'Whatever' won the poll.

A poll was carried out on what is currently deemed the most annoying word on this dying blue globe and 'Whatever' took the cake.

I do see how that can be annoying. I see how when 'Whatever' was being said as an answer to a life-burning question like 'Shall we have Chinese for dinner?' (and whatever food-related is of utmost importance to me), it made me want to bash an inanimate object.

Other words on the list were 'Like' and 'You know'.

When I first knew Jaz, I realized that he ends his sentences with 'You know what I mean?' and it got my back up a bit because it made me wonder if he thought I was a bit thick until he had to double-check each and every time if I had indeed gotten what he was trying to say to me. Years down the road now, I have learned to filter that sentence, and a few other sentences along the way like... 'Don't throw this away, I am going to put this aside in a minute'. Maybe he does think that I am thick and he really is Being Patronising.

I am guilty of saying 'Like' like a lot. Really... Like... To the point of being hideously annoying when I am talking to myself in my head.

I am a bit surprised 'Literally' never made it to the list, though. 'Literally' has got to be the most misused word in the English language in this time and age. Every fucking corner I turn I hear people, mostly from the teenage to young adult age group, saying they 'literally' did something that was quite humanly impossible. Like 'Literally Died'. How many times have I sat in front on a person while they went on and on about their Super Amazing Life and then inserted some stupid First World Crisis like the battery of the iPhone died and they said 'I literally died. Like, LITERALLY, BRUV.' and I was sat there looking at them and said 'No mate. You did not "literally" die because you are standing right fucking here. You a fucking walking dead or something?' and then be seen as the World's Biggest Cunt Type Of Person. No, look, you phallus, The Oatmeal said so. I hate stupid people.

This is what happens when deluded twats try to pull of drama like I do. You are supposed to say it like this: I walked up that hideous hill in St Albans and I am telling you... A small part of me died inside.

Please don't make me walk away saying 'I like, LITERALLY, punched him in his fucking face for misusing an English word in England.'

No... Don't want to live on this planet any more.

The types of people I Unfriend-ed.

More often than not, I Unfriend-ed them because they are Dickheads. That is always a good reason to cull people off your lists, actually. Your Facebook so it is your prerogative, isn't it? No matter how trivial the matter or contributing factor that led to them being labelled as Dickheads. Dickheads come in various shapes, forms, sexuality, emotional and intelligence level.

Emotional Dickheads


Usually seen quoting Nickelback or Incubus song lyrics in their status updates. Not that there is anything stupid about them lyrics, but it is the way they are usually quoted in that soul-draining, heart-broken manner that makes me want to stab my own jugular with a child-friendly cutlery. What they are saying, these Emotional Dickheads, is most likely - Look, my girlfriend/boyfriend/whatever is being a totally emotionally-disengaged whore and she/he/it had left me so please just listen to my pain in these stupid lyrics that I am posting while I am doing a shit. Because I am deep and am a sensitive person like that. No, you are a Dickhead and you make reading my own Facebook feed more horrible than it should be.

Another type that falls into this category would be the Serial Relationship-Status Changer With Man/Woman-Bashing Tendencies.

I get it okay. Man are dicks. Woman are cunts, too, all right? I thought you wanted equal rights. Look, women burned their bras so that we could get equal rights as men, but now that you have got that equality you want to play the damsel in distress and not shoulder the blame?

Not all man/woman are arseholes, Love. Just the ones that you tend to go for are. Even I, who never actually interacted personally with you and only perved on your profile once in a while know that you have a soft spot for a certain type. You can't save his Bad Boy Soul. He will not change his ways for you. She will not stop being a slag for you. Trapping him/her with a baby won't make a difference either. You are just setting the child and yourself up for a fucking disappointment.

Fake Profile Pic Dickheads


I have actually gotten my FB-gaming and personal life mashed up in my FB and this is resulting in such a fucking, grotesque mess in my Friends List. With my FB-gaming ways, I have ended up randomly adding strangers to add more neighbours/mob/clan/bubble-poppers to my list and it is quite often I get added by some excessively beautiful people. Yes, there IS such a thing as being Excessively Beautiful. I have a love/hate relationship with Photoshop. Photoshop has made me lose all faith in the simpler things in life. You can't even look at something online or on a pamphlet without even wondering if the shit's been 'shopped.

