bamboozle
[this post is dedicated to our last remaining reader]
i created the “challenge the diva” competition so long ago that i don’t remember even why but what the hell, it’s a new year. so here goes…
1. to cheat; mislead
2. to confuse
[of unknown origin]
bamboozler n
bamboozlement n
i want to make a philosophical observation with this post (because that’s the kind of diva i am). life is weird. yep, that’s it. life is weird. as you know, dear reader, i am a working person now. strange as it might sound, i have joined the milling masses and now spend a 1/12 of my life (don’t forget the name of the band) on public transport, a 1/3 of my life slaving away for pocket money and another 1/3 asleep (well, that’s an exageration but i can’t do fractions). that leaves… about an hour a day to do things i enjoy.
people. we have been misled! we have been cheated. all the films we watch tell us to “seize the day”, to “embrace life”, to “live life to the fullest”. and how the f*@%ing hell are we supposed to do this in the one hour we have between the washing, cooking, cleaning our teeth, getting ready to go to work, winding down after work, shopping (boring grocery shopping not the good kind), staring into space unsure whether we’re actually still breathing and worrying about all the things we failed to do by not “seizing the f*@%#ing day.
life is a big fat bamboozler and i am full of bamboozlement.
there. it’s done. the silence is broken and i can breathe a sigh of relief that i’ve returned to the blog. and now i’ve used up 15 minutes of “seizing” time and you’ve spent 2 and half minutes of yours reading this nonsense.
enjoy!
and by the way…
a very happy new year.
spam spam spam spam spam
just deleted 153 spam messages… we’ve never been so popular!
although, who knew there was “spam lite”, “spam hot and spicy”, “spam garlic”, “spam hawaii”, “spam bbq”, “spam with less sodium”, “spam hickory smoke” and “spam with freakin’ cheese”…
i was born in the wrong decade… thank goodness
(and who the hell says ” it’s porkfantastic” and lives to tell the tale? obviously only the masterminds behind spam…)
*crawls back under duvet and awaits the end of the world*
commuting is crap
commuting brings out the very worst in people. there is a sort of madness that descends on that daily schlep to and from work. if i leave the house about 15 minutes before i really need to, my journey is not too bad. sometimes i can even sit down the whole way! sadly, human beings are not sensible and the snooze button on my alarm is a constant temptation. so i generally leave on time. and that’s the big mistake… to leave at exactly the right time to get to the office at 9am. oh my god! who knew such rudeness could even be thought of at that time of the morning.
everyone seems to think that they are a gift to the world of work and that somehow they would be missed (or even remembered) when they arrive 30 seconds late. this leads people to the very precipice of insanity. as if pushing on to the train that is belching people off onto the platforms, is going to somehow speed things up. that as soon as his or her royal highness has got on, the train will slam the doors closed and speed them to their destination without stopping at another station.
then there are those who seem to be oblivious to the fact that they are standing on your foot. how can you not notice that you are standing on my foot! and then when you pull your foot out from under their hoof and go “ow”, they either look at you as if you’ve gone completely barking or give you that look that says “how could you inconvenience me by jamming your foot under mine?”
then there are those who are all too aware of where they’re shoving their body parts. i always have my bag strap across my chest, with the bag itself firmly covering my girl bits. we run the risk of pregnancy and venereal disease with every journey. what is it about wht, wandering hand trouble, that has made men believe that it is acceptable in any way at all. are they not in control of their extremities in the same way as we are? do they imagine we like it!? females traveling on the tube should be issued with handcuffs and there should be special wht rails in every carriage. what a fine collection of pervs we’d have by the end of rush hour.
there is an urge to be individual and assert your unique and special personality at all times but it is not recommended while commuting. one sassy sex kitten can hold up the flow of traffic for hours. put your clothes on girl and get with the programme.
and on a final note, and i’ll probably get a deluge, well maybe one, of letters of complaint, please please please invest in some toiletries. a roll-on deodorant costs less than a kebab and will save you having a pong that a skunk would be proud of. thank you.
