Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Keep your hair on... unlike one Michael Bolton.

So - it would seem that my love for one Michael Bolton has divided the masses. As in, I love him, and every one of you seem to think that he's nothing more than a singing perm who wears his trousers too high in the waist. OK - so I was reading between the lines there, but suffice it to say that you're not too enamoured with the smooth sultry sounds of Mr Bolton.

I've loved Mr Bolton since I was 14. My friend Martin gave me a taped copy of Soul Provider. Yes - tape. Remember those!? Anyway. He gave me a copy of this album, and i thought it was magic. I used to listen to it ALL the time. It drove everybody round the bend. I used to play it as I drifted off to sleep, falling in to one big MB dream. One particular dream... where he came chapping at my door in a pair of jeans and a white muslin shirt that showed off his muscular silhouette and his nipples. I know I being graphic with the description - but seriously... this one dream was SO vivid. His long hair (as it was back in the day) tied back in a sleek pony tail, which emphasised his chiseled jaw bone and framed his porcelain veneers. He asked my mum if I was coming out, and he whisked me away to have dinner in Pizza Hut. (He knew how to treat a girl.) Then he got up in the middle of the 'restaurant' and sang How Am I Supposed to Live Without You. Cut to me, back at school and being the envy of all the girls, as the story had hit the newspapers and I was 'the girl that had captured MB's heart'.


Aye.... so I was a tad obsessed by the Bolton love. And then my 15th birthday only fanned the flames of MB passion. My parents bought me a ticket to go and see him in concert! And they had to pay for another ticket for my friend to come along too, cos she wasn't too willing to part with any cash to go and see him!? She was in to Curtis Stigers, who was really the poor man's version of MB, so it made sense for this girl to come with me.


It was a great concert. Though we were the only ones there that were throwing our trainer bras at him. Everyone else was throwing support tights and incontinence knickers. The age divide was huge. We were in a sea of middle aged women. Though somehow, his music brought us all together. The age divide melted away as we all waved our arms in the air and sang along to Steel Bars. (Still my fave, by the way..)


From then on, I bought my own new copies of MB albums. I was a die hard fan. Besides - if I didn't buy his albums, how was he to afford the muslin shirts and the Pizza Hut bills?!


Then, a few years ago, Robbie gave me a couple of tickets to see him in concert again. I was over the moon! Then, come to find out that he was leaving me high and dry to go and see some Rangers football game (it was the Champion's League... apparently some big deal) and he made me go with somebody else! RUDE!


This time it was weird though. I was the one with the incontinence knickers and support tights. I was one of the many middle aged women. And I was still shouting for Steel Bars. Though this time I wasn't so star struck. I think he lost some of his je ne sais quoi when he cut off his locks. Like Samson. He lost a certain something. Or maybe it was the fact that he just kept singing all his new hits that I hadn't heard. I wanted the old school stuff! I wanted to hear Time Love and Tenderness! A little bit of Giorgia on my Mind! I was just about to leave mid way through his concert when he EVENTUALLY sang Steel Bars. But as soon as he'd sang it, I was off.


I felt kind of guilty, like I was betraying a friend. I mean - we had history. But.. maybe I'm not the die hard fan I thought I was. I mean - die hard fans would be out buying every single album ever released and know every single song and send birthday cards and teddy bears and would feel genuinely sad/happy to hear of his break up with Nicolette.


I think I'm more of the Greatest Hits album kind of fan. You know - the type of person who only has Greatest Hits compilations in their CD tower.


Michael - Love is a Wonderful Thing. I love your jaw, your hair, your abs, your muslin shirts and your choice of eateries. Just not any of your stuff after The One Thing.


Thursday, 23 October 2008

Yes, more about me.

Well my life is pretty boring right now. Well, to be fair, it usually is, but I just can't muster the energy to make it sound interesting or funny. So, I was glad when my blogging buddy Shannon tagged everybody who wanted to be tagged. Cos now I don't have to tell you about my 'run' in the wind and rain. And believe you me... you don't want to know.

So - 7 random and /or weird facts.

1. I have no big toenails. I told you I'd tell you about it at some point. I used to get ingrown toenails all the time, and would go to get them cut out, and then they'd just end up growing back in the wrong way, and I'd be back at square one. Eh... by the way- this is not a cute story. In fact, it's pretty sick Just a heads up. But you know you want to know about it.
Anyhoo. I eventually decided to go for the op where they rip off your whole nail, and shove acid down your cuticle to make sure they never grow back again. I went, the anaesthetic didn't work properly and I could feel almost everything. And then, as some kind of 'prize' for sitting through the pain, they gave me my toenails in a specimen cup - some kind of macabre trophy. I kept them for a couple of days, just to gross out Robbie, then I had to say goodbye to them cos he threatened to leave me if I didn't hahaha.

