Music Monday: Little bit of this, little bit of that

I'm tired, it's pouring down with rain, 8.30pm, and I still need to go running. With that said, I am a bit too short on time to lookup and post YouTube videos for this week's music. I've decided to add a playlist, and since no bastard aside from like, one of you, expressed a preference between YouTube vids versus a playlist, a playlist you shall get.

The playlist is a little bit of everything this week:

Horse Feathers - a band from Portland, kind of in the vein of Iron & Wine and Will Oldham. That is to say, a kind of folk/indie/Americana vibe. I know, surprise surprise. I have a particular fondness for the band's name as my Mom, in all seriousness, says "Oh, horsefeathers". For realz.
More info: MySpace

Blitzen Trapper - Coincidentally, they are touring with Horse Feathers and also from Portland. When I first read about this band, I anticipated that it would be a band plagued and defeated by its own self-concious desire to be hip, a la Vampire Weekend or any of the innumerable shitty guitar bands to come from Britain lately. However, I can't even describe their sound. All I know is that when I listen to Wild Mountain Nation I swear I'm listening to a song from the Freaks and Geeks soundtrack. As for diversity, listen to Shady Grove as well - it's nothing like the other two Blitzen Trapper songs.
More info: MySpace

The War on Drugs - East Coast!! Philly (reppin'!) to be precise. Sonic Youth mixed with Bruce Springsteen if the Amazon blurb is to be believed. I hear a bit of Dylan too. Whatever it is, I'm digging it. I turn up XPN as loud as I professionally can when "Arms Like Boulders" comes on at work.
More info: MySpace

Florence and the Machine - When I first saw the video for "Kiss with a Fist", I was all, "Whatever Fake Kate Nash, that kooky, mockney shit is played out". HOWEVER, this song has grown on me like some sort of creeping crud and I love it. There, I said it.
More info: MySpace

Charlotte Sometimes - I came across her when surfing my internet radio, which is a lot cooler than it sounds. Kind of mindlessly poppy, but without the guilt. That, and she's hella cute. I hope she's not 16 or something, though I'm guessing from some of the lyrics that she's a bit older. Ok, I've just checked and she's 20 or 24 depending on where you look, which makes my girl crush a bit more acceptable.
More info: Website

Goldenhorse - from New Zealand, home of kiwis, and most importantly, Flight of the Conchords. I don't really know much about them, but they're good for a listen.
More info: Website

If all you see is a big gray box like I do, just click "Pop Out Player" or whatever it says. That should work. It had better work.




In the interest of full disclosure

I think I may be high on endorphins and a great love of "Survivor" by Destiny's Child (sorry Helen), but fuck it - here is that picture of my former fat ass self that I said I couldn't bring myself to put on here. I've just had a good run, my trousers are starting to sit very loosely on my hips, and my thighs are slowly starting to be less likely to create a smell of bacon when I walk.

I cringed having to look at this image whilst defacing my aunt's clownified photo. The rolls, the boobs, the moonpie face, oy vey, what a mess. I'm just able to post it because I know that I'm making progress. This is not me, this was me.

I will probably take this down soon anyway - not because I'm ashamed, because for the first time since I was 19, I'm not. It's largely due to the fact that I call my "boss" nasty names and I have this irrational fear that she'll find me and sit on me with her fat ass. But anyway, no, I'm not terrified that other people will see this photo, so this is me coming out. It's a big step for someone who refuses to look at her work ID through fear of being swallowed by the giant shiny moonpie face within.

People always say that trite, throwaway statement, "If I can do it, anyone can!!" I hate this phrase with a passion, but I'm struggling to come up with another way of stating exactly that. Motivation varies from person to person of course, but for me (as I've mentioned before), I realised that 10 years becomes 20, 20 becomes 30, and before you know it, you're a lumpy, wobbly lady in your twilight years wondering what you could have been. I'm 30, not 60. I want to be able to do this while I still can. Besides, it gives me kick ass preparation for cruiseship shuffleboard.

I just hope that in 35 years "Survivor" picks me up in the same way it does now, because seriously, I could run for miles with a broken leg and a spear through my left eye as long as that song was playing. Destiny's Child, wooo!


In unrelated to fatness news, my girl Cali had some great news today. Lord knows she has suffered enough, so go and tell her how happy you are for her!


Music Monday: Yeah Yeah Yeahs

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are old news, I know, but I keep telling myself it's about time I pick them for this blessed weekly event.

