Oh how the time flies.

Of course, this picture was taken in the evening, so one year ago THIS MINUTE I was actually rushing around my parents’ house wearing an oddly baggy shirt belonging to my mother and wondering if my new Benefit concealer would cover the aftermath of the red weals well enough for Terry not to run screaming from the alter at the sight of me.

It was such a great day, though, and I just wish I could do it all over again, red weals, baggy shirt and all. I’m actually feeling a little melancholy today to think that one year has gone by so fast, and never again will I get to be The Bride. Unless, of course, Terry and I get divorced and someone else in the world is mad enough to marry me. (Sawyer-from-Lost: Call me!) If time keeps on flying by at this rate, though, I’m going to be a pensioner before I know it. I wonder if my arm will have stopped hurting from Body Pump by then?

We do get to have a tiny little taste of the wedding tonight, mind you, when we’re going back to our venue for dinner. I wonder if I could get away with wearing my dress?

A long time ago, in a land not-so-very-far from here, there lived a beautiful princess young woman who decided to take a step class at her local gym. “I shall take a step class,” said the young woman. “Because I bet that won’t hurt AT ALL.”

So she did take the step class. And it did hurt. But not half so much as it hurt the next morning when the young woman tried to get out of bed and instantly fell flat on her face. Somehow, in the still watches of the night, her poor, tired leg muscles had seized up completely, leaving her legs “frozen” in a sort of “sitting down position”. The young woman could straighten her legs, but not without a great deal of pain, so she was forced to walk around all day long with her legs in that same, “sitting down” position. This sucked, especially given that she now had a flat face too, after falling out of the bed.

At this time, the young woman worked in an office which could only be accessed via a steep flight of stairs. Of course, when our heroine arrived at that office, still in her leg-locked, hunchback position, she found she couldn’t negotiate this staircase while standing up. Because she was a determined young woman – and also: a stupid one – however, she decided to persevere, and made her way up the stairs by sitting down on her poor, aching butt (also injured during the step class) and hauling herself up with her arms (thankfully functioning normally). She made her way back down in the same, ungainly fashion.

After that, the young woman didn’t go to step class no more. But years passed, and as she grew older but no wiser, the young woman started to realise that she could not possibly continue to eat the Easter chocolate at such a rate without doing something to work it off, so the young woman had a long, hard think to herself, and she thought, “I know! I will take a Body Pump class! Because I bet lifting heavy weights for 45 minutes won’t hurt AT ALL, and that whole “step class” fiasco was probably just a fluke.”

And so it was that our heroine found herself in a Body Pump class, lifting weights to music. And almost instantly, she realised that this? Was a mistake. Even although there were other people in the class who’d never done Body Pump before either, the instructor decided to focus her attention on our heroine. “Everyone add more weights to their bar!” she would shout encouragingly. “Ginger girl at the back: go down to the lightest weight possible!”

It was during a set of exercises known only to the girl as “Oh my holy God, why am I doing this?” that our heroine realised she was in trouble. Because, you know that scene in Harry Potter where Harry has all the bones removed from his arm and had to grown them back? That’s exactly how her arms felt. Only without the “growing back” bit. Because the girl was still stupid, though, she persevered. “Am I not the girl who once ran for 49 minutes and two seconds before almost fainting with exhaustion, after all?” she asked herself. She was, indeed, that girl. But perhaps a better question to ask herself would have been, “Am I not the girl who once fell off her bike twice in thirty seconds?” because seriously, WHO PUTS THEMSELVES THROUGH THIS KIND OF CRAP?

Well, I do. For this, people, was no fairytale. I AM THAT GIRL. Today? My legs aren’t quite “frozen”, like they were after step, but I’ve been avoiding the stairs as best I can all day, and let’s just say I’m really worried about how I’m going to get my wine glass to and from my mouth tomorrow.

