Category Archives: Fags

Finger licking goooood

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I’ve just had to curtail Rocky’s blast on the field because he PISSED ME OFF!  We’d been having a lovely time, hiding from each other in the undergrowth, chasing after crows, sniffing (him, not me).  After covering the perimeter of the playing field just the once, I took him back over to the wooded area that leads to the canal to have another sniff and a game of sniff and seek in the undergrowth.  Ready to start my second circuit, I set off walking away from him and, as the distance between us increased, I realised that he was paying even less attention to me than usual – he was concentrating very closely on something, picking it up, throwing it about, catching it again, chewing it.  Had he finally, at long last, caught a mouse?  Had he done what he was bred for?

I started towards him to see what he was up to, but he was having none of it and decided to play the “act like cheeky robin” game, whereby I’d get within a couple of metres of him, he’d pick up whatever it was that he was tormenting, then bounce off.

Then he spotted the dog on the other side of the field.  I’ve given up trying to run after him, especially while wearing wellies, and I just hope that the object of his attention (and its owner) is friendly enough not to chew his face off. He never comes when called, ever.  He’s a total shit and I could kill him.  Anyway, trudging through the mud, I finally got near him to find that he was still chomping away on whatever it was that’d he’d picked up on the other side of the field.  He made the mistake of a dropping some of it.

What could have been so fascinating?  What could’ve been so very good that he played with it for finve minutes and carried it from side of the field to the other?  Was it a small furry animal?  No, it was a bit of chicken carcass.  No meat or anything, just the bone.  I pulled the remainder of it from his mouth and, my fingers covered in dog spit, I dragged him home.  Finger licking good.

He came so close to being left there, the little fucker.  He’s so disobedient, annoying, embarrassing.  I have a friend coming over on Sunday and we’re supposed to be taking him on a nice walk.  Nice doesn’t come into it, it’s always such a fucking toil.

All I ever wanted was a dog that I could take on a nice walk, that’d bring things that I threw for it, that wouldn’t hassle other animals, and that would come back to me when called.

And I get him.

He’s funny as fuck when he runs at full pelt though.

Le Weekend

Yay, it’s the weekend.  At last!  I’m going to be creative in the kitchen tomorrow (after tidying up in there), make a lasagne for me and a special one for the freezer… just in case unexpected visitors drop by.

As I said, I have a friend coming over on Sunday and she’ll be staying over too.  A sleep over, at my age!

And I think I’m taking Monday off because I can’t be fucked going in to work

But the weekend starts properly at 8pm this evening when Taz Radio goes live.  An evening of all my favourite music.  Fabulous!


Peanuts

I see that the end of peanut allergies might be in sight.  A small trial in 4 children showed that they could be desensitised to peanut allergens by gradual exposure to increasing amounts of peanut flower.  After suffering severe allergies to peanuts all their lives, the children can now eat up to ten peanuts.

But where’s the fun in that?  The good thing about having friends with peanut allergies is the tricks you can play on them.

“I’ve cooked you a meal.”

“Ooh, thanks, I’m STARVING; been saving myself for this all day!”

“Great, I bought some really special ingredients.  Now… what did it say about being packaged in a nut-free environment?  It either was, or wasn’t, but I can’t remember which.  Have you got your epi-pen handy?”

Fag patchwork

I’m running out of places to stick my fag patches to.  Every bit of skin that has previously had one attached to it is now very red, quite sore and rather itchy.  The things are a nightmare.  I’ve taken to cutting them up so they’ll fit into what remains of my unaffected skin.  I’ll be moving on to my shins next.

Still, I’ve not had a cigarette in about ten days and not really thought of having one.  More than anything, it’s just breaking the habit, but wearing a patch kind of adds a psychological boost to my efforts.  “It’s called a PLACEEEEEEEEEEBO”.

These dreams

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As predicted the other day, wearing a 24hr nicotine patch has resulted in four nights of sleep that have been disturbed by vivid dreams.  I’m knackered.  In addition to this, the first few hours of wearing a new patch each day bring unwanted physiological effects, mainly nausea.  Still I suppose it’ll be worth it once I can do without both fags and patches in a couple of weeks’ time.