It's bad enough now I have to worry if the person I'd just added had lifted a picture off the internet, I actually have to wonder if that is even human. Bloody Japanese engineers and their perfect love dolls. I have seen a few and it had scared me shitless. I don't like looking at the pictures of newly-added strangers and yell out loud 'What sort of Sorcery is this!?'.

These are men I am talking about, you know. I do know with women and our fucking inferiority complex (especially with bastard partners asking us if we've just gotten fatter at FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING), it's not surprising some of the female population feel like they have to stick a picture of an Excessively Beautiful model of Eastern European descent (the less she is known to the world, the better it is for you to get away with pretending to be her) to feel whole as a person. But a man? Yes, men are more sensitive to criticisms these days. I have come across a few with fucking albums of Indian actor's pictures saying shit like 'My photoshoot here and there and oooh, that is a picture of me in campus'. Mate, you have the MTV-Drama-Windblower on fucking campus? What? I don't want to live on this planet any more.


Religious Book-Thumping Dickheads


Like I have said before, practice what you want, just don't bring your fucking parade down my street.

I don't care what Jesus or whoever said. I am too busy looking into Alien sightings in Argentina. And that hoax moon landing. And Super-Earth that is some 36 light years away. You know if that planet there is fit for living in, them rich wankers are going to get first dibs anyway. They fuck THIS Earth up and then they are going to the other one and Super Fuck that one up as well. You know what? Let them all sit in an aluminium-encased capsule for 36 years trying to get there and let's see if they make it past the Van Halen without getting fried within an inch of their rich arses and claustrophobic at the same time. Let them eat cake.

I am going to form my opinions by what I can see with the shit that is happening around me and you entitled to your own, so please let us co-exist without fighting about who has the better imaginary friend just for a little while longer? Nibiru is on her way. We're all fucked.

Dickheads Who Think They Are Better Than Me


A fucking Capuchin who shits in a diaper is better than me. Don't come into my space and slag me off so that you can feel better about yourself, you pretentious self-righteous dickheads. Yes, haters gonna hate, you dumb fuck, and they have good reason to.

Putting an 'x' at the end of your fucking sentence just meant that you just slagged me off and kissed me. I am aware of that, you pussy. It does not erase the clear fact that you were a dickhead on my status.

Dickheads Who Put Kisses At The End Of Every Sentence


If I don't know you personally and you don't know me personally, your putting kisses at the end of your sentences just tell me that you are a Whore, not an overly-friendly person. As pretentious and ridiculous as those arseholes that kisses the air and when I kissed the cheek twice, asks me 'Oh we're doing two kisses now, are we?' Fuck right off the Devil's Pool in Zimbabwe. Just die and cease to exist, please. There is not enough Cannibals in this world to eradicate arseholes like you.

Oh shit, what did I just say!?

Children shouldn't be allowed to talk to me or ask me simple questions until they are well over 18.

I have somehow assured Jaz's son that there is no God and I have no idea how his mother would take that.

I told his other daughter that all man are bags of sperm and I have no idea how she looks at Jaz now after I've told her that. Well, in my defence, she was crying about boys and I was trying to hug her and shut her up so that whole 'Men are fucktards' speech was totally called for. And I also said, if it makes her feel better, I am stuck with the caveman that is her Dad. By choice.

The last time his youngest, who is now 12, asked me a question, my reply made me seriously question if I should be around them at all.

She sat next to me and asked me if I wanted her to read to me her diary entry. I was watching the telly and said, 'Well, your diary should be for your eyes only, shouldn't it?' and to that she said, 'No... I read them out all the time.' and then I said this...

'Well, that tantamounts to 'Exhibitionism', Georgia.' 


Cue for me to look over my shoulder, with my eyes bugged out as I stared at the wall and hissed, 'What the fuck?!'

DON'T TALK TO ME WHEN I AM WATCHING QI.

Because when I am watching QI, I have my Uppity, poncy mode on.

For fuck's sake, Ella, what is fucking wrong with you?

I am still praying she is not sitting at that dinner table, poking her food around like she always does and ask, 'Mom, what IS exhibitionism?'

Thank fuck she asked me 'Tantamount? Oooooh, what is that?' and realized that at that point of time that word in that entire sentence sparkled brighter in that mind of hers.

Your discontentment is deafening.

Door slammers scare me. It's these people who can't really voice out their discontentment and choose to express in the form of door slamming. Or cup slamming on whatever available surface. Feet stompers, even at the age of 60. Handbag chuckers. I worry about Handbag Chuckers. Surely you are worried about the contents of your purse? Something sounds broken in there. Or maybe you had premeditated this whole chucking routine and had filled your handbag with glass shards from that bathroom mirror that you had smacked down on your dresser this morning.

