Star-Struck Dumb-Struck Boob-Struck Wtf?

November 30, 2009 By 3 Comments

So yes, I met Gordon Ramsay last weekend. I’ve had an un-dying fixation with him for some time, and going to his book signing at the BBC Good Food Show made me a rather happy lady. Cos you know, HOTNESS.

I decided that the greatest moment came when, whilst waiting in the queue, I realised that my boobs had grown significantly throughout the day; we obviously didn’t have Noah or Isaac with us, so I was sporting some fucking awesome cleavage. Seriously? Nursing? AWESOME.
My turn finally came, and as some dude took the two books off me to be signed, I thrust everything else (camera) at D, double checked the boobs, threw myself across the counter to shake his hand and kiss him, then realised I was sporting some fantastic pit-sweat patches.
Life had reached an all time high.
He asked me some questions. Unfortunately, the guy chose not to ask me the questions I had expected him to ask me (What’s your favourite dish to cook? Is that your husband? Are your boobs real? Do you like it rough?).
He asked me about Christmas dinner.
Me: Um, I think I’m cooking ham this year!
GR: Ham! Ooh, roast honey glazed?
Me: Um no…
GR: Oh…you’re gonna boil it? (looking at my boobs)
Me: Umm..yeah ok… (I’m actually roasting it)
GR: Who you got round for Christmas dinner then? The whole family? (squinting at my boobs)
Me: No it’s just me, husband and the two kids. 2 years and 6 months.
GR: 6 months? Congratulations, fantastic. You look great for it! (to my boobs)
Me: Thanks! (pop the boobs a little)
I don’t remember much else, apart from saying thank you umpteen million times and flinging myself over the counter to kiss him. Again.
I know the general argument is he’s an arrogant fucker with attitude, a foul mouth and not the best personality in the world. And you’d sooner go for Jamie Oliver. But seriously. You just know Jamie Oliver wouldn’t know how to take you roughly in a swanky hotel just yards from a fucking fancy restaurant.
Yeeeesssssss please.
D and I moved on to the Beer Tasting Arena, to ponder over the loveliness that is cleavage.
And yes this was taken, by D, in the middle of the Arena. With two lovely little ladies who were sat at our table, whom we hope to meet again next year.

“Book signing, dumb answers and awesome boobs. DONE.”

Filed Under: actual happy times, random

Silent Sunday

November 29, 2009 By Leave a Comment

(PS I know most of you hate him. But I’ll be his bitch any day.)
(PPS He spoke to my boobs through a good deal of the time I was stood there. Can you blame the guy?)
Filed Under: Silent Sunday

One for the (fucktards on the) Road

November 25, 2009 By Leave a Comment

I love driving. So very much. Hell I’d drive to the end of the road just to get to drive. I’ve only been driving for about 5/6 years. I passed my test with great results. I did my Pass Plus with no problems. I don’t profess to be the worlds best, but I’m not bad.

But people? There are rules. And the rules seem to apply to all the fucktards out there.
If I am driving past your junction, DO NOT pull out in front of me at the last minute, assuming I will slow down and/or stop. I will sit on your fucktard ass until you piss off out the way.
I will only sit on your ass if you drive like a fucktard in front of me.
If you choose to climb inside my ass while driving like a fucktard when I have done nothing to you, I will randomly jump on my breaks making you screech to a halt and shit your pants.
If you still choose to sit on my ass like a fucktard, I will probably let in an awful lot of people in front of me.
If I let you out and instead you choose to sit there like a fucktard, then complain when I drive on, I will most likely ignore you. No amount of flashing your lights or pointless hand gestures will change my behaviour. I WAS BEING NICE. You were being a fucktard.
If I am pulling out of somewhere and you try to overtake me whilst doing so, you are being a fucktard. Stop.
And don’t say thank you like I let you out even when you gave me no choice. That’s just being a fucktard.
All of these events occurred when I took it upon myself to leave the house with the boys and try to finish my Christmas shopping. Which, by the way, should only ever be done online. At Amazon. There are people who will totally agree with me. (Ok, A person, but I’m sure there are more). You know what? Don’t be a fucktard with the driving mom who is feeling pissy and stabby anyways.
You’re welcome.
Filed Under: assvice, pointless crap

Tweet Me Stephen Fry

November 23, 2009 By 5 Comments

For some reason, last weekend, my supremely random thought was this:

And after a lovely friend of mine (and I do mean that) said this:
And I got to thinking this:

It pretty much progressed into this:


At this point I noticed he WAS at twitter, tweeting away.







Desperation made me tweet this:



I wondered if the truth might be this:

But figured part of the truth was this:

And annoyingly I noticed I miss-spelled this:
And so I got pissed off and said this:






After about half an hour, I felt the need for this:
And still tweeting darts and ignoring me lead me to this:

My follower numbers prompted this:

In case he thought I was whacko, I said this:
And honesty is responsible for this:
And desperation is responsible for this:

I decided he WAS mocking me with this:
But then suddenly, this:




I was so pleased I couldn’t help this:
And all? For this.

Filed Under: pointless crap,

The Glimmer of Hope

November 23, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Filed Under: Noah, Speech
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