off to catch the tube…
ps no tube today or thursday due to national strikes… commuting is crap
tell me why, i don’t like mondays
since starting a proper job, almost three weeks ago (!), i’ve noticed something odd about the days of the week. they have taken on certain significances that are very different to the ones of a professional diva.
mondays are filled with dread and loathing, mingled with deep regret at having spent the precious weekend lolling in front of the telly box.
tuesdays are hideous mood swings. between feeling lucky at having an actual job and wanting to jump out of the nearest window.
wednesday midday. the optimists are feeling smug that half the week is gone. the pessimists are reaching for the vodka due to the indisputable fact that half the week is still to come.
thursdays.
ugh.
almost there but still a long way to go. a mistake on thursday could mean a weekend spoiled.
or (blessed are the optimists) that there’s tomorrow to fix it.
friday.
friday,friday,friday.
how we love friday. friday is the day when you turn round and say ” what the fuck. it can’t possibly be worse by monday”
“two days off”
“at last”
breathe
slow down
friday evening…
don’t fall asleep… or you might not wake up until monday. enjoy.
enjoy!
fucking enjoy!!!!!
saturday.
oh. my. god.
two days off.
why the fuck am i awake at 6.30am?
bugger
sunday.
peaceful sunday… shit work tomorrow…what time is it? sunday movies. what time does the last one fini…sh..shhhh
shit!
monday!
*@$#!!*#@$!%$@#$$!##@$$@#
hospital reunion
we had one of the oddest band reunions ever yesterday. we met at andreas’s hospital bedside! he’s in relatively good spirits, considering he has metal bars sticking out of his leg. we joked about canceling the world tour and to be honest, we’re all quite relieved not to have to live out of suitcases for the next 6 months.
but joking aside, he’s ok and we are all relived that it wasn’t even more serious. he was wearing a helmet and all the proper gear. there’s a lesson in there kiddies. the most serious problem he’s facing now is the boredom. i’ll have to see if i can persuade him to write something here once in a while. he’s going to totally slaughter me on mafia wars if i don’t watch out. have to distract him from that!
a trillion dollar problem
so i was doing a search for “bad mathematics” (as you do) and the third result down was “bad mathematics: a trillion dollar problem” well, blow me over with a feather. we don’t have a bean to share between us but we are probably responsible for much of the present financial crisis. tell you what… give us the trillion and we’ll go away! problem solved.
the article is actually comparing the mathematics portrayed in films and “real mathematics”. it’s a long article and i fell asleep a quarter of the way through, so if you’re interested you’ll have to go over there and read it. it has 23 facebook likes, which is more than the sum total of likes our blog has ever had. i will be writing a long email to the egghead author, mr mcgowen, to see if we can come to some arrangement. the poor man. he seemed to be quite worked up.
twitter twaddle
do any of you use twitter?
if you are asking ‘what the hell is twitter?” then you probably don’t use it, although those of us who do could ask ourselves the same question.
basically, it is a social networking system that allows you to send and read people’s “tweets” which are text messages of up to 140 characters. in a nutshell, it’s your facebook status without all the other paraphernalia.
over 100 million people use it, mostly for very dull and pointless purposes. but there are some people (very, very few) who are able to be genuinely amusing in 140 characters. perhaps the most famous is stephen fry (mentioned in the previous post). the woman who claims to be his wife and mother of his 5 or 6 children, mrs stephen fry, is perhaps even funnier (she also has a blog). another bastion of british comedy, john cleese is still alive and twatting like a loon. the fucking queen is amusing but not amused. and god has a sense of humour, believe it or not. shit my dad says is worth joining twitter for but one of my absolute favorites has to be the funniest dog on the planet, bLoOMeRrOoNeY. she’s the only person (or animal) who merits using capital letters on this blog.