My brother C, a music business major, is my go-to person for all things musical. The Dude is caught up in a cyclone of girl bands (Sugababes) and late 80s adult contemporary(Phil Collins), so discussing contemporary music with him is like assuming P will listen when I tell her to stop scooping poop out of her nappy. That is to say, an exercise in futility.

C cannot stand the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and refers to poor old Karen O as a "cunt". He can not supply any information as to why she deserves this designation, as she does not display any level of cuntishness from what I know of her. She does have a dreadful mushroom haircut, but that hardly makes her worthy of being called the seaward.

Mushroom hair not withstanding, I happen to think the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are pretty damn good. They have a great mix of music you can dance furiously to (in the privacy of your own home), or just sit back and enjoy with a cup of coffee.

For your consideration:


Cheated Hearts (not an actual band video, thanks to all the damn "disabled by request" lack of embedding.

Gold Lion (live on Letterman)

Turn Into


Date with the Night

I'm all giddy now.



My kid is still young, right? Surely I do not actually have a kid capable of saying the following:

Setting - In the kitchen making dinner with The Dude.

P wanders in, then quickly heads out, closing the door as she leaves

"See you next week! I go see Granny. Bye kids!"

door closes

I am now curious if I should ask her if she would care to discuss themes and dominant elements of my current read, Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies.

Just overheard: "I put nappy on. Princess nappy. Sound good? Yes, sound good."

In case you were wondering, this is not a conversation between P and a parent. This is an exchange P has with herself, alone, in her room, sitting on the floor talking to a nappy.

P doesn't deal so much with questions as she does demands. For instance, "Mum get up", "Mum sit down", "Mum be quiet", "Pooed in nappy. CHANGE IT!" and today's personal favourite - "Dad hit Mum pwees". I have no idea where that last one came from, and of course domestic violence is no laughing matter, but it was quite difficult not to smile. Maybe she has visions of me being abused whilst she sits to the side giggling and revelling in the delicious violence she has just induced.

She is fiscally conservative, choosing to take any small amount of money I may have in my wallet and gifting it to her father or asking me to put it in her piggy bank. P will then shake the empty wallet and say, "No hear money", throwing it down on the floor in disgust. I have asked her if perhaps I am able to have my own money back, being as I work full-time and certainly deserve to have an entire £2 in my wallet, to which she always replies, without fail, "No, Dad's money. NO MUM!" It's such a great feeling to be told off by your 2 year old and deprived of your own cash like a child undeserving of her allowance. When there is no money in the wallet to start off with (a frequent occurance), I am told time and time again, "No money in der! Mum, no money in der!", with the wallet waved in my face for extra emphasis on my disappointing poverty.

I often listen to her and think of Pearl. I then kind of want to re-create that sketch in my front room, because there is something indescribably hilarious in inferring that toddlers are demanding, foul-mouthed drunks. I also worry that there wouldn't have to be much of a script, as P seems Pearl-like without even trying.

One can't help loving the Tiny Dictator, or her other self, Carney Folk:

As you have likely recoiled from your computer and pondered taking a hammer to the monitor lest the beast manage to creep out of the screen to chew your face off, this was just a bad photo. Evidence of carney heritage is only mildly evident in a good photo in the form of the ever-present mullet, because as we all know, God loves a mullet.


Le vagin

I was very tired and pissed off whilst at work yesterday, as Twitterites were sadly aware due to my excessive rambling about how very full of rage and hatred I was. As a quick aside, I used to be a reluctant Twitterer, now I'm all over it like I was with Facebook those two weeks eight months ago. I didn't much see the point in Twitter at first, as brevity is no strong suit of mine and those bastards limit you to 140 characters. What sort of effect can be made given such narrow parameters to work with? I've come round now though. Twitter allowed me to type "motherfucker" repeatedly during my homicidal period yesterday, and I would not have had the opportunity to vent in this manner any other way. Twitter also graciously allowed me to twit about the hilarity last week when my sanitary product failed and blood seeped into the front of my trousers. At work. Without me noticing. For over an hour. This is what happens when you don't have a period for 4 months, you forget where the tampon actually goes. I'm kidding. Stop blanching.

