Well, folks, The Great Haircut Wars of ’09 have left me feeling wrung out, like a limp rag, and that’s before I’ve even been anywhere NEAR the hairdresser. So, in a bid to post something that’s NOT directly related to my hair, I thought I’d do The Friday Five. But The Friday Five this week was a bunch of really boring questions about chocolate, and seriously, why would anyone care whether I know how chocolate is made or not? (I don’t, by the way. I don’t know how anything is made. And I don’t care. Cooking is why God made Other People.)
I still wanted to be lazy answer questions rather than write an entry with, you know, actual thoughts and ideas in it, though, so I decided to turn to my old friend Google Analytics, and answer some of the questions people have been asking the Internet recently, and which have led them to this here blog. For instance:
Can I wear black to a christening?
Well, I did. I wear black to absolutely everything, though, so I’m probably the wrong person to ask. My one piece of advice to you about attending a christening, however, is this: before I went to one, everyone told me that it would be “dressy, but not as dressy as a wedding.” Naturally, then, it turned out to be as dressy as a wedding. Maybe this was just some kind of freak occurrence, and not the norm for these events (I wouldn’t know, being a complete and utter heathen), but most people were dressed to the nines. This made it a lot of fun, actually, because there’s really nothing I enjoy more than looking at what other people are wearing.
My answer to this question, then: yes, black is fine, as long as you make it a “happy” black, not a sad black. Like, maybe lay off the veil and gloves, and use some colourful accessories to make it clear that you’re not at a funeral. Also: you’re being given the opportunity to dress up – seize it with both hands, my friend!
Do redheads have souls?
(Note: this is now one of my top search terms. Which really makes me wonder about humanity, to be honest.)
My answer: Don’t be silly, of course redheads don’t have souls. Redheads are another race entirely: we are, in fact, a little-known offshoot of the vampires, and we survive by drinking the blood of people who type dumb-ass questions into Google. I’d sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you. I’d also refrain from breeding if at all possible because… well, because the world has enough idiots, we don’t really need any more.
Is it normal to feel your pulse in your stomach?
Ooh, medical questions, I love me some medical questions! Actually, no, I don’t, and I have this to say to you, pulse-stomach-searcher: NEVER CONSULT DOCTOR GOOGLE ON THESE MATTERS. Doctor Google is not a good doctor. He is a wicked, evil doctor, and his answers will cause you to lie awake at night in a cold sweat, wondering who to leave your shoes to when you “go”.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that the Internet is not a doctor and neither am I. (Note: Neither is Karl Kennedy from Neighbours, but you wouldn’t know it.) If it makes you feel any better, though, I last felt my pulse in my stomach in November 2007 - I actually thought I was about to give birth to an alien at the time – and I’m still alive. Take from that what you will.
Do you spend a lot of money on fashion?
Yes. Do you?
What is the most times a dog has peed?
Nineteen. No, I’m being serious, it was nineteen times. It was in 1978. Seriously, dude, what did you expect here? And why so vague? Do you want to know how many times a dog has peed in the space of an hour? A day? Its life? Does it have to be a particular breed of dog? Boy or girl? Ask and ye shall receive! Or actually, maybe not in this case, because honestly, who’s counting?
If you want to know how many times MY DOG has peed, well, I can’t tell you that in general terms, but I can tell you how many times he has peed INSIDE THE HOUSE this week: three times. Yes, three times. Mostly on his own bed (!) but sometimes on the radiator. He does it when we go to the gym. We don’t know why, because here’s the thing: he doesn’t do it when we leave the house to go anywhere else. Only when we go to the gym. What does this mean? What is he trying to tell us here? Who knows. (Oh! Maybe Google does! Must go and check…)
Anyway, these were just five of the questions my referrers have asked me recently. If you’d like to submit your own question to “Ask Amber”, be my guest. Just make it something I’m likely to know the answer to. You know, none of that “What’s the square root of 8.768?” rubbish, because I can’t help you with that.
Tagged Outfits, red hair, redhead, rubin
Fi, (Of “Shoegal” fame) tagged me in the “Show Us Your Blog Spot” meme that’s been doing the rounds this month, and because this meme carries the threat “If you are tagged and do not participate, you will become allergic to cabbage,” I thought I’d better do it. I like cabbage, what can I say?
Anyway, as the name suggests, the rules of this meme are that you have to show everyone the spot where you blog. Because I blog for business rather than/as well as pleasure, we have a home office, which is where both Terry and I can be found… well, most of the the time, to be honest. I showed you a close-up of my desk last month, so here is a…. um, the opposite of a close-up. Predictably, Rubin is in the picture too:
 My blog spot Cleverly, I managed to totally obscure the view of the desk with my person, but meh, you’ve seen it before, so whatevs. It’s all pretty self explanatory: desk, chair, fluffy dog… The large silver case you can see underneath my desk is my Sephora train case, which is what I keep my face (i.e. my makeup) in. Yes, I need THAT MUCH of it. Because our house is tiny, the only place I can really keep it is under my desk, but I rest my feet on it while I’m working, so it works out OK.