2. I was an EFY counsellor during the summer of 1999. I got to go to Indiana, Alaska, Utah, Wyoming and Idaho. It was great being able to see so much of the States, cos I'd never been before and I haven't been since:( But sometimes the kids couldn't understand my accent, and kept getting me to say lines from So I Married an Axe Murderer. So at the start of one session, I just out on this terrible American accent. Terrible in that I'm quite sure I didn't sound American... more like Russian. They all took it in, and nobody suspected a thing! Maybe i was good after all! But then I forgot to speak in my phony accent and just started talking properly and everybody thought I was putting on some rubbish Scottish accent. One cheeky kid even said that his impersonation of a Scot was better than mine. In the end, I had to show them my passport to prove my nationality. Punks :)

3. I went through a crazy stage when I was 17 and got my ears pierced a few times. 9 holes in one ear and seven in the other. I don't know what kind of look I was going for - but I thought I was cool. Though when I wore hooped earrings and the wind blew, I couldn't hear a thing - the noise was so loud..

4. I won a prize in primary school for growing a hyacinth bulb. I even got my picture in the local paper, standing next to the mayor. Clearly there was nothing else going on in the neighbourhood that week, if the mayor and I made it to the front page. And the thing is, I always had such a guilty conscious about it, because I found some kind of plant food in the garage and put a couple of drops on my budding plant. I felt like if it had gone for some kind of drugs test, it would've failed and would've been stripped of it's winning title. But I wasn't about to give up my new found fame, so I just suppressed my feelings of guilt.

5. I absolutely LOVE Friends. The show. I was so sad when it finished. And I still watch the reruns. All the time. Though the only one I can't watch is the one where Ross cheats on Rachel with the girl from the copy place. I just don't like it. And I don't particularly like Emily in the series either. She gets on my goat. My favourite episodes are when Eddie comes to stay with Chandler, and the one where Monica goes to Barbados and her hair is a riot because of the humidity. For some reason, I could really relate. And I fancy Chandler. And has anyone noticed he's missing the top of his middle finger? Look out for that one, and if anyone knows why he's only got a half a middle finger, I'd really like to know!

6. My favourite ice cream is Ben and Jerry's Half Baked. I don't think I need to expand on that one. Though my back end has expanded because of it...

7. I love Michael Bolton. He is my Soul Provider. I've seen him twice in concert, and have sung my heart out to Steel Bars. Don't judge me. Join me. He is a legend. So was his hair.

So... there you have it. A couple of random thought s for you all. Feel like you know me a little better? Feel like never coming back to my blog now that you know about Michael Bolton?

And my 7 people to tag are Melissa, Jen, Carol, Jill, Liann, Julie and Heidi. Go on - you know you want to!

Sunday, 19 October 2008

Barry! I can't quite breathe!

I found this 'news' story on the BBC website. I LOVE the Bee Gees. And I've found a good reason for proving that loving them is truly life saving...


Bee Gees hit could save your life


US medics have found the Bee Gees' 1977 hit Stayin' Alive is an ideal beat to follow to perform chest compressions on a victim of a cardiac arrest.
Research says it contains 103 beats per minute, close to the recommended rate of 100 chest compressions per minute.
An author of the study said many people were put off performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR)as they were not sure about keeping the correct rhythm.
He said CPR could triple cardiac arrest survival rates when performed properly.
The study by the University of Illinois College of Medicine saw 15 doctors and students performing CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) on mannequins while listening to Stayin' Alive. They were asked to their time chest compressions with the beat.
Five weeks later, they did the same drill without the music, but were told to think of the song while doing compressions.
The average number of compressions the first time was 109 per minute; the second time it was 113 - more than recommended by the American Heart Association, but better than too few, according to Dr Matlock.
"It drove them and motivated them to keep up the rate, which is the most important thing," he told the Associated Press.
A spokesman for the American Heart Association, Dr Vinay Nadkarni, said it had been using Stayin' Alive as a training tip for CPR instructors for about two years, although it was not aware of any previous studies that tested the song.