and there’s the dilemna. you cannot enjoy the pearls of nonsense on twitter unless you actually join and most people really don’t want to bother with any more internet crap. but if you do want to broaden your horizons beyond facebook, twitter can be fun and has also broken news before some of the major news channels. tweeple knew about the earthquake in haiti long before the msm picked it up and when the icelandic volcano trapped travellers all over europe, twitter was invaluable for hooking up and sharing rides to get home.
so if you need more entertainment but have the attention span of a gnat, join us and lots of other silly people on twitter. and don’t blame me if you get addicted. i’m sure there’s an online therapy group for tweetaholism and twitterhea.
happy tweeting…
songs for gay dogs
yesterday, i was cruising around facebook, feeling very grumpy that everyone seems to be on holiday and decided to write a post today about how social media is ruining my life. however, this morning vishy showed me a link to “the most ridiculous album covers of all time” at the huffington post and it restored my faith in the internet’s ability to enrich our existence. the record cover above had me giggling like a five year old. so i thought i’d get creative and come up with the first 5 album titles for bad mathematics:
1: tits and souvlaki
this came out of a very productive and silly meeting with major tom at our house. on his way in he picked up one of those sad leaflets that get thrown at your door on a regular basis. it was for a local kebab place and featured a very well-endowed girl who seemed to be riding a giant souvlaki. a fantastic failure of everything that is design but inspiration for the muddled mind of a diva.
2: cassi and her communist sisters
this is a long-standing joke between the members of the band. people always pick out the frontperson and assume that everyone else is hanging about in the background for effect and don’t actually do anything creative. nothing could be further from the truth in the case of bad mathematics but it does make a great title.
3: f#@&! s*&@$!?*!go** ?ki***
over the years, in our endless battle with language, we have developed a kind of nonsense gringlish half-witted vocabulary which we all sort of understand, although andreas is the master. he has the ability to reel off a diatribe at break-neck speed and then turn round and ask us what the hell he just said. fantastic.
4: pornography
one of the most popular bad mathematic’s songs, thanks in part (i suspect) to the title. we have never been known to shy away from controversy even going as far as making most of it up. so what the hell, let’s go straight for the censors with this one.
5: bad mathematics greatest hits or the best of bad mathematics
i think we should release this one first so that we can win the “tackiest band you’ve never heard of” award. how brilliant would that be ?
vote for your favorite title or come up with some of your own in the comments. surely you have nothing better to do on this fine tuesday…
totty talk
there has been a lot of talk in the bad mathematics posse about totty. what is totty, you might ask yourself if you live on the other side of the pond ? here is the urban dictionary definition
(british informal) people, especially women, collectively considered as sexual objects
let’s set the record straight once and for all. totty might be talked about (loudly) on a regular basis by the male species but us girls talk about totty just as much. we just don’t talk about it with you.
there seems to be a misconception that girls talk about boys in terms of future husband material. will they be a good provider ? will they be dependable ? will they be faithful ? of course, this is utter bollocks. we talk about men in the same way as men talk about women. have they got a nice botty ? will they be good in bed ? in general, (and this is a generalisation. as are all my ramblings) we are not attracted by bank accounts any more than men are attracted by our cooking abilities.
no. we want totty. and we want to be able to talk about totty without feeling like a man-eating bitch from hell. i’m not advocating panting and drooling in the street. that’s just nasty. just an appreciation and acceptance that human beings find certain other human beings totally tottylicious.
back when our parents were young (for those of us born earlier than the bloody eighties), women were supposed to wait around for a suitor to choose them, date for a respectable amount of time, get hitched and then spend their married life lying back and thinking of england. surely times have changed? perhaps not as much as we’d like to think. nice girls are still not supposed to chase the boys like rampant little bunnies. we’re not supposed to get all hot and bothered when we see a bit of man totty. but we do. but we only talk about it with our girlfriends.
what i suggest is that instead of getting angry and upset at the menfolk talking about us as being hot, lets be more open about what we find hot. let’s get that dirty laundry out and shake it about in public.