And next week? I’m going to do it again. And I’m also thinking of signing up for Body Attack. Because seriously, I bet that won’t hurt AT ALL…

So, Rubin terrorised the postman yesterday. I mean, I say "terrorised" – Rubin is a small white ball of fluff – but, you know, I dare say some people are terrified by small white balls of fluff, and Rubin certainly seems to think they are or I guess he wouldn’t go around pretending to be a wolf all the time.  As a mark of what BAAAD dog owners Terry and I are, we couldn’t even call him off because we were laughing too much. I KNOW! Ladies and gentlemen of the postal service, you have my sincerest apologies. But it would probably be better for you if you just bring me that eBay parcel I’ve been waiting for sooner rather than later, know what I mean?

We were out on one of our regular walks at the time. Rubin was off the leash: yes, because we believed him to be a totally non-threatening fluffball who wouldn’t harm a soul, and who, I should add, has NEVER approached anyone on any of his walks before. (Although given that he had already terrorised a toddler that week, and was still in the doghouse over it – ha! Do you see what I did there? – maybe complacency shouldn’t have been our friend, hmmm?) And the thing is, we KNOW Rubin has identified Postpeople as The Enemy. He marked them out as such a long, long time ago, as soon as he was old enough to realise that Postpeople infiltrate our property every single day in life and poke bits of paper through the letterbox. And to be honest, I probably wouldn’t put up with that kind of behaviour from them either if I were him.

Anyway, as I was saying, yesterday we were out on our walk and as soon as the familiar red-and-fluorescent jacket wove into view, it was a case of "enemy sighted, enemy met". Rubin took off like a bullet out of a gun, running quite some distance to reach the poor postman. Then he… well, then he kind of ROUNDED HIM UP, barking like a madman all the time.

Luckily, the postman took all of this in good part and completely ignored Rubin, so by the time Terry and I had stopped laughing for long enough to call him back to us, the situation was in hand. It would seem that the Rubinman will have to be kept on his leash from now on, if there is the slightest chance of post-people being in the vicinity, though, because clearly he’s just been lulling us into a false sense of security with his relatively good "walking" behaviour up until now, and has all the time been waiting for the right opportunity to make his move. I mean, I swear to God that he has NEVER tried to round someone up in his life before. But yesterday he did. And I don’t think he even regrets it.

I would apologise for the lack of posts here over the Easter break, but as that would involve pretending that I’d had the intention of doing anything AT ALL over the break other than lying around on my bed and eating chocolate eggs, I think I better not. Lying makes the baby Jesus cry, you know.

Actually, I DID have some plans for the long weekend. In between chocolate eggs, for instance, I had a vague idea of maybe dashing off a quick novel or two. No, really. I’d kinda pictured myself taking long, bracing walks in the lovely Spring sunshine, and returning home refreshed, to rattle off a hundred thousand words or so which some famous literary agent would  auction off to the highest bidder, and then I’d sell the film rights and be rich, and think to myself, "Whew! Thank God I decided not to lie around all Easter eating chocolate eggs, eh?" Then I thought, "Screw that," and decided just to go with the chocolate eggs thing after all. Maybe I’ll regret it, maybe not. All I know is that I had the best Easter ever, doing absolutely nothing, and now that it’s over I really miss it. I wish that could be my life from now on.

I actually think Easter may be my favourite holiday. It’s way cheaper than Christmas, for one thing, and, being the absolute heathens that we are, there’s no obligation to do anything at all, which totally rocks. Also, it marks the beginning of Spring, and if it hadn’t snowed more or less all weekend, that would be a Truly Great Thing indeed. (JUST DIE ALREADY, WINTER. JUST. DIE.)

I did have an idea about The Novel, though, all joking aside. The idea was this: I COULD TOTALLY WRITE A NOVEL. As opposed to, you know, just sitting around thinking about it. This weekend I did quite a bit of sitting around thinking about it: I would expand on this, but it would be something like the twentieth time I’d written a post here saying "I actually think I might finish The Novel this time. No, really, I totally think I will!" so I’m just going to skip it. Like I said, lies make the baby Jesus cry. And also: there’s still plenty of Easter chocolate to be eaten…

So, longtime readers of this here blog (look, I like to pretend, okay?) will know that people tend to find me through some weird-ass Google searches, most of which involve hating redheads, avoiding having babies that are redheads and, er, hating redheads some more.