To the left of my desk is Terry’s desk. (He’s not there because he’s not been feeling well today, poor soul, and has been lying on his bed muttering “The daggers! The daggers!”:
My, but he keeps a lot of crap under his desk, no? Yes, we sit next to each other all day long. No, it has not affected our relationship one bit, on account of we don’t actually speak to each other most of the time. He listens to stuff on iPlayer most of the time, and I’m on Twitter all day so hey, problem solved!
Immediately behind us, on the opposite wall from our desks, are these attractive Ikea shelves:
The red boxes contain photos, memorabilia and various bits of paper we don’t ever look at. The wooden box on the bottom right contains chargers for all of our various gadgets. It is slightly too small for this purpose. The overflowing basket in the bottom left is Rubin’s toy box. His bed is also in this room, but I had to move it to take this shot, because the room is so damn small. (I also had to hold the camera above my head. Seriously, could. not. swing. a. cat.)
And that’s my “blog spot”. I very occasionally blog from my bed, but only once in a blue moon because, well, my butt gets sore when I do that. And the ground floor of our house is so cold I rarely venture down there, so this is where 99% of my blogging happens. I know you care about this , Internet.
Also, while we’re talking about my writing, which we weren’t really, but hey: I’ve added a button in the sidebar which shows you the current word count of my novel. I’ve done this to try and force myself to actually write some of the stupid thing, and also so that excitement can build as you all count down to that magic moment when I decide that, actually, I can’t be bothered writing a novel no more, and throw in the towel. As you can see, at the time of writing, I have completed 4,709 words. At least eight of them will not be deleted at a later date, those being the words, “Chapter 1″, “Chapter 2″, “Prologue” and “By Amber McNaught.” Damn, but I’m good at this!
I’ve been tagged multiple times now on the “25 Random Things About Me” meme that’s been doing the rounds on Facebook lately, and so far I haven’t actually done it because, well, “over-sharing” is my middle name, and seriously, what else could I possibly tell you that you didn’t already know?
Oh. Yeah. Stuff about leggings and makeup, obviously. Of course. So, anyway, you asked for it (well, you did if you tagged me on Facebook), so here it is: 25 Random Things About Me That Are Even More Random Than The Other Random Things I Have Written About in the Past:
1. I attach a ridiculous amount of sentimental value to inanimate objects. For this reason, I will probably never sell my car.
2.Also for this reason, I have a number of boxes in my house filled with mementos from holidays and other good times.
3. I have no idea what some of them are supposed to represent now.
4. Strangely, though, I am ruthless about clothes and the very second I start to go off something, I will want to get rid of it and free up the space for something else.
5. Except for all those bags of clothes in the attic. Clearly I’m not quite ready to give those up yet.
6. I get very depressed about birthdays (mine) and have done since I was about 15 years old.
7. I own a pair of shiny leggings.
8. No, I have never worn them.
9. I do sometimes wear normal leggings, though, and I don’t really care what you think about that, so there!
10. I am not in any way a foodie, and if I lived alone I would live off things like toast and cereal quite happily. Especially if the toast had beans on it.
11. When I was young, I wanted to be a singer when I grew up.
12. Which was a bit weird, because I am almost completely tone deaf.
13. In primary school, I went so far as to enter a talent contest, in which me and a friend sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.
14. We did not win.
15. I do not have a favourite film, book or song and never know what to say when people ask me to name those things. Which actually happens much more often than you’d think.
16. Without makeup, I look like a completely different person.
17. And also like a very ill person apparently – on the couple of occasions I turned up at work without makeup, my bosses have always tried to send me home because I look so “ill”.
18. When people see me in flat shoes/bare feet for the first time, they can never quite get over how short I am. I’m 5’3”, but am rarely seen without heels.
19. When people first meet me, they almost always point out that my name is Amber and I ALSO have “amber” coloured hair. They seem to think this is new information they’re giving me, and that I will be as amazed as they are by it.
20. No, I was not named after my hair colour. Which is generally the second thing people say to me.
21. Sometimes I have to talk myself out of getting another puppy.
22. Or a kitten, even.
23. I have applied for the Green Card Lottery (to be able to live and work in the USA) twice now.
24. I never did have much luck with lotteries, though.
25. I totally can’t think of a number 25. My bad.
I’m not going to tag anyone, but feel free to consider yourself tagged if you really want to do this too!
Tagged memes
This is a kinda boring Friday Five, but hey, “boring” has never stopped me before, so without further ado:
What are your favorite smells/scents?
Cut grass. Petrol. Sunscreen. Rubin’s head (when he’s not been rubbing it in Unmentionables, obviously). The pages of certain books, particularly textbook-type ones, which often have this really distinctive scent that I can’t really describe – only when they’re new, though. Libraries. The interior of Lush stores. Leather handbags. The immigtration hall at Sanford airport. The interior of a brand new car. Terry’s neck.
Do they bring back memories for you? If so, what?
Well, yeah. For instance, the smell of Rubin’s