Where was I? Oh yes, labia. Oh wait, I hadn't brought that up yet. Anyway, this is why I was tired and therefore a miserable cow yesterday - because of labia. Isn't this always the way? I started to watch this programme and just couldn't stop watching, despite the intensely graphic nature of some of the footage. I can handle seeing random ladies' vaginas, but I perhaps should have looked away during the close up of the motherfucking LABIOPLASTY. Those with sensitive dispositions should read no further. I'm serious. What I'm going to say will make you grab your crotch and wretch. I warned you. Ok - if one has large lips they want made smaller, they just slice those bastards off. Slice. As in, taking the scalpel, starting at the top, and quickly sever the extra skin. One quick flick of the wrist, and you are large labia-free. The doctor in this programme went so far as to wave the separated chunk of skin in the air in the direction of the patient, laughing and saying, "Look! It just shrivels away once you cut it off!" The surgeon was male, you won't be surprised to learn.

The gist of the programme was that vaginal alteration isn't the fun and games you thought it would be. No, you can't have your labioplasty during your lunch break and then engage in a fast-paced game of squash immediately after the procedure. The presenter wanted women to learn to love their labia, which, in some cases, meant going to a retreat, listening to nature sounds and showing your vagina to other women so they could talk you off the surgical ledge. The women sat in a small circle, coaxing each other to lift up skirts and bear the beast, and stories of loving and hating vaginas were exchanged. Oddly enough, though these women were being as personal as one could possibly be, words like "flower" and "nunie" (noo-nee) were used. Here you are, splaying your legs and putting it all out there, yet it's still a place for euphemistic exchange. Bizarre.

I support any woman's desire to improve her self-esteem, even if it means surgery. However, I feel like an outsider on this issue because I have never, even after childbirth, worried about the size of my labia. I accept that the vagina is a many varied creature, some are this way, some are that way. I've never heard of men gossiping about the vagina's appearance. They know that women have a vagina, but men aren't often renowned for their powers of observation. It seems like such an odd concept to me to be so fixated on your vagina's appearance that you are willing to undergo such a painful procedure.

Does anyone care to enlighten me? Is this something you have thought of, or are you labia ambivalent? The amount of vaginal plastic surgery has risen exponentially in the past years, so obviously there are a lot of women out there who are bothered by it. I'm genuinely interested in hearing your views - anonymously if you don't want to chat labia under your real name.

I would also like to mention that I was on babelfish translating "the vagina" for the title of this post, and I went with French because it is, as always, so lovely sounding. German, on the other hand, was quite the opposite - "die vagina". Once again, linguistically sticking to character. So - thoughts on die vagina please!


Pimpin' ain't easy

Sometimes when I read a blog I wonder why the writer isn't in one of those big blogging cliques - you know the circles I'm talking about without the need for me to name drop. Some bloggers make me wonder why their popularity is warranted, whereas others make me want to fall over and die from my own ineptitude due to their wit, cleverness, and all around fabulousness.

Sweet baby jesus do I read a lot of blogs. I keep adding and adding, with nary a subtraction. This means that it takes me weeks and weeks to catch up sometimes, but I can't imagine narrowing my reading down to less than 100 blogs. I just can't help it - I am a nosy bitch.

There are some blogs that you need to be reading. This isn't me pretending to be a great saviour of stats. A recommendation from me is hardly parallel to one of those noted bloggers above raving about a blogger's brilliance. I was way more popular when I was barren, so sorry folks - an extra five people may stop by, but that's about all I can offer you.

I should also note that if you are not on my Pimpin' List in this post, it doesn't mean I don't love you. I seem to be unable to find time to floss my teeth every day, so I am certainly not cluttering up my feeder with detritus I can't be asked to read. The simple fact is, pimpin' just ain't easy. I do have a blogroll on the sidebar there, but a) I don't update it nearly enough and b) blogrolls are apparently passe, gone the way of the fauxhawk or polyester

Without further ado, Pru's list of Read this Fucking Brilliant Blog Already:

The Hairy Farmer Family: I only "discovered" (in the Columbus way) through Mel's commentathon thingie, and thank the lord I did because this woman is fantastic. Funny, and oh-so-British in her writing style. That's a compliment. Picture a man with a pipe, muttonchops, and a houndstooth jacket with suede elbow patches saying, "I dare say old chap", and you have Mrs Hairy Farmer's blog. But feminine. And with a baby. A cute baby. Oh, and a hot husband. Go for the blog, stay for the hot piece of ass, that's what I always say.