Lately, though, I’ve noticed that my Google referrers have taken a different direction. Lately people have been seeking me out in order to find the answers to their trickiest questions and dilemmas. They come to me, like the Magic Eight Ball I undoubtedly am, for answers. And now, in a post not even remotely inspired by Kristabella (who has Bacon answer her questions for her. I can’t get the staff, so I have to do it myself.) I give them those answers…

Here’s what the Google searchers have been inadvertently asking me lately:

1. how to avoid having a ginger baby?

Well, gee, I didn’t see THAT one coming! The answer is simple, my brain-dead friend, and it’s an answer I’ve given before and will doubtless give again: you don’t procreate. It’s too risky. Risky for you, because you could, indeed, end up with a “ginger” baby; risky for all of mankind, because we could end up with more people just like you. NEXT!

2. What outfit does a zookeeper wear?

Zookeepers don’t wear outfits. They walk around naked all day. That’s how this happened:

3. Will a optician spot signs of a brain tumor?

See, you shouldn’t ask a hypochondriac questions like this. Because now I’m too scared to go to the opticians for my next checkup. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED, anonymous asker?

4. Can you wear ugg slippers outside?

No. And actually, you can’t wear them inside either. There are laws. And also because I said so.

5. How to spell pedastal?

Um, well, not like that, sister. Wait, though: how did you find my blog by Googling that? Did I spell “pedestal” with an “A”? Oh hell…

6. Who will do my work when I am on holidays?

Well, don’t look at ME, I’ve got enough on my plate what with answering all these dumb questions… The Magic Eight Amber Ball, she say… “Doris, the woman in accounts, will do your job when you’re on holiday. Sleep well tonight, my child!” (Seriously, how do people expect to find the answers to such specific-to-them dilemmas on GOOGLE?)

7. when i can report my car to the police with in seven days?

Um, I think you’ll find the clue is in the question here.

8. How to pee in the woods?

You know, I’m actually planning an illustrated entry on this very subject. Spooky, no? And also: WEIRDO!

9. brandy is’it good for the kidney?
Well, I’m not a doctor, but I’m going to say “probably not” on this one. If I’ve learned one thing in this life (and I would hope to God I had learned at least ONE THING, although the evidence would seem to suggest otherwise) it’s that everything that tastes good is bad for you. Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?

10. Give me an example of a letter thanking my mother for allowing me to spend the easter holidays at my best friend house

And what’s the magic word? You didn’t use the magic word, so I’m not going to do this. So there.

11. Are all ginger haired people blue eyed?

For the love of God, what IS it with this “ginger” crap all the time? Why can’t you people just say “red”? And for the record, I have browny green eyes, and I speak for all “gingers”, so now you know.

12. Do i have a big forehead man?
What exactly IS a ‘Big Forehead Man’? Because I have this image now of a man made entirely out of forehead. I’m scared. Hold me. Also: yes, you totally DO have a Big Forehead Man, by the way. Damn, that thing is HUGE! I know, because   * whispers * I can see you… Now your Big Forehead Man is the least of your worries, eh? Thank me later…

13. What will stick a tooth veneer back on
The dentist will. Or you could try superglue. Superglue could be interesting.

14. Does amber have one leg?

Yes. Yes, she does:

OMG! ONE LEG TO RULE THEM ALL!

15. Is being ginger a disease?

No, but being stupid is. I’d be pretty worried if I were you…

16. My brother must wear a corset

OK, so this one wasn’t actually a question, as such, but… the hell? WHY must your brother wear a corset? And why did you Google it. Come back and telll me…

Aaaaand that’s Magic Eightball Amber done for the night. My, but being a wise old sage is thirsty work…

This weekend, Terry and I went to a wedding:

This is what I have to deal with all the time. Although, given that he has to put up with me basically growing out of his back, I guess he has good reason to drink… Actually, Terry was the designated driver for the day, so that’s someone else’s drink he’s holding. No, I have no idea whose. NEVER PICK UP STRANGE DRINKS, kids, no matter how inviting they look. Lookit what happens to you!