Now all I really need is for Barry Gibb to rock up in his close fitting spandex trousers. (Seriously - did someone spray paint those on him!? Cos that's a job that I would love!!) Him to rock up, while I was having some kind of respiratory problem. Not that I'm willing poor health upon myself, but just an excuse for Baz to look in to my eyes and sing Stayin Alive.


Don't be fooled - this isn't Barbara Streisand with the Bazmeister. It's me after doing the school walk in the rain.

Friday, 17 October 2008

Sneaky Reader

I went to my pit last night at about 9.30pm I was just too tired to sit up and entertain myself by reading funny blogs and making nasty comments on people's Facebook walls. Cos that really is what I do to entertain myself :)


So when Haw came to bed, it was nearly midnight. (He gets called Haw after Rab Ha' (pronounced haw), the famous Glasgow greedy guts.) He made such a din coming to bed, the theatrical sighs, the constant coughing, the incessant rustling of the covers...


Me: "WHAT IS IT ROBBIE???!!!"


Robbie: "So you're awake then?"


Me: "I am now, you inconsiderate so and so." (OK - so I've toned down the language for you all, but you can imagine my choice of words after being woken up by a noisy imbecile who thinks it amusing to see how in the space of a few short hours my hair has become what looks like a retreat for hibernating guinea pigs.)


Robbie: "Well, do you want to know why I'm late to bed? (he doesn't even wait for an answer - he knew I wasn't in the least bit interested.) I found your blog and read it all.


Cut to me and my crazy bed head sitting upright in bed staring at him in mute disbelief.


Now, obviously my blog is out there in the webby world for all to see. And I'm glad you all come by and have a wee read and even happier when you leave a comment. (While we're on this subject - why is it SO good to get comments?!)


But when he told me he'd been reading my blog, I felt invaded! I mean... there were comments about him in there. And now he keeps on reciting the ONE nice comment I made about him in my last post about how I love him "Enormously".


See? That's what happens when I'm nice to the boy. It gets slapped in my face. That's why I need to keep him on his toes by not being too kind and loving all the time:)


But I did find it odd to have him read my blog. I mean... he knows me. And I suppose you all do to an extent:) But it's different, cos I could be be painting myself as one hot chica that is super talented and a complete wonder woman, and you'd all have to believe me, cos... well, how would you know if I were lying? FYI.... I AM one hot chica and super talented and a complete wonder woman. ;)


Is it weird though that I almost confide in people that I've never met - may never meet, or people that don't see me at all often? Why is it OK for you read my blog and not my husband?! Why do I LOVE to read your comments on my blog, but wince when I hear Robbie's comments on it!?


Anyway... all random questions. He's not reading it again. He won't want to. COS IF YOU'RE READING THIS, HAW, I'VE GOT SOME PICS THAT I DON'T THINK YOU'LL WANT TO HAVE FLOATING AROUND THE WEB...



Don't worry folks - they're only ghastly pics of him when he was a teenager. Nothing too bad ;)


Tuesday, 14 October 2008

The ladies have been brought to justice

Well it would seem that attending Fat Club has it's positives after all. I had the unnerving opportunity to go for a professional bra fitting the other day. (As opposed to the unprofessional bra fitting??) And it would seem that the ladies are getting smaller.

The last time I went for a fitting was YEARS ago. I think the last time I went was when I was 18. And after being back for another one, I remembered why it took me so long to go back for another one.

The lady showed me in to a changing room and asked me to strip to my waist but keep my 'lady hammock' on. OK.. she didn't call it that, but I'm shy about using the actual word. :)

So.. I quickly took my t-shirt off and then I caught a glimpse of myself in the unforgiving mirror. From all angles. HEINOUS. So then I quickly tried to pull up my jeans to try and tuck in any excesses of chub in to my waist band, and tried a few different poses, to see what pose best minimised the sight of my stretch marks on my belly (blinking babies....). And then suddenly the curtain was yanked back, leaving me in full view of a couple of young girls, who were outside the changing room, waiting for their mum. No doubt the sight of me will haunt them for years to come.

The woman came in, and gave me a quick measure - and I was so caught off guard by her cold tape that I didn't use any of my poses. She would've clocked my escaping chub and my rippled belly in all it's 'glory'.

So, she told me what size she thought I should be, and I was pleasantly surprised cos it was a lot smaller than I thought I was. I mean, they're still embarrassingly big. And not in a good way. Seriously. But I was revelling in the fact that I wouldn't be able to do my party piece of checking to see if my bra would fit me by putting it on my head.