I understand aggression. Coming from a person who is so angry with the world for reasons from one end of the spectrum to the other - I understand anger. Just fucking voice it out.

Why is it that whenever I try to partake in this whole Door Slamming business, I get my fingers trapped and I'm left on the other side of the slammed door with tears in my eyes and feeling like a twat? Am I not made to slam doors with elegance? The last time I tried to slam a door, I ended up with my bedroom slipper left behind on the other side and said slipper stopped the door from slamming shut. I opened the door again with Jaz staring at me, smiling, and I felt like a blooming arsehole and I had to yell out a resounding string of vulgarities at the door, door handle, door jamb, slipper and then decided I might as well cuss out the carpeted floor, just so that each and every bit of the doorway got the same treatment.

My experience with slamming doors have never been pretty so I am guessing that is why my development in the Art of Slamming Doors is sadly stunted. When I slammed a door back home then to express my teenage frustration of not being able to sleep over at a mate's, I get greeted with my bedroom door being kicked back open a mere seconds away and since it was only a short time I had slammed it shut, it ended with the door being kicked open INTO me, followed by the terrifying presence of My Mother. If I had stomped up the stairs, and since we lived in Singapore where stairs were made of concrete and not shoddy, wooden floorboards like most houses here in England, I had to put in extra effort to make that stomping noise. We also do not wear our shoes in our houses, so we had no Doc Martens or even shitty foam-soled sandals to help us out. And with all that extra effort, I still got chased up the floor by Mother, had my waist-length hair then yanked back, followed by a slap.

So you see, I didn't get that opportunity to explore the many dramatic avenues of expressing myself. I had to make do with either sucking it up or screaming into a pillow after collapsing onto my bed Bollywood-style. Now as an adult, I feel a resentment for Door Slammers.

Since I can't slam doors with such flourish, I will proceed to slam Door Slammers. You lot are pussies. What are you trying to convey when you slam doors? If you are pissed off at me, tell me about it. Don't slam your cups down on kitchen counters if you are not happy. Chuck the cup in my face and let's have a proper punch up. Let's beat the fuck out of each other. Let us yell at each other until we are blue in the face. Tell me what is not right in your world.

I am so used with people telling that they are pissed off with me until I don't do silent treatment very well. I would just assume that whatever is wrong in your world, it is not me.

I think I am turning into my mother because now when a door is slammed in my presence, I instantly feel the urge to kick the door down and yell 'WHAT! WHAT! NOT HAPPY?! WHAT! DO YOU WANT TO DIE IN MY HANDS TONIGHT?! WHAT!'

What kids?

I just got back spending a little under a week with Jaz's kids. Oh, how I love spending time with teenagers and their constantly yelling, moaning, under-the-breath cussings and louder-than-loud accusations of which sibling is the bigger idiot. Then there are times when teenage aggression turns to the animals. It's always funny when a child is getting told off by a parent and then said child turns to a purely innocent animal and then yells at the animal for no fucking reason and say 'Dave, stop looking at me!'. Makes me look at Jaz's ex and try to telepathically tell her what a fucking trooper she is. She is. If I tell my child to listen and then the child yells back 'NO, YOU listen' my guess is a certain palm is going to make sharp contact with a certain face. But hey, that is just me. I support the slapping of insolent children. No, really. Sometimes talking rationally will not do. Seriously. Just lock them in the cupboard under the stairs. Might make a wizard or a witch, or anything interesting and useful, out of them.

Christmas is around the corner. Can't you tell? Christmas, moany children, shortage of money and getting hit by hail on the way to the shops to get your children the presents that they will not appreciate a mere two days later. Last year, Jaz's youngest was on the bloody Wii the whole blooming Christmas day and whines when someone tries to persuade her to turn the telly off so that we could watch some Christmassy garbage on the telly. I kept telling her that she needed a rest or her arms were going to pop off but no, she loved her Wii and OOOOH more games to be explored on Wii Resort. Or something. Was it Wii Resort? I think so. Then she proceeded to pass out on the settee and then woke up with the achiest pair of arms known to a child not in the child slavery business. Moan, whinge, cry, moan. No thanks for the Wii. Wii remote discarded in between the settee cushions. Got sat on. A month later would be stepped on, no doubt, before finally being misplaced long after it was forgotten about altogether.