Anyway, a good time was had by all, even although it did make me sad to think that it’s now just under a year since our wedding, and unless I divorce Terry and re-marry, I will never again get to dress like a princess for the day. Other than in the privacy of my own home, obviously.

There is, however, one thought that’s keeping me going throughout this long winter that doesn’t have a wedding at the end of it for me to look forward to, and it is this: WE ARE GOING TO FLORIDA IN JUNE.  Yay! Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking our plane is totally going to crash, and that we will all DIE I’m going to Florida for my own, selfish reasons, which will probably involve buying a lot of shoes and shopping at Sephora. Well you are WRONG. Well, I mean, I WILL probably buy shoes, and I will definitely do a lot of shopping at Sephora, but I am actually going to the Sunshine State for the purely altruistic reason of helping to re-invigorate the American economy by injecting cash into it. DON’T WORRY, AMERICA – I’M COMING. If you could just have Bloomingdales gift-wrapped for me, that would be great, thanks.

So, yes, we’re off on June 2nd, and it can’t come soon enough for me because ohmygod, are we all agreed that this winter needs to just END, already? Naturally, the nightmares about the flight have already started, with last night’s extravaganza involving us all flying to Florida in a four-seater plane. And I mean, there are four of us going, so WHO WAS DRIVING? Scary stuff. Note to self: get Valium this time… 

Yo, dudes, s’up? Rubinman in da house. Yes, THE Rubinman! We’ll sort out the autographs and stuff later, but for now, listen up…

So, it’s like, Amber is "busy" today, so it was left up to me, Rubin, to come and tell yoos that Amber’s blawgs, The Fashion Police and Hey, Dollface, are, like, nominated for some kind of "awards". No, I don’t understand why either, ‘cos it’s not like they even have any pictures of me on them or anything, you know? And also, while we’re on the subject, why doesn’t the Rubinman’s blawg get "awards"? That, like, makes no sense, AT ALL.

Anyways. Yoos should all totally go and vote for those blawgs (they’re, under "fashion" and "beauty", cos, it’s like, that’s what they’re about?), and I’ll tell yoos for why: yoos should vote for them because if you don’t, Amber’ll be all whiny and like, "Boo hoo, nobody loves me!" and the Rubinman’ll be the one that’ll have to pick up the pieces. As usual. Also, if yoos don’t vote for them, I’ll personally come over there and bite yoos on the bum, and don’t think I wont do it.

So, yeah, that’s alls I got to say right now. It’s kind of a shame because I’m guessing that as soon as yoos saw my picture on the page yoos were all, "Thank Dog, it’s an entry from the Rubinman! Now we don’t have to read this crap about The Famous Five and Amber’s stupid hair no more, and we can get to read us some REAL blawgs, that are written by a WOLF and everything!" And then it just turned out that alls I was here for was to tell yoos to vote for them stupid blawgs. I feel sorry for yoos, I really do.  I’ll still totally bite yoos on the bums, though, remember that.

Smell yas,
Rubin

When I was a child, I was addicted to The Famous Five books, by Enid Blyton. To this day, I cannot drink ginger beer or explore a network of secret underground passages without thinking about good old Julian, Dick, George, Anne and Timmy the dog. I loved Enid Blyton’s other books, too (The Adventure Series was my favourite, although there is also a special place in my heart for The Magic Faraway Tree) and, to the horror of my friends and family, I will occasionally re-read these books if it’s been a particularly long, hard winter and I’m in need of some comfort reading. I recommend it. Not only will you be swept away into a world of crazy smugglers and sinister old castles, but you will also learn some important life lessons, such as:

1. All underground caves have a stream running through them. If you find yourself trapped in one (by smugglers, natch), all you have to do is follow the stream to the place where it breaks ground, and you will be freed.