Awful but Functioning: Tash is an amazing writer, and her posts are way to few and far between. I found, again, in the most Columbusian way, Tash quite recently though I don't recall how. She made the mistake of talking about renovating her old house, which drove me to email her straight away begging for pictures because that's how I get off. Anyway, prepare to be moved, usually to tears, but it's totally worth it. Oh, and she has great taste in music. That is to say, very similar to mine.

Eliza's Mom: I'm a year off having a three year old, but this blog actually makes me look forward to it. If you're not entertained by the various Elizaisms that feature here, there is a black, gaping chasm where your heart should be, you soulless bastards. I'll tempt you with a line, "I started to brush my teeth while she was using the potty and then her face melted off from the bitter acid tears she cried over my betrayal." Awesome.

Messing with Texas: I'll say it. Fucking hilarious. I've been avoiding the use of "fuck" in connection with the other blogs since I don't want to come off as uncouth, but it's appropriate here. I love this blog and may want to marry its author Tessie. No doubt she would find this beyond disturbing, and by hitting publish I'm outing myself as a complete freak and weirdo stalker. Well done to me. A creepy factor of at least 9 I think.

Miz S: Again, no recollection as to how I stumbled upon this blog. I just know that Miz S is beyond cool. Read this post and tell me you disagree. I dare you. If you don't find it funny, I'll buy you the Starbucks drink of your choice next time you're in the south of England. Oh, no one is ever going to be in the south of England? Oh well. Shame.

Nuts in May: May, oh my darling, darling May. I adore this woman, and I have put forth to Mrs Hairy Farmer that the three of us will leave our husbands and move in together. They will be all staid and English, and I'll be all brash and American, telling the British people they drive on the wrong side of the road and what not. Maybe the three of us will start up a blog when we move in entitled, "Multiculturally Co-habitating Platonically and LOVING It!"

Racheldirollzack.com: It is what it says on the tin - Rachel Diroll Zack's blog. Who is Rachel? She lives in New Jersey, has a kid the same age as P named Jillian, and she loves James almost as much as I do. She has a foul mouth too, so, uh, duh, LOVE.

Sarah and Jordan Updates: Eva's twins are quite possibly the most adorable kids ever, and P could watch their videos all day, every day. Not only are they cute, they are impossibly smart, though it's really, what, with the whole genetics thing. I should also add that Eva is always here to comment in the good times and when I'm being a melodramatic whiner, so she deserves a mention for that alone.

Musings of a Defiant Mother: Defiant Muse may be taking a blogging break, but stop by and page through her wonderful photos (and actual posts of course). Her blog is unlike any other that I read, so I'm still frantically hoping she'll update soon.

I left out a lot of my favourite blogs, so this list is, of course, not exhaustive. I'm turning the pimp stick over to you - what blogger(s) do you want to tell everyone about? As I alluded to at the beginning of this post, I don't want to hear about bloggers with hundreds of readers. I find all the really popular blogs a bit too incestuous to want to read any more than I already do. I always feel like I'm missing some great writing, so here is the stick, treat it well.


Music Monday: Madness

Wahey, alliteration!

I decided on Madness a few days ago, and 20 minutes I realised how perfect a choice it was since one of their songs is most appropriate to celebrate the wedding du jour - that of my spiritual wife, Molly. Today she is getting hitched to a man I've never met but have "known" since the beginning. I am unbelievably happy for those two crazy kids, and only wish this wasn't the busiest time in the year for university admissions staff or else I'd be there to party as hard as one can without alcohol. For the record, I'm the non-drinker, it's not as if her reception will lack alcohol, hell no! Molly without alcohol at her reception would be like telling me that I can no longer say "fuck" under penalty of death. How else is she supposed to get down to "Big Poppa"? For the record, I prefer Hypnotize.

So, before I start reeling off my favourite Madness songs, this is dedicated to my dear Molly and her brand new, just-out-of-the-box husband. I was going to sit here and try to come up with my own deeply moving, no doubt cheesy lines on love, but I came across a quote by Zora Neale Hurston which seemed perfect - Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place. Knowing M as I do this resonated particularly, and I only wish I could think of such things myself!

It Must Be Love (apologies for the subtitles - embedding has been removed on all of the non-subtitled videos. Bastards)

I was introduced to Madness by a red-haired Englishman with hot legs I met when I was 16. Madness was his favourite band, and he left a copy of Divine Madness with me at the beginning of our long distance relationship, a couple of years later. There is something so quintessentially English about Madness, even if I am idealising whatever that 80s Englishness is. I've tried giving other ska bands a try, but aside from a couple of Specials songs, I keep coming back to Madness.

