Vampires, chastity and flatulance: The ultimate combination!

Good Morrow! Or not, as it is, in fact, 4 in the arvo. (Pardon my comma extravaganza.)


Anyhoo. How am I? Very well, thanks for asking. I'm rather spiffing. In the way that too much stress, not enough sleep and the rapid scoffing of three mini snickers bars in quick succession can provide. I had a day off from work yesterday, which did me the world of good. Or it should have, but I spent most of it worrying about one of the boys. Because it is very hard to get away from them. Then I did some exciting shopping, managing to spend an extortionate amount of money on very little. I did buy three books including the much hyped 'Twilight'.

Well. I know what you're thinking... Why am I reading this teen-based crud? In answer to that, I dunno. Thought it might be good in the 'Buffy' vein. (ahahaha. See what I did there? Vein? Vampire?... I'm wasted here.) Was it good? No. It was extremely boring. You find yourself waiting desperately for some sex to happen or something because the storyline isn't doing it for you. The wistful drifting heroine was annoying and typical vampire story fare, and the vampire? Dear God. The least attractive sounding male on earth. No personality at all. He's a vampire for God's sake, that's a massive leg up in the sexy stakes, surely. So, two characters without a personality between them, very little sexual tension and just to cap it off: No sex! Instead a myriad of 'No! No! We mustn't!' experiences. Jesus. What kind of teenagers are these?!

Having finished the said book, I went off to my table tennis activity with the boys. We play this game that involves hitting the ball and then running around the table to hit it again. By the time most people are out, this involves an awful lot of running. Unfortunately today, in either a move of great cunning or complete foul play, someone did a completely toxic fart whilst running around the table. Nothing worse than running headlong into a fart cloud, and of course it kept happening each time you circled the table. It was dreadful. We all had terrible giggles, which made play somewhat difficult and the farting became more unrestrained with the pressure of the laughter. I eventually gave up on grounds of suffocation, and insisted everyone went to the toilet immediately whilst I opened a window and gently wafted the fart out with a selection of hymn books. Play resumed shortly afterwards.

Enough of these shenanigans. I don't care. I'm off to play with my new coloured pencils! Woo hoo!

Fetch me my child-battering stick!

My eightieth post! Wooooooo! ... ooooooooo...ooo. Enough of that, let's cut straight to the mindless grousing, shall we?

You'll no doubt be pleased to know that my finger is much better after its mortal paper cut wound. I still have a mark, which I will no doubt bear 'til the end of my days. Or at least the end of the week. I'm having a day of procrastinating, how unlike me! *glances at blog title...* Which reads 'procrastinatio...' for some reason. No room for an 'n' but all the space in the world for an ellipses. Good grief!

I have exams to be heartily disappointed with, so my marking is calling me. This kid came in today for an interview and although he at first seemed OK, then turned out to be a flaming pain in the ass. Knowing my luck, we'll end up taking him with great delight. What is it with children today, seriously? How did they get to be so arrogant and pretentious? Perhaps this is just the business of getting older, when you suspect that all children are getting worse, when in fact the only thing changing is your nostalgic memories of olden times. Am I becoming my father? Will every sentence I say to children start 'when I was your age...' and conclude with 'and I walked eight miles a day in shoes I made myself from old hessian sacks.' Mind you, my father spent all his time being beaten by nuns, so I think his rather odd outlook on life can be explained right there. Of course, there's no point saying 'when I was your age' to children, because they are of the opinion that you magically sprang into being at exactly the age you are now. The thought of you having ever been a child is completely nonsensical. Plus if you did have a childhood, it was played out entirely in black and white and at double speed like those Victorian films.

Heaven forfend. Never mind, the little wart is coming to lunch so I shall encourage the other boys to flick peas at him and 'accidentally' kick him under the table. Which they have mastered over long periods of time. Christmas hols can't come quickly enough, let me tell you! Prepare the beating stick!! Surely nuns shouldn't have all the child battering fun.

Bloody owch!

I have been the recipient of the paper cut to end all paper cuts. If my typing is odd that's because I have lost my main typing finger! (Sucks to all this correct fingering bullshit they make you do in typing courses.) In the exciting build up to exam week I had once again managed to not do anything about sorting out papers until the morning of the exams. I photocopied the exciting tale of John the Baptist and then realised that I should have taken out the bits of paper stuck in the book as these were now clearly visible at the top of the photocopied page. (One clearly visible phrase being "...other Jesusy stuff...".) Using my reknowned initative, I hot footed it downstairs and smugly used the enormous paper cutting machine to strim a 2 cm strip from the top of all six photocopies. (See where we're going here?) Holding the paper strips between two fingers, I was overwhelmed by the urge to have them all straightened. (OCD?) I ran my hand down the strips of paper and was rewarded by the unmistakable feeling of AGONISING PAIN!!! And blood. Lots of blood. Stupid paper. How sharp can it be? I say again, Bloody owch!

Anyway, to appease my hurt feelings, I stuck a plaster on it. With pictures of Our Lord on it. Seeing as the whole injury was his fault in the first place, it seemed relevant.

Of course, it could be my fault for being blasphemous in the first place. But I shan't be considering that. I'm in way too much pain.