2. You will almost always end up trapped in an underground cave during the “hols”, so you better have been paying attention to point 1.

3. Don’t worry, though – your faithful dog or other animal friend will guide you through the dark, winding tunnels to safety if the underground stream thing doesn’t work out.

4. If you don’t have a handy animal, the circus folk camping near you will lend you one.

5. There will always be circus folk camping near you.

6. Some of them will secretly be smugglers, though.

7. About those tunnels… If your animal friend has been, say, poisoned by the smugglers/circus folk, you should unwind a ball of string or make chalk markings on the walls as you walk, so that you can find your way out again.

8. You will use your torch to see these chalk markings/bits of string

9. You do HAVE a torch on you at all times, don’t you?

10. While escaping from the smugglers, remember to always observe regular meal times, even if you are underground/in grave danger.

11. It’s OK: you will always discover a bag of Barley Sugar and some potted meat sandwiches in your pocket.

12. Right next to the notebook and pencil that you carry with you AT ALL TIMES.

13. Friendly farm folks that you meet on your travels will supply the barely sugar, potted meat and also: ginger beer. You’ll have to supply the pencil and notebook yourself, though.

14. Ginger beer cures almost every ill.

15. And while we’re on the subject: food that you eat outdoors always tastes SO MUCH BETTER, don’t you think?

16. If the people you meet along the way have slightly ridiculous names, they can probably be trusted. Examples: Nobby, Fanny, Dimmy. (No offence to anyone called Nobby or Fanny, by the way. If your first name is ‘Dimmy’, though, well, good luck to you.)

17. If the people you meet along the way are crazy old men who warn you to NEVER GO NEAR THE OLD CASTLE AT NIGHTFALL, you should wait until nightfall and then go there immediately.

18. Not if you’re a girl, though. If you’re a girl you should remain at home, preparing a slap up dinner for the hungry adventurers, with lashings and lashings of ginger beer and some delicious ices for afters. Remember: you may like to think that you’re "as good as a boy" any day, but you’re really not.

19. But back to those smugglers…

20. Don’t worry too much about the smugglers, because most arch villains are relatively harmless.

21. I mean, they may tie you up and leave you in an underground cave (in fact, they almost certainly will), but they will not otherwise lay a finger on you.

22. You’ll be able to use your penknife to cut the ropes that bind you and escape by the light of your torch, though.

23. What do you mean, there’s no room for a penknife in your pocket, what with all the ginger beer, torches, notebooks and barley sugars?

24. OK, the monkey will carry the penknife for you.

25. You WILL encounter a monkey at some point in your adventure.

26. Thank goodness all monkeys are friendly, eh?

27. Also: all dogs can climb ladders. Which is lucky, because how else will you get down into the caves?

28. All islands and castles have a dark secret.

29. It normally involves smugglers.

30. As soon as you arrive at the sinister old castle you will be holidaying at, you should seek out the secret passage. This will save you a lot of time later.

31. The secret passage is located behind a sliding panel which you will find either in your bedroom or in the library

32. Every building has a secret passage. And a library, come to think of it.

33. The secret passage leads to underground caves.

34. Which are used by smugglers.

35. So you better have paid attention to point 1, eh?

(P.S. I know this entry will only make sense to fellow Enid Blyton fans, and to Erin, who inspired it, but if you are one, this is the funniest article ever….)

It’s my birthday today. I mean, I actually celebrated my birthday on Saturday, which was the only time I was able to fit it into my hectic schedule, but as today is the actual day, I guess it’s only appropriate to mention that I AM THE BIRTHDAY GIRL. Yay, me! No, I STILL did not get a pony. Jesus.

I celebrated by running on the treadmill at the gym for 49 straight minutes last night. Forty. Nine. Minutes. Clearly I was aiming for a perfect 50, but at 49 minutes and two seconds my body suddenly piped up and told me that if I didn’t stop running RIGHT NOW, it had ways to make me. Those ways included blisters on both my feet, my life flashing before my eyes, and me still not being able to walk properly today. Happy birthday to me! So near but yet so far. Story of my life!