One Step Beyond:

Our House:

House of Fun:

Baggy Trousers:


One Better Day: (The Dude's personal request)

Tomorrow's Just Another Day:


That's your Music Monday done for another week. I hope to be better at general posting than I have been lately, plus I still owe you my Tales of Florence. This week, I pinkie swear.


A tale of two bodies

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam

I have nattered on and on about my weight many times in the history of this blog. Long story short - I was once a lollipop and rapidly evolved into something halfway between a pear and an apple once I turned 19 thanks to PCOS and depression. It's your standard, garden variety weight gain drama.

I have spent the past eleven years wringing my hands and being miserable over the matter, without, for the most part, actually trying to do something about it. My body paranoia has prevented me from going to social functions, as I can't bear the thought of getting dressed in clothes that will reveal rolls of fat spilling over the top of each skirt or pair of trousers. I worry that people will look at me and think how glad they are that they do not look like this. I don't eat in front of people other than at restaurants, and if I am in a situation in which I can't avoid eating in front of others, I'll be sure to eat very little and very healthily.

I avoid being in photographs as if I'm Amish. My daughter is two and I suspect you can only find photographic evidence of me a handful of times. This, above all, makes me the most sad. I have wasted two years of her life because I have let myself be at a point that I am so ashamed of. If anything were to happen to me, she would have virtually no record of my appearance. Blogs are plastered with photos of happy mothers and their children, but I know that will not be me, not yet anyway. I have attempted such photos, but the resulting images are enough to drive me to heavy doses of Nyquil and endless days of extreme self-loathing.

I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking I should just get over it. I think this all the time, and The Dude has been singing that song for a decade. This post is just to say that the enlightenment has begun. I have reached a saturation point of disgust with my body, and for whatever reason, I know now that this can't continue. I think about all of this wasted time - over ten years of miserableness just because I can't automatically have the body I want.

Much of my weight-focused melodrama has been over the fact that I am so angry that I have to cope with this bounty given to me by PCOS. I am a healthy eater, I don't drink, I don't smoke, I walk everywhere, and I lug a 23lb toddler up and down four flights of stairs every day. Somehow, this does not result in any kind of weight loss, so the thighs stay fat, the face stays moonish, and the boobs still threaten to take over my entire body with their repulsive voluptuousness.

Most women do not have such issues. These women decide they want to lose a few pounds so they cut out some refined sugar. Two weeks later, et voila - five pounds lighter! In this decade (I must keep reminding myself how very out of hand this has all gotten), DECADE of dithering I have let this issue overpower my will to do anything about my weight. Instead of focusing on what I could do for me to improve my life, I've worried about why other people have it so good. What is the point in that? I did the same when I was infertile - I obsessed over the notion that most women did not have problems conceiving, so why did I have such difficulty? Why me and not them? As we all know, there is no answer to this. It just is. The difference here is that I can do something about being heavier than desired, and I have control over the outcome.

I am not the woman who has a baby and is lower than pre-pregnancy weight within a month post-partum. I am not the woman who walks 20 minutes twice a week and loses weight. I'm the one who fails to shift baby weight, still occasionally wearing a pair of maternity jeans more than two years after the fact because the elasticated waist is just so damn giving. I'm the one who will need to run at least 30 minutes four times a week just to break even. It is what it is. Why it has taken me so long to realise this, I don't know.

This is the dawn of a new Pru. I cling to my Couch to 5K like it's my new religion, and I like referring to it as The Programme so as to sound like a level 4 thetan. To prove my dedication, I got up before 7am this morning to go for a run. I, lover of sleep, shunner of early rises, got up at the ass crack of dawn to put one leg in front of the other at a fast pace. I lift weights and do ab exercises every other day, and I make sure to walk at every opportunity. I have cut out refined sugar during the week, though I allow myself the odd sweet thing on weekends. I have even cut down on my coffee to two cups a day, which is tantamount to self-flagellation.

My new perspective has extended into my personal and professional life too. I have made a conscious decision to be more efficient and focused, as I am totally lazy and easily distracted by shiny things. So far it's working, and my productivity has increased greatly. I'm becoming a wifely clone of The Dude, who might possibly be the most organised and productive person ever. Help.

