Monthly Archives: May 2013

I am mummy, hear me roar.

This is a kind of laissez faire household. There are only two rules, brush your teeth twice a day and when mummy wants the iPad give it to her, but this morning my child has crossed a line. She seems to think that sharpening her entire massive collection of pencils directly onto the floor whilst eating crisps without a plate is appropriate behaviour for a Sunday morning. It isn’t. Learning to use a vacuum cleaner at 7, even if it’s way too heavy for your little spindly bony body, however is.

Don’t get all up in my face about the ant powder.

Ants are an absolute pain in the arse.

They march around the place shouting at each other in their tiny little ant voices with their silly little ant hats on, they have five eyes but they still can’t actually drive properly, they can’t eat solid food (so technically they are all juicers) and when they get cross (or a bit hungry) they just eat each other.

Now, as if all this wasn’t reason enough to hate them, I’ve just discovered the vicious little fuckers still practice slavery. In 2013.

Bastards.
.

OCDj

New Zamir science coming your way. I am now convinced that Spotify can be used to diagnose mental health issues.

I have always had a sneaky suspicion that I was a bit obsessive compulsive but it’s fair to say that I am now being confronted by the full horror of my affliction via my Spotify playlists.

Just like the time I spent a whole day organising my book shelves by colour, I’m now fully obsessed with organising every song I’ve ever heard into random categories such as ‘rain’, ‘vices’ or ‘items of clothing’ (ok, that last one is made up).

I actually think I’m being really clever but I have a nagging doubt that this is a slippery slope into repetitive hand washing and mentalist light switching, as I try to fit every single song in the world into its rightful list.

In fact, I’m now leaving this page to go off and start the ‘items of clothing’ playlist because, people, that is actually a very very good idea.

spotify:user:rebelyael:playlist:03xBZesqCFBy91uvW87fqj

Zero cocking excuses

There is absolutely no acceptable reason for not blogging now. Being ‘out’ used to be a good one, ‘sorry I didn’t blog today, went down the shops’, but that doesn’t wash anymore. I can post from my pc, iPad or iPhone, the three of them pretty much covering any location I could pretend to be while I’m actually just watching a bit of tele.

WordPress now cockily informs me that with a bit of plugin fuckery I can also blog from Facebook, spotify, Instagram and twitter, so now even literally doing something else isn’t a sick note for a missed day on the blog. There’s only one valid reason for not blogging these days and that is you have nothing to say.

Here’s a photo of a cappuccino and a cornetto.

20130506-234342.jpg

Note to self

I want to go back and shout COMMAS very loudly in 35 year old Yael’s face.

Hey, that’s quite fun actually. Let’s run with this…

HEY YOU, FATSO, YES, YOU THERE, STEP AWAY FROM THE DOUGHNUTS.

GIRLFRIEND, IS THAT A MAN YOU GOT LIVING ALL UP IN YOUR HOUSE??

PLEASE, BITCH, DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING WITH YOUR HAIR.

…and breathe.

Zamir returns.

image

Right you lucky people, I’m resurrecting this. 
Things are a lot different round these parts, but my love of the list endures. Here’s one about how life changes in 6 years.
  • I don’t weigh 100 kilos, my hair is not blonde and I’ve mostly got over the need to start every sentence with ‘In England we…’
  • See that fat faced adorable baby type thing I carried round everywhere? I seem to have misplaced it…hang on…
  • Instead of making home made baby food, I now smoke and play loud music. That, my friends is what I call progress.
So, If I promise not to leave it another 6 years, would you believe me?
Monochrome Mule

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