Still, 49 minutes. Am old, but not yet finished…

First: after reading all of your comments on my entry about phobias, I realised that actually, I have WAY more phobias than I had written about, and, indeed, that I had completely omitted some of my biggest, and most all-consuming phobias. Maybe I was trying to suppress the thought of them or something?

Well, because the thought of leaving an entry unfinished makes me break out in hives, I went back and edited it to add them in, and to make the entry in question only slightly shorter than my University Dissertation (On the Road: the American dream as seen by Jack Kerouac, JD Salinger and someone else who I totally can’t remember anymore. So that was a worthwhile exercise, no?). So, yes, you can go back and read the bits you missed if you have a burning desire to delve even further into my psyche. Death! Cancer! People who kind of rumble sweets around their mouths before crunching them loudly! Fun times, people, fun times…

Anyway, this post isn’t actually about phobias. No, this post is about my hair, and how I went all the way to Edinburgh yesterday to have it cut, at great expense, I might add, in a salon that actually dries your hair after they’ve cut it and everything. Fancy! Round these here parts they just kick you out with your hair still wet, and I’m not even joking. Well, I mean, I am partly joking, because they will blow dry your hair if you really want them to, but they will also charge you extra for that service, and will mostly just not bother to do it.

I’m still not 100% sure what it was that possessed me to haul ass into the city and get a super-expensive haircut when, actually, I could just have driven the two minutes to the Little Hairdressing Shop of Horrors and have it cut for less than half the price, even if I decided to get all high falutin’ on them and ask for a blow dry as well as a cut. Well, actually, I kind of do know, to be honest. I think I did it because I’m always reading articles in women’s magazines which are all, “Spend lots of money on haircuts! Haircuts are an investment! You wear your hair everyday, so a haircut is the one thing you should not hesitate to spend a small fortune on!” So, I read these articles, and apparently I also lost my mind and forgot that I’ve had lots of expensive haircuts in my time, and they haven’t been any different AT ALL from the really cheap haircuts I’ve had, too, because yesterday afternoon found me paying the aforementioned sum of money in order to end up looking exactly the same as I did before:

Hi! I am exactly the same as before! I’m also really rubbish at the “taking a photo of yourself in the mirror” thing, I wonder how other people manage to do that?

My advice to you, then, would be this: if you are the kind of person who always seems to end up with exactly the same haircut, no matter how hard you try to change it, don’t spend lots of money on haircuts. Spend a lot of money on shoes, instead. No one will know the difference with your hair, and at least you’ll have lots of nice shoes.  < /wiseoldsage>

I did have a good day, though, even although I managed to perform my usual trick of “spending all my money but not actually having very much to show for it”, and will now have to live off water and gruel for the rest of the month. Because I am a workaholic, you see, it’s not often that I get to spend an entire day walking around the shops, and as I walk around shoe shops in the same way other, more cultured people, walk around art galleries, this was a nice little break for me.

The salon I had my hair cut in is located inside Harvey Nichols, so I got there early and amused/tortured myself by spending some time winding up the shop assistants by inserting my poverty-stricken and clearly unworthy self amongst the merchandise and making as if I was actually going to reach out and touch something with my grubby, proletariat hands every so often. By the time I left for my hair appointment, I had a whole little gaggle of them following me around the store at a disdainful distance, and when I made my usual pilgrimage to the Christian Louboutin section and actually dared to pick up a shoe, I swear they all gave a collective little gasp and tottered backwards in shock. So that was fun.

Of course, today on the way to the gym, my car (Terry’s is still in the garage, being held at ransom) started to make a funny whirring noise, which was different from all of the other funny whirring noises it has made, and which probably means that as soon as we have liberated Terry’s car, mine will be incarcerated in its place, and yet more money will be sucked from me. It’s not true that you can’t get blood from a stone, you know – the folks at our local garage manage it just fine.

Back to the Little Hairdressing Shop of Horrors for me next time, then.