The eldest son got a PS3 where he spent more of his teenage time in his dark, teenage-boy-smelling bedroom on shooter games that breed aggression, came out when a level had beaten him 18 times in a row, resurfaced only to demand new games, snacks and what time dinner would be dished out. Occasionally, he would hint someone to run his bath.

The eldest girl got a laptop which later on had a whole can of whole up-end on it.

I saw a status on Facebook with someone saying 'I am glad I don't have to go out and buy toys for kids'. I'm thinking, 'Wow, you are lucky if you can find a kid that actually wants toys now.' or 'I'd like to meet a kid who wants toys'. Do they still want toys? The last time I talked to a child, the child said she wanted a fucking iPhone 4S. No, listen to me, you are a child so ask for a fucking doll. A stupid Barbie or that equally stupid bear that you can change its clothes depending on the season. Whatever happened to those girls who wanted a baby doll and a pram to go along with it? Do those type of girls still exist? Why is it that every child I meet now wants an electronic device of sorts? Why must it be plugged it or charged for a half a day before it can even be fun?

You know what I want for Christmas?

A book. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins. I want to know what bloody happens now in that third book. I am also looking forward to Hollywood slaughtering that good book to hell and back. And an iPod with a no-bleed pair of earphones so that I can read and drown out all the fucking Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! and shit.

And Jaz's ex should have her bath run for her with sinful bath bombs and Bailey's Hazelnut after. Jaz? He should be the mediator by yelling 'You are ALL fucking idiots!'

They are lovely kids. When they are, without realizing it, being nice to each other and not trying to out-cuss each other in the name of sibling rivalry. Like each and every other children, really. Like myself and my brother, in fact. But we got punched for kicking shit up.

But still... I love them. And I do end up being that person that say stupid shit like, 'Awwww, I know, mate. Siblings are like that. Come here, give me a hug and brush my hair.'

Embarrassing.

His bloody fault.

It is half 4 in the fucking morning.

A few hours ago, not too long before he spontaneously passed mid-way through a conversation, he looked at me, through the eyes of someone on the brink of a mental break-down from sheer physical exhaustion, and said , 'Have you gotten bigger lately?'

Balls of fucking steel. BALLS OF FUCKING STEEL.

Earlier today while I was getting ready to go out with him, he had passed by me, stopped and casually squeezed my left breast and looked at me dead in the eye. 'Did you find a lump in there?'

'Have you got socks in there?' He asked.

Have I WHAT?

'You know, you watched that video of that bird stuffing socks in her bra and you tried it the next day, remember?' He smirked.

I was taking the fucking piss! Just to see you roar with laughter when we shagged and socks fell out.

Do you not know what your Missus' real tits feel like?

So today, for the second time I really looked at him.

'I have dropped two sizes. I can still fit in my Pre-Charlie clothes, plus room to move in it,' I answered calmly. 'What the FUCK are you ON!?'

I was saying this with a hairbrush knotted in my fucking hair and the bloody puppy kept trying to go for it and catching me in the chin with her chompers.

'I am going to donate you to the less fortunate this Christmas, Stevie, if you don't fucking SIT! Fuck off! SIT! Good girl. Now go bite the fuck out of your toy. Go on.'

'I don't know... You just look... Big to me these days,' he replied.

'Since when?!'

Yank, yank, curses, fucking yank again on the hairbrush.

'This is your fucking doing this stupid hair. I want to cut it short again!'

'But you fucking moaned when your hair was short and you just fucking said you are going to get bloody extensions because it's not long enough. What the fuck are YOU on?'

That was true. He was right. Back to yanking.

'So which part am I bigger then?'

'I don't know, Baby. All over.'

'Are you having a laugh? I have fucking lost weight. I have dropped sizes. My tits have shrunken and look at how sad they are! LOOK.'

'Maybe I am seeing things wrong...'

'Have you, after all this time been under the illusion that you have been shagging the clothes-horse?'

He laughed. Oh how he roared with laughter.

'You're beautiful, my baby. Really. The most beautiful woman alive.'

I went on and on about what a cockless comeback that was and how I expected more of him but when I turned to look at him, he was cuddling Stevie and Stevie was cuddling her Daddy with that fucking manky rope that she had bloody pissed on in her mouth still.

So, it is his bloody fault that I am now watching Youtube tutorials of Pilates.

Okay well maybe I just want to slim my thighs a bit just so that they can stop rubbing against each other and make the weirdest of noises when I have tights on.