6: Why would you be in a hot air balloon in the middle of (all be it, FAKE) winter?
7: What are they singing?
8: did the presenters have to go for therapy after making this?
9: WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY SINGING??
CBeebies - you need to get your shit together.
So yes, I met Gordon Ramsay last weekend. I've had an un-dying fixation with him for some time, and going to his book signing at the BBC Good Food Show made me a rather happy lady. Cos you know, HOTNESS.
"Book signing, dumb answers and awesome boobs. DONE."
I decided that the greatest moment came when, whilst waiting in the queue, I realised that my boobs had grown significantly throughout the day; we obviously didn't have Noah or Isaac with us, so I was sporting some fucking awesome cleavage. Seriously? Nursing? AWESOME.
My turn finally came, and as some dude took the two books off me to be signed, I thrust everything else (camera) at D, double checked the boobs, threw myself across the counter to shake his hand and kiss him, then realised I was sporting some fantastic pit-sweat patches.
Life had reached an all time high.
He asked me some questions. Unfortunately, the guy chose not to ask me the questions I had expected him to ask me (What's your favourite dish to cook? Is that your husband? Are your boobs real? Do you like it rough?).
He asked me about Christmas dinner.
Me: Um, I think I'm cooking ham this year!
GR: Ham! Ooh, roast honey glazed?
Me: Um no...
GR: Oh...you're gonna boil it? (looking at my boobs)
Me: Umm..yeah ok... (I'm actually roasting it)
GR: Who you got round for Christmas dinner then? The whole family? (squinting at my boobs)
Me: No it's just me, husband and the two kids. 2 years and 6 months.
GR: 6 months? Congratulations, fantastic. You look great for it! (to my boobs)
Me: Thanks! (pop the boobs a little)
I don't remember much else, apart from saying thank you umpteen million times and flinging myself over the counter to kiss him. Again.
I know the general argument is he's an arrogant fucker with attitude, a foul mouth and not the best personality in the world. And you'd sooner go for Jamie Oliver. But seriously. You just know Jamie Oliver wouldn't know how to take you roughly in a swanky hotel just yards from a fucking fancy restaurant.
Yeeeesssssss please.
D and I moved on to the Beer Tasting Arena, to ponder over the loveliness that is cleavage.
And yes this was taken, by D, in the middle of the Arena. With two lovely little ladies who were sat at our table, whom we hope to meet again next year.
"Book signing, dumb answers and awesome boobs. DONE."
(PS I know most of you hate him. But I'll be his bitch any day.)
(PPS He spoke to my boobs through a good deal of the time I was stood there. Can you blame the guy?)
I love driving. So very much. Hell I'd drive to the end of the road just to get to drive. I've only been driving for about 5/6 years. I passed my test with great results. I did my Pass Plus with no problems. I don't profess to be the worlds best, but I'm not bad.
But people? There are rules. And the rules seem to apply to all the fucktards out there.
If I am driving past your junction, DO NOT pull out in front of me at the last minute, assuming I will slow down and/or stop. I will sit on your fucktard ass until you piss off out the way.
I will only sit on your ass if you drive like a fucktard in front of me.
If you choose to climb inside my ass while driving like a fucktard when I have done nothing to you, I will randomly jump on my breaks making you screech to a halt and shit your pants.
If you still choose to sit on my ass like a fucktard, I will probably let in an awful lot of people in front of me.
If I let you out and instead you choose to sit there like a fucktard, then complain when I drive on, I will most likely ignore you. No amount of flashing your lights or pointless hand gestures will change my behaviour. I WAS BEING NICE. You were being a fucktard.
If I am pulling out of somewhere and you try to overtake me whilst doing so, you are being a fucktard. Stop.
And don't say thank you like I let you out even when you gave me no choice. That's just being a fucktard.
All of these events occurred when I took it upon myself to leave the house with the boys and try to finish my Christmas shopping. Which, by the way, should only ever be done online. At Amazon. There are people who will totally agree with me. (Ok, A person, but I'm sure there are more). You know what? Don't be a fucktard with the driving mom who is feeling pissy and stabby anyways.
You're welcome.
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