So why am I telling you this? I don't really know. I suppose I'm just proud of myself for making a change after all of this time and knowing that it isn't a temporary measure. I've been happier within the last month of the new me than I have been in years, and I know that is something worth holding on to. I want to be a good role model for P, and most superficially (and embarrassingly), I want her to be proud of me and not so ashamed that she pretends her hot 16 year old cousin is her Mum.

I was going to put a photo up of P and me that my Mom somehow managed to snap on holiday. The rolls are out there for all to see, as are the monster tits and the gigantic moonpie face. I thought, even at this early stage in Project New Pru, that I was ready to put it up for all to see so as to wave goodbye to that person in the most public manner I could think of. I've spent the last 10 minutes occasionally clicking back to the folder to look at it, and I'm not there yet. Perhaps when I have a new picture of me, smiling and holding my daughter without the spectre of "FAT FAT FAT" looming ominously over my head, I will. For the first time ever, I can actually envision that this may be.


Music Monday: Miscellanea

My Monday is nearly over, but I have managed to squeeze in some time to give you some new music to listen to. Folk is apparently not to the taste of many, fair enough. This week thing is a whole lot of everything. I'm just going to throw up some videos for some music I have been digging lately.

Eleni Mandell: Wings in His Eyes
-Listen if you like Feist, Cat Power, Rilo Kiley, etc. Plus, she has a song called "Make-Out King", which could possibly be the most awesome title ever.


Ladytron: Destroy Everything You Touch
-If you like: The Knife, Portishead, Bjork, Goldfrapp


Mugison: I Want You
-If you like: Queens of the Stone Age, Ween, Bonnie Prince Billy, Beck


Joan as Policewoman: To Be Loved
-If you like: Martha Wainwright, Feist


Fleet Foxes: White Winter Hymnal (LOVE this video)
-If you like: Bon Iver, Midlake


Noah and the Whale: 2 Bodies 1 Heart
-If you like: the Juno soundtrack

I'm off to clean out the fish bowl and make a spinach salad for tomorrow's lunch. These events will not occur simultaneously.


C'mere and stroke my ferret

I started to write a post about the Ferret Stroker and Aunt Florence, then realised that I would be up half the night writing a post the blogging length-equivalent of a Harry Potter novel. Thus, I will break the crazy into two parts.

Brace yourselves Stroker fans, I have managed to procure TWO, yes two photos of the Ferret Stroker. You have no idea of the kind of covert ops which were required to obtain these photos, and I assure you they did not involve me, 20 minutes of crouching at a large window, debating whether or not flash was really required. However, if, by chance, these elements were involved, the answer may or may not be that a photo taken without flash would be blurred, yet a flash would alert Ferret Stroker to my presence. A resolution could, hypothetically, be to move a large armchair in a position to slightly block the window so one could quickly snap a photo (with flash) around the side of the chair and then dash behind it at the slightest hint of head turning from The Stroker.


I know the photos are blurry, but as we know the insanity hovers close to the surface with this guy so I didn't want to be obvious. Please note the requisite stonewashed jeans with generic, white K-Mart kicks, the long stringy hair, and backwards hat. I'm a bit disappointed he wasn't donning his cut-offs at the time, especially considering the oppressive heat at the time. Also absent is the ferret, who may or may not now be deceased. I didn't see the poor mite for the entire two and a half weeks we were there, which, considering I saw him as much as I saw my own kid last summer, proves rather worrisome.

There were some developments since the Ferret Stroker was last mentioned. He was served with a warrant after shooting at my Mom's house with a pellet gun, and didn't think to flush his wacky weed down the toilet as the cops were banging on his door. Consequently, he's facing a charge for being a violent asshole, and charges for being a stupid pothead with limited foresight.

These papparazzi shots were taken the night before the Ferret Stroker hauled ass and split for parts unknown. He and his heavily pregnant, still-braless wife were less than secretive about their actions, parking the UHaul outside the house for two days whilst they periodically carried large boxes back and forth. We couldn't determine whether they were legally moving to another abode within the same area, or were really that dumb to skip down and add even more charges to the list. I vote the latter, but can't remember when the trial is, so we may not know the truth behind The Stroker's disappearance for awhile.

There you go. I came through for you big-time, Stroker devotees, and I hope you know how very insane The Dude thought me to be when I was running around my Mom's house trying to figure out which vantage point granted the best photo opportunities. Away and masturbate, because you know what they say - a man who knows how to stroke a ferret with such finesse knows how to...ok, now I've just made myself ill.

