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…
Tagged the gym
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.
 Rubin writes…
I killed the postman yesterday. Don’t listen to what Amber says: that postman? He dead. Seriously, dudes, he may not have died on the spot, but I could tell by the terrified look in his eyes that as soon as he staggered home he woulda just dropped down dead. There’ll be no more poking bits of paper through the Rubinman’s door, that’s for sure. Not on my watch.
I mean, I didn’t plan to kill the postman. I was just, like, out enjoying my walk, as you do, when The Enemy came into view. Well, I seen my chance, I took it. It’s what we wolves do. You can’t blame a dude for followin his primal instinct.
So,one Enemy down, a few thousand to go. I’ll be waiting for yoos, postmen… Come and geeeeet me!
 Rubin writes…
Basically, I’ve been barking like a madman EVERY SINGLE morning. I start about half an hour before A&T normally get up, and I WILL NOT STOP until they haul ass out of bed and come and play with me. It’s driving them absolutely CRAZY. If they try and get up earlier, in an effort to thwart me, I just work out what the new time is and start barking half an hour before THAT. The way things are going, they’d need to get up at 5.30am to beat me just now. Hee!
The thing is – they CAN’T ignore me. I mean, they’ve TRIED – don’t think they haven’t. But it’s like, would YOU be able to ignore the scary wolf that was barkin at YOUR door? Remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood’s ol grandma before yoos answer that one…
I particularly like doing it on a Saturday morning, when Amber’s been working all week and is thinking she can get to sleep late. “Aaaamblller!” I shout. “Teeeerrreee! Doggie crap in here for you to clean up! Come and geeeet it while it’s hot!” Then they come thundering down the stairs, all bleary-eyed and wild-haired to scold me, and I’m like, “What? Me? Barking? No, I wasn’t barking. Are you sure you’re feeling OK? It’s just, you’re looking a bit tired. Maybe you should try and get some more sleep?” Hee!
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…
 Rubin writes….
Heh. Just when I thought it was safe to go back into the garden, he’s back – The Fat Kid From Next Door (TFKFND). And this time he has a Fat Friend…
I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t seen him for ages, but there I was, finishing off my dinner in the kitchen, when I hear all this screaming coming from Next Door. Being the guard dog that I am, I went to investigate of course, and there they were. Back. Now, I wasn’t looking for trouble here. I was annoyed, yes, but I just gave a couple of quick warning barks, just to let them know that a dangerous WOLF was on the scene. Well. They retaliated.
I think the presence of the Fat Friend must’ve made TFK brave. He started shouting at me, and clapping his hands to try and scare me away. (I know – he was trying to scare me, the Rubinman. Like, good luck with that pal – you obviously haven’t heard the story of Rubin and the Bad Man). Then he started hitting the fence, cheered on by the other one. They were both carrying guns. Well, that was it – that just made me MAD.
Of course, what they hadn’t realised was that Amber had been watching all of this, and when they started with the fence she came out to glare at them. I was expecting them to shut up at that, but no – Fat Friend decided to give Amber “attitude.” He walked over to where she was standing and started making faces at her through the fence, while TFK watched him. What the porky pals hadn’t realised though was that while they were busy making prats of themselves to Amber, the Rubinman had cunningly snuck under the bushes next to where they were standing – as cunning as a FOX. I waited there silently until I was sure they hadn’t seen me. Then I let out the BIGGEST bark of my career.
Hee! The Fat Friend nearly peed his pants he got such a fright! He actually stumbled backwards – then TFK started taking the crap out of him for being scared of me, so I barked again, and they BOTH jumped! Hee! Then Amber and I came back into the house and laughed our asses off. It was really quite satisfying, and it got me back into Amber’s good books again – I had fallen out of favour earlier that day because just before she made me my dinner I had sneaked up to the bathroom and peed up against a white towel that was hanging there. Well, who hasn’t done that?
Anyway, I certainly taught them a lesson. They won’t be back in a hurry, that’s for sure.