But back to the dreams, they’ve been quite odd.  Perhaps all dreams are; I don’t usually have or remember them, but these ones have been odd.  Here’s what I can remember of a few of them:

Night 1

Hovel

Jo had forced me to move out.  She’d identified a lovely little bedsit that was a bedroom and a sink to have a stand up wash in and was showing me around, very proud of herself.  I can’t remember much else, other than complaining that there was no Coffeemate – not that there was a kitchen or a kettle or anything.

I woke up annoyed.

Ireland and the magic fag packet

The second dream that night found me in Ireland of all places.  It was Ireland, but it looked more mediterranean.  I think there was a castle, a shopping centre, a monorail, some chips, the obligatory argument with my sister that resulted me dropping the empty duty free Marlboro Lights carton (you know the big cartons that hold ten packets, but look like a big fag packet?).  I’d been carrying this huge empty fag packet around with me and dropped it at the table of a cafe after the chips (I think this is where the chips came in – no gravy, just ketchup).  I went back to pick it up from the floor and found that it had come open to reveal a solitary cigarette inside it.

I decided to save the cigarette until later, but as the dream progressed (probably about a millisecond in real time), more and more fags found their way into the once empty carton until it was nearly full by the time I woke up at 5am.

At that very moment of hazy waking, I remember being really happy that there was a full packet of cigarettes in the house, only to realise a second later that a) there wasn’t, b) I’d been dreaming and c) I was supposed to have stopped.

Bummer.

I spent the day completely shattered and slept relatively well that night, and the night after… I think, can’t quite remember.

Last night

The stroll, the sneaky fag and the curious incident with the BMW

I’d been at my parents’ and it was getting a bit too much for me, so I found myself taking a walk and having a fag.  The top road had somehow turned into a motorway, so it took a while for me to buck up the courage (and speed, and ability to assess distance and speed of oncoming vehicles) to get across.  For some reason, when I’d got to the safety of the other side, I stopped behind a stationary BMW, which then reversed over me.  I think it was a BMW, it might have been my old car that I wrote off  – it was black anyway.  While I was nursing my bruises and being told off by the driver of the offending vehicle (a fifty-something bint with blonde hair), my sister turned up and got run over too.  She complained for a bit and blamed me… and then I woke up… at 2.39am.

An argument over a washing up bowl

After recovering I was back in the kitchen at my mum and dad’s.  Dad was doing something in the sink; he was messing about, washing something in the washing up bowl – orange bits of plastic.  He got into a strop when I told him he wasn’t doing it right, so he took the bowl out and put it on the kitchen floor.

Actually, that might’ve happened in real life a few times too.

Bette from the L Word falls in love with me

This was the best one so far.  I don’t know how it happened, but I met Bette (Jennifer Beals) from the L Word and started doing really dirty things with me.  And then she told me she loved me.   And then I woke up.

So the dreams you get with nicotine patches aren’t all that bad.  I think everyone should try wearing a 21mg patch for a few days and then tell me what dreams they’ve been having.  I don’t want to know about dreams where Bette tells other people she loves them though.

Out

I’m going out tonight, round to some friends who I’ve known forever.  It should be good, but I need to go through the rigmarole of getting ready.  In terms of outfit, this never presents much of a problem because I always wear the same thing – jeans, blouse/shirt, jumper.

The thing I’m looking forward to least is plucking my face.  Eyebrows, moustache, beard, hairy moles – they all need attention.  This will bring about much pain and much sneezing.  And lots of frustration too, as the lighting in the bathroom doesn’t favour such detailed activities.

It’s not as if there’s the chance of pulling anyone while I’m out since they’re all straight.  Then again, I have this thing about flirting with straights… and that’s probably why I’m still single.  But it’s just that knowledge that most straight women are probably curious, some have tried a bit of ladylove, so it’s nice to play on that curiosity and see how far it gets you.  In my case, nowhere, but there’s always a first time.

Template

I’ve changed my template.  What do you think, does it need a bit of colour?