She asked me if I wanted to try on a few bras to check the size. I said sure, still feeling great about my smaller bust line.

She came back with a few different hammocks. And stood in the cubicle with me as she waited for me to try them on.

Em.... now, I'm not a prude, and hell, I have no dignity left after having 3 kids. But I did come over all shy all of a sudden. I mean... I don't put a bra on in a savoury manner. There is a lot of bending over and tipping in. That's all I'm saying. But she stood there while I was contorting all over the place trying to get changed. Yikes. She must've been horrified. Cos I was.

But once that feat of engineering was on, I was amazed. No longer would I lose things down that cleavage again. That's how good the hammock was. I could go on explaining why I thought it was so good, but won't... just in case there's a creepy guy reading this.

Though I nearly choked on my underwire when it came to pay for this miracle garment... Though, can you put a price on an amazing rack?




NB. I have never had any small winged things in my bra ... without me realising it... in case there was any confusion - I am NOT that girl that Carol was talking about.... Now that really would've been an experience for the ladies...

Thursday, 9 October 2008

Anniversary? Must we celebrate it? :(


Robbie and I will be married 9 years this December. And though I may bad mouth the boy, I do love him. Enormously. And in my defence, he really asks for the bad mouthing. He likes it. He responds to it. I like it. I respond to it.


Anyway. We were discussing out upcoming anniversary. More like I was asking what we were going to be doing to celebrate it. And I always ask with a hint of suspicion and dread. And no wonder.


For our first anniversary, Robbie decided to surprise me and organised a weekend in Glencoe - a beautiful part in the Scottish highlands. We stayed in a hotel called the Kings House Hotel. He'd taken advice from folk at his work, who'd all said that this place was really romantic, and that it had a big roaring fire, that the staff were lovely and the rooms clean and that the scenery was breathtaking.


Of course, you know that I'm going to tell you that those were all LIES. No... actually - the scenery is beautiful up there. Though when we went, it was the dead of winter, with only a few hours of daylight. So, most of the scenery went unseen.


To put it bluntly, our first anniversary ended up being a bit guff. We drove up to Glencoe in about 2 hours. With no windscreen pump in our car. It had broken just before we made our trip, so it meant that every so often, we'd had to pull over and spray the windscreen with the only 'liquid' we had in the car... de-icer. The roads were muddy and for once, when rain would have been welcome, it was a dry day, so the trips to the lay by were plentiful.


Anyway - we got up there, and by then it was about 3 in the afternoon, so it was already nearly dark. We could just see the outline of the mountains of Glencoe and no more. But we were staying up there for an entire weekend, so we figured we'd sight see then next day.


The first sign that this was going to be a cack weekend was the fact that the Scottish tourist board had only awarded this hotel 2 stars (out of a possible 5.) And yet despite this miserly award, they displayed a plaque with their paltry 2 stars at the main entrance. The main entrance with the broken glass window and the overwhelming smell of dog hitting you as you walked in.


Down a narrow hallway, past glass cases full of dead wildlife, immortalised forever by a seriously unskilled taxidermist. Past a main reception room with a fireplace featuring a poxy little glow of a fire. This was meant to be the romantic roaring fire that had been described by the pathological liars at Robbie's work.


On to the reception where we waited behind some serious mountain climbers. They had all the gear hanging off them - ropes, sleeping bags, walking poles, cramp-ons.. I suddenly felt out of place, as I rocked up to the reception with my high heeled boots on and faux leather jacket and eyelashes primped and lacquered in mascara.


Anyway. Some woman with a knitted sweater showed us to our room. Room. A room. For that was all it was. Oh, and a bed. With some bogging sheets. OK... OK... Let's be fair. We did have an en suite. I mean, I don't want to make out that the room was all that bad. We had a bed, some 'bedding' and a bathroom, which featured a toilet, a bath and a sink. No shower. And no telly. And no shower cap!


We were in for a loooooooong weekend. And it was a long weekend. We actually went in to Fort William the next day, which was the nearest 'town' and tried to find a shop that sold board games and books, so that we could occupy ourselves. We found a WHSmith where we bought a couple of newspapers with lots of supplements and a quiz book. A bumper edition quiz book. They had no board games though :(


We stayed at that hotel for two whole nights. And as soon as we opened our eyes on our day of departure, we got the hell out of there.


