English Cliterature...

2009-01-09, 11:21 p.m.
It is I, Smashy, with an entry written by Stepfie herself! She has emailed it to me as her laptop is still fooked and she sounded all whiny and grouchy sad and in need of cheering up, so I readily agreed to post an entry for her.

Keep reading, it's a riotous, raucous, roller-coaster of a ride!

Or...

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Monday 5th January 2009

Good grief! Where to begin?

Merry New All That Bollocks etc etc! How�s things? Good? Cool.

Thanks to Smashie for explaining my unexpected and prolonged absence. Yes, the laptop died. Well, not so much �died� as �was really poorly� which hasn�t exactly been helpful as it meant that we had no internet access for AGES. Apart from the minor inconvenience of L not being able to download some files he needed for a session he was doing, resulting in a two hour drive to strum a couple of bars of guitar and a two hour drive back home again, it has of course meant that I have read NO DIARIES AT ALL since the 1st of AgesAgo. Obviously I am too lazy busy to read back through ALL your festive seasonal back catalogue but I�ll have a cursory glance just to make sure you didn�t do anything more fabulous than me. If you did, I reserve the right to just add a Christmassy comment onto whatever it is you�re currently telling me about so it wont make any sense at all and you�ll have to scroll through your own archives to see what I�m banging on about.

As we speak, I�m sat at my desk at Twat Inc, swigging on a cup of tea and resolutely NOT doing any work, in a considered and well thought out protest against�..ummmm�.working.

I�m trying to work up the enthusiasm for telling you all about my Christmas and New Year but I fear this place has sucked the very joy from my soul and all I can manage is a �Yeh. Well. Whatever�.

Thursday 8th January 2009

Oh Dear. This could take longer than I thought. I�m at home today, �throwing a sickie� (more on that later) and I�m in the freezing cold upstairs office typing this on a PC which I practically have to pedal to keep it going, its that old. The laptop, after rallying briefly yesterday (enabling me to read and comment on a smattering of diaries) has, I fear, breathed its last and was resolutely refusing even to be switched on this morning. Dr Lee will have another look at it tonight for us but I fear we have witnessed its untimely demise. Bum.

At least L managed to save all the pictures and other stuff that we were storing so, at some distant time in the future, you may actually be able to see my Christmassy photos, including one I took of my crappy office tree, especially for blogreader and one of my sister and her friend H, duetting on recorders on New Years Eve after an absence from their instruments�of-choice of only�erm�about 40 years. It was an experience, I can tell you.

As we now have no internet access (except in the studio and that�s ONLY FOR SPECIAL MUSIC WORK, not for fucking about surfing diaries and ordering slutty underwear from dubious websites) I�m having to save this little missive onto a Twat Inc memory stick, take it into work tomorrow, email it to Smashiepoos (who has been an absolute GEM about helping me out while I�m incapacitated, even though I said I wouldn�t be shagging him in return for his favours) and hoping that he posts it without feeling the need to have any �editorial control�. (No, it would be far too much effort to make this whiny, self absorbed load of old bollocks sound even remotely funny - Smash)

*sigh* Its all toooooo difficult, dear readers.

So. What am I doing at home when I should be at work?

Well, yesterday I had to go to the hospital and have the previously documented Foo Sliceage (that�s another colposcopy and a LLETZ if you want to be picky and all proper and everything. I prefer Foo Sliceage. I think it makes it sound less crap. And more heroic.). Both procedures are fairly straightforward and nothing really to fear. Getting anaesthetic injected into my cervix isn�t my favourite thing to do but after yelling "OW! Bloody Hell!" a couple of times it was pretty much done and the nurse and I chatted about the merits of the Dyson Vacuum Cleaner while Ms Dougie Howser MD (bless her, she was no older than 12) did the slicing-and-dicing. Mercifully I had remembered to let my lady-garden grow back to "neatly trimmed grown up" rather than the normally-favoured "Porn Queen Clitler". I dunno about you, but I�m just not comfortable with health care professionals knowing how I usually style my pubes.

If you need to get either the colposcopy or the LLETZ done, let me know and I�ll talk you through the whole thing in a way which will make it sound unscary and non-worrying.

On the other hand, if you are my boss, I will talk you through it in a way which means "two days off work" instead of "a bit of a sit-down afterwards but basically back to normal". Yes, its come to that, girls and boys. I am now prepared to fake gynaecological trauma in order to get a few hours at home, making paella and altering a pair of curtains for the TV room. I spoke to my boss at around 11.30 this morning. I sounded fuzzy and slightly disorientated. This is because I had just got up. She doesn�t need to know that bit.

The worst, the VERY worst thing about the whole business is the "no sex and no tampons for a month to allow for healing" thing. That�s just BARBARIC. Last time I had to go that long without a vaginaful of extraneous stuff, I wore a tie and a boater and knee socks (and wasn�t channeling Britney)and nobody knew George Michael was gay! Needless to say, all I can think about at the moment is cock. Like a dieter confronted with Thornton�s shop window, L walking down the stairs with all his boys parts just a denim fly away from my face is enough to have me snivelling in a "its all so unfaaaaaaaiiiiir!!!!" way.