men like to be considered to be totty. most of my male friends would give their left testicle to be thought of as totty. why don’t we tell them they’re delicious and how about a romp in the sack ? we’ve been told that they won’t respect us if we do. this is a lie. men who don’t respect women don’t respect them anyway. whether they sleep with them or not. real men love women and love women who know what they want and go out and get it even more.
so let’s talk about totty. what turns us on? what turns us off ? which bits drive us mad with lust ? who’s your fave totty at the moment ? i’ll start…
i like nothing better than a nice tight backside. men who are well-toned but not built-up. large but elegant hands. i don’t really have a “type”. i’m the girl who had a major crush on jack dee and also fancies johnny depp and al pacino. i once saw john malkovich on stage and not only nearly fell over the balcony, i’m pretty sure i did dribble on the patrons below. fave totty at the moment… warwick brown (gary dourdan from csi). phew! damn… those eyes!
it’s about 35degrees over here, going on 45 now. time for a cool shower.
let’s have some totty talk in the comments……
silly, silly people
i am rather shocked today. i was innocently surfing about (wishing there was some actual sea involved) and came across several lists of stupid 999 calls and, of course, i immediately wanted to share this idiocy with my six readers. so here we go with my top ten in no particular order.
Caller: My wife’s left me two salmon sandwiches which was left over from last night… and I’m a sat in the chair here and she’s out there decorating. She won’t put any food on or anything for anybody, I don’t know what….
Caller: Hello… I know this is gonna sound stupid but a pigeon’s been run over… and I’ve got no money to phone the RSPCA or anything…
Caller: I want to know what year the internet first came out I can’t remember.
Caller: Hi. I’m next to the M32, city centre… there’s an M32 city centre sign. Can you inform Animal Rescue that there’s a grey squirrel with no hazelnut trees please.”
Caller: The emergency is… I am at Lockleaze… and I would like to get home…
Caller: There’s no emergency except that there are no buses in Crow Lane…
Caller: Well, I don’t know who to call. Can you tell me how to cook a turkey? I?ve never cooked one before.
Caller: I’m in Huntingdon, looking for Homebase and I can’t find it.
Caller: “I’ve dropped the remote down the back of the settee and I need someone to change the television channel.”
Caller:“I’ve had a dream that I was unconscious and I’ve just collapsed.”
while it’s generally very amusing to poke fun at the foolishness of people, i am disturbed that people with genuine emergencies often complain about not being able to get through to 999. what am i supposed to do next time there’s a spider in the bath?
stupid baby names
it’s been a while since i wrote any nonsense here and much has happened in the world. not that i noticed while it was happening. the big news was that chelsea clinton got married to some bod called marc. no idea when mark came to be spelled with a “c” or when it became acceptable to name your child after an area in london but there you go. people are strange. in other celebrity news, alicia keys married someone called swizz beatz and now we have a silly name competition on our hands. the prize used to be held by the artist formally known as prince who became this unpronounceable symbol
jordan and peter andre called their daughter princess tiaamii, poor child. life is hard enough for kids without inflicting ridiculous names on them too. but they didn’t start this cutesy nauseating trend. bob geldof and paula yates should be held partly accountable for fifi trixibell (and paula again for heavenly hiraani tiger lily with michael hutchence) but they are not the worst offenders. here’s my list of the worst of the worst:
shannyn sossamon (i had to look up who the hell she was!) called her boy, audio science.
geri halliwell settled on blue angel for her girl? boy?
arthur ashe’s boy(?) is called camera.
david duchovny and tea leoni skipped the thinking up names bit and went straight for kyd.
jermaine jackson continued the rampant insanity in the jackson family and called one of his kids jermajesty
but i think the prize has to go to mr frank zappa who cursed his children with the names moon unit, dweezil and diva muffin
i should point out that my name, cassi with an “i” is not to be included in this diatribe about silly names. it is a unique and rather beautiful name, befitting of a diva but if i was having to name a child these days, i’d go for something that would really stand out like george or mary. the naming equivalent of not having a tattoo or having real boobs.
what’s the silliest name you’ve heard?