That weekend taught me a few things. I'm a girl who likes her comforts. Comforts that include a shower, a clean bathroom (I daren't start on the state of the bathroom), a telly, some daylight, a windscreen pump, a roaring fire and honest work mates.
It also taught me that I'm a miserable so and so, and completely ungrateful. But that's OK. I don't mind :)
But it does concern me that Robbie says he's planning a nice anniversary this year... Hopefully he's just going to treat me with a meal at Pizza Hut. At the buffet. With free drinks re-fills. And an ice cream machine where the ice cream flows as much as my heaving gut will allow.
So here's to 9 years, Rab. This year I'll be grateful. I promise.
As long as it's good.

Monday, 6 October 2008

To love and to cherish...

How rude. Robbie looked in to my eyes(non mascara-ed eyes.. he went to work with my make up bag in the car. Feel my pain as the realisation of a day without any features swept over me) and as I braced myself for a loving comment, he said




"what's with your hair today? It's kind of..."




me (quickly trying to intercept with excuses before he has to go on, trying to find words to explain my inexplicable barnet): "I washed it last night, and went to bed while it was still wet... I've tried to straighten it...




Rob: "yeah.. it's ...kind of.."




Me:"what? what? It's kind of what?" Thinking to myself, that if Robbie's noticed there's something amiss with my do, then it really must be bad.




Rob: "well, you kinda look like a psycho hose beast."




Well, there's really no comeback from that one.




So at the precise moment that I'm typing this post, my scalp is ringing with the sting of hair dye, and I shall be up to the wee small hours trying to sculpt a style in to this Medusa-inspired hairdo.




Wish me luck.

Sunday, 5 October 2008

For my friend Kristy

This post is for my friend Kristy. Kristy and I were missionary companions in Leicester (England) in 1998.. (can't believe it's that long ago! ): ) She was great! We had the best time and worked hard, but we only got to spend 6 weeks together!! I was quite upset about that, cos she really was great to be around, and was so loving to other people and concerned for their welfare. She taught me a lot. She really is one of the nicest people you could ever wish to meet.

She emailed me last night to tell me about her adoption plans. So I thought I'd post her details on my blog, in the hope that somebody might read it and know someone that may be able to help/need help..

Here's her email to me,


Hello to all of our family and friends,

We are very excited to ask for your help in passing along our adoption information. We have been working diligently for the past few years searching for a birthmother who desires to make an adoption plan. Through your help in sharing our information, we hope to find our birthmother.

Please click on the link below to view our on-line profile, which contains information about us, photographs, and our contact information.


ChrisandKristy

By looking at our profile you are able to see how we are presenting ourselves, however you also have the opportunity to help us in a much greater way. The more people who know about us, the better it is for us. We would be ever greatful if you would do a great service for us and forward this email to everyone that you know and ask them to look at it and forward it onto everyone they know. Even if you think we may have already sent this to a mutual friend, please send it on anyway. It may be helpful to include a short personal message when forwarding it on.

Our goal here is to find even one birthmother who will consider us. Chances are that one of you knows someone who is related to someone who works with someone who went to college with someone who has a friend… (you get the idea) who knows someone looking to make an adoption plan. We've seen this work many times before and know that others can help us connect with a birthmother. Please feel free also to add our link to your blog and/or myspace/facebook pages.

If for some reason the link above doesn't work, you can search for our profile (ChrisandKristy) at
www.itsaboutlove.org, click "Search Adoption Profiles" and type in "ChrisandKristy". Thank you in advance for your willingness to pass this on. This means so much to us. We have an amazingly strong desire to start our family and it's through the beautiful act of adoption that our dreams will come true. Miracles happen every day. Thanks for being part of our miracle.

Love,

Chris & Kristy



I hope that Kristy and Chris are able to find a family of their own that they're able to love. Please send on this info to all you may know... just in case their information reaches the ears of someone out there who is needing to find a loving mother and father for their child.

Friday, 3 October 2008

Golly I'm Jolly with my Trolley Dolly.

Don't be jealous. I mean, not any more than you already are. I know my good looks, fantastic personality and heaving bank account mean I'm probably already at the top of your aspirational/hate list, but I've made my peace with that. It comes with the territory of being so fabulous.



But you've got a new reason to be really jealous. For I have a new bag, you see. And it's not any old guff out of Primark (... though I do heart their bags). It's a Trolley Dolly. And my mummy bought it for me :).







Go on... hate me. But I know when I'm at the checkout, I look the business. Seriously.

Wednesday, 1 October 2008