L is being astonishingly brilliant about the whole thing (probably cos he knows he is going to get SHITLOADS of blowjobs this month). I tried to explain what wearing a sanitary towel is like to him yesterday, by making him walk from the sitting room to the kitchen with a cushion wedged between his thighs. Four weeks of the fucking horrible things is just WRONG. I have bought a multipack of unattractive �proper� knickers to which I can attach the hated sannies as I discovered that none of my regular knickers are substantial enough in the gusset area to provide the necessary purchase for the sticky strips. This has backfired somewhat as L�s wide-reaching and all-inclusive lingerie fetish has meant that he just went "PhwooAArr" and slowly peeled the back of the Chastity Knickers half way down my bum cheeks in a pervy spanky kind of way, before hastily yanking them back up with a "Ahem. Yeh. Sorry". My face was as stone. I was already a quivering fizzing mass of horniness. Fucking bastard. He got the blowjob anyway. Im not entirely heartless.

Truly ,dear readers, I am struggling to come up with new and exciting ways to get my rocks off and its only been ONE DAY. Don�t get me wrong, I love lavishing attention on L and can easily orgasm that way, its just the thought of him trying to work his way around those fucking sanitary hammocks that�s bothering me. Touching me through lingerie is nothing new (qv Knicker Fetish etc) and feels LOVELY. Usually. Touching me through lingerie AND a wad of compressed paper (with plastic back to �stop leaks�. EEEEUUUUUUWWW!) isnt gonna be good for either of us tho. I cant feel a thing and neither can he.

BooHooHoo.

And another thing (sorry � I�m on a roll here!), why do the damn things have to be so HUGE??? I�ve seen on the telly about how the special edgey bits can stop bumper cars and disembodied ballet shoes and all kinds of stuff, so surely there�s no real need for them to be thirty feet long, is there? Surely, just covering the bit where the action is, with an inch or so either end to allow for knicker movement, has to be enough, doesn�t it? The ones I bought practically go from navel to coccyx. AND they�re WIIIIIIDE, brothers and sisters. A resourceful girl scout could fashion a serviceable raft for herself and her platoon from one, should she feel the need to traverse a smallish river at certain times of the month. The plastic backing would doubtless stop the river water getting in (especially with those repellent edges!) and all the girl scouts could sit on its �soft, cottony covering� in complete comfort as they drifted shoreward. If she got the ones with wings there�d be room for Akela and Brown Owl, too!


L and Lee have gone to the workies tonight for a committee meeting. They�ve been on the committee for a couple of months but all I have heard them do is whine about how the old folks never listen to them and just say "oh, we�ve always done it like THIS" to every new suggestion they make. Because their latest bout of whining came at a time when I was feeling particularly spiteful vulnerable, ie I had been thinking about how much longer I have to go without sex, I accused them both of being Cyril and Renee�s bitches and called them both a "pair of spineless nancy-boys". Both of them can hold their own in business meetings and can be as intractable and vociferous as they need to be when there�s a deal to be done and I�m astonished at how quickly they�ve slithered into passively accepting the status quo, when the intention of doing exactly the opposite of that was why they joined the bloody committee in the first place.

I�ll stand for election in March. I think Anne Marie will, too. Heads will roll.


God this office needs a clear out. We use it as a dumping ground for half-finished craft projects, obsolete musical equipment, household paperwork and all those generalised piles of crap which just don�t seem to �go� anywhere else. I�m sat at a desk covered in a layer of dust so thick, even Quentin Crisp would be impressed. In order to reach the keyboard I had to move:

  • a pile of paperwork pertaining to when this house was built (in 1976. When I was 10.)

  • a folder containing all the info from Jooj�s membership of the Nat. Assoc. for Gifted Children (she hasn�t been a member since 2006)

  • six large cardboard boxes which once contained the standard lamps we used to light up our wedding marquee

  • four guitar cases. There�s still three or four in the room with me but they aren�t actually �in the way�.

  • eight identical sheets of bright blue, 2 foot square, inch thick foam rubber. I have no idea what these are/were for

  • a large wooden tray covered in bits of glitter bead stuff used to make my wedding tiara (and a packet of needles I�ve been looking for for about six months

  • a gold soap dish, in which somebody has stubbed out a cigarette. I would like to blame L for that, but as the cigarette butt has lipstick on it I can only conclude that it was me. I haven�t smoked cigarettes for nearly three years.

  • a decorative tin which once, many years ago, contained a bottle of Glenfiddich but has (from evidence contained therein) been utilised more recently as a receptacle for storing cream crackers. I don�t remember ever having a bottle of Glenfiddich. And we�re not big on cream crackers either, if I�m honest.

  • a Twat Inc branded carrier bag containing about 200 copies of the sleeve notes from L�s album. Want one? You could learn the songs without having to listen to the bloody album or maybe find some other use for them. I�d suggest that, cut into little strips, they�d probably make good roaches as the paper is nice and thick.
  • I am Stepfordtart, hear me go "ah, fuck it, just close the door".

    later
    s
    x



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