Aunt Florence report either tomorrow or Friday. Or Saturday.


I blame Bush

"Real" post tomorrow perhaps, if The Child decides that she does not actually need to scream for an hour and a half when put to bed. She is so devious - she throws her pacifier onto the floor as soon as we shut the door, then shouts "DUMMY! DUMMY!" until she hyperventilates and struggles to breathe. We completed this exercise 13 times tonight before The Dude gave up and sat by her bed until she fell asleep. Oh, and yes, she still has a dummy. Please,judge me.

Anyway, the matter at hand is this. Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored was inspired to do this drive of sorts, to motivate people to click on through to their feeds to increase the blogger's ad revenue for the month of August. I don't need to tell you that there are a lot of people who are experiencing difficult times around here, and this is just one tiny way to help them out. No commenting is needed, just page views. Remember, it's something silly like 1 cent per page click or some such shit, so read a blogger's entire archives or something!

As you can see, I have ads on my site too. Please recall that any money made from these ads (and let me assure you, it takes a tiny fish like me bloody years to earn a meagre sum), goes to other bloggers, not to keep my mulleted banshee in pacifiers. Stopping by every once in awhile from Google Reader or Bloglines means that I might eventually have some spare cash to give a blogger $25 toward an IVF, or just send a random package to someone to cheer her up in bad times. Admittedly, I would do this anyway without ads, but my husband would get on my case more than he already does for giving money to alleged strangers. So, do this for The Dude, and my own sanity so I don't have to hear him bitching at me about this shit.

Check the sidebar for the cool flare that goes with this drive. You hop on this old bandwagon as well - just visit Motherhood Uncensored and let her know you're game.

Go forth and click, and be sure to check Kristen's master list to see the participants.


Music Monday: Go Folk Yourself

Clearly jet lag has not dulled my sense of humour, am I right? Er, yeah.

So here we are again. I am back on this fair isle to grace you with new music, though admittedly this week is not for everyone in that it is Folk Week. It's actually a rather anaemic week as far as musical offerings, as my flat is overrun with elements of packing, the dishes need to be done, and my kid is still jet lagged (sleeps in until 11am, but wakes numerous times before midnight - come to think of it, in print this doesn't sound too bad).

I have many other things to blog about, namely my dedication to the birth of a new me both physically and otherwise, the Aunt Florence post long promised (now with Ferret Stroker photos!), and my musings on whether a trans-Atlantic move may be more imminent than originally thought.

However, as this is Music Monday, the music you shall have.

I always distanced myself from folk growing up, believing it to be the music of aging hippies and girls with dreads wearing peasant skirts and birkenstocks. Obviously there is nothing wrong with either group, as my mom is an aging hippie and I went through my own peasant skirt/birk stage. I guess folk was just never cool enough for me, crazy, progressive hipster that I thought myself to be.

Now I'm a dedicated listener of Folk Alley. I like nothing more than hanging out in my kitchen cooking and dancing like a Woodstock attendee to both new and old school folk. Hi Pru, welcome to your 30s you daft old bat.

Today we're going to kick our folk old school. First there is one of my favourite (new-to-me) musicians, Sandy Denny. I first heard Sandy's voice on the song by Fairport Convention which will soon follow my inane ramblings here. Sandy died the year I was born (1978, woo!) of a brain hemorrage which resulted from a nasty fall down the stairs which may or may not have been a result of heavy drug and alcohol use. Sad, such a wonderful voice.

Fairport Convention (w/Sandy Denny): Tam Lin

Sandy Denny: Who Knows Where the Time Goes

Just for fun (or something), here is a version of Who Knows Where the Time Goes by the contemporary folk singer Kate Rusby:

Another sad life tale is that of Jackson C. Frank, who was actually with Sandy Denny for a brief period of time. Simon & Garfunkel fans may want to have a listen.

Jackson C. Frank: I Want to Be Alone (Dialogue)

Jackson C. Frank: Milk and Honey

Some covers of Milk and Honey -

Nick Drake:

Sandy Denny:

Next is Bill Fay, and whilst not a tragic tale, he did a couple of albums, then disappeared. Not literally, just from the music scene. This first one is my song of the moment. I know how to rock out. Note to hipsters - Wilco have covered a Bill Fay song, so if he's good enough for Wilco, he's good enough for you.

Scream in the Ears:

The Room:

That's it, I'm spent. Back to work tomorrow. Help.