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…
My very first pro-blogging job was for a TV blog. Because it was my first-ever blogging gig, I was particularly keen to do well and make a good impression, so when I started receiving some particularly vicious, and very personal, comments on some of my posts, I was naturally pretty upset about it.
What upset me most of all was the fact that the comments were coming from lots of different people – some anonymous, some not – who all voiced the same set of complaints about me and my work. I was devastated. Everyone hated me! I was the worst blogger in the history of blogging! I was so bad that the blog’s readers, who rarely ever felt moved to leave a comment (although it was a fairly high-profile site, it didn’t receive a lot of comments at the time, which made the negativity I seemed to generate all the more remarkable), they were more than happy to make an exception for me – and nothing that they said was complimentary.
I decided that I would quit pro-blogging. It obviously wasn’t for me, and given the highly negative reactions I was inspiring in the blog’s readers, it was clearly only a matter of time before I was fired, anyway.
Before I handed in my resignation, though, I decided to do a little bit of investigation.
Those of you who use Typepad will know that it’s very easy to look at a particular comment you’ve received and instantly view other comments left by that poster, either by searching by their name or their IP address. I’d imagine most other blog platforms offer the same kind of facility.
I was fairly new to Typepad at the time, so it took me a few weeks to cotton onto this. When I finally did, though, I was in for a shock.
Selecting one of the nastiest comments I’d received, I hit the “View all comments from this IP” button. Well, whaddya know! Almost all of the abusive comments I’d ever received had been posted from the same IP address, even although they’d all been posted under different names and using different (fake, as it turned out) email addresses. So, while I’d been thinking there were dozens of people out there who really, really hated my posts, there was actually only one.
But that wasn’t all.
I was only one of the writers who freelanced for the blog in question. As I scanned down the list of comments posted from the IP of my abusive commenter, I noticed a name I recognised: that of one of my fellow bloggers, who had posted several (non-abusive) comments on other posts from the same IP as the abusive commenter.
Well, it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what was happening here. Either by some massive co-incidence, my colleague and the anonymous commenter shared an IP address, or my colleague and the person who posted the abusive comments were one and the same person.
I knew which option my money was on, and a quick search on the IP address seemed to prove my hunch: my colleague had posted numerous comments on other blogs, and on his own personal website, using his own name, and posting from Abusive-Comment-IP. Hmmm.
Well, I emailed him about it. I didn’t come right out and accuse him of trying to undermine me by leaving nasty comments under fake names, but I let him know that I was aware he was sharing an IP with someone who clearly had a grudge against me, and asked him if he had any idea what was going on. At first he feigned surprise and said that the nasty comments must have been made by one of his colleagues, as he normally posted on the blog from work. A few days later, though, he emailed me again and said that “the husband of one of his friends” had admitted to posting the comments anonymously: an explanation I’d have found easier to swallow if it hadn’t been so hard to understand how this “husband of a friend” came to be using my colleague’s home or work computer at 5am (many of the comments were posted very early in the morning) without his knowledge, and on several different occasions.
Of course, he could have been telling the truth. It’s possible. But I remain absolutely convinced that this colleague had formed some kind of grudge against me, for reasons I can’t imagine, and decided to try and undermine me by leaving nasty and abusive comments on my posts. This opinion was strengthened a few months later when he started regularly bad-mouthing me on the staff forum used by the various freelancers who worked for the company in question. Nice guy.
The moral of this rather lengthy story? People who leave abusive messages on your blog never have a “good” reason for doing so. Their motivations are always spiteful, and, as such, not worth taking personally. Constructive criticism is the only kind worth taking on board.
I also firmly believe that as I post under my full, real name, and make no attempt to hide my identity when I blog, people who wish to take issue with what I say should at least give me the courtesy of telling me who they are, too: it’s no coincidence that comments posted by “Anonymous” are almost always nasty ones.
Also: the “View other comments from this IP” tool is a handy one indeed. And just to prove it, when I went back to look at the handful of nasty comments on my posts that HADN’T come from the IP of my colleague, I discovered that every single one of them had been posted from…
… the same IP address as ANOTHER colleague.
I swear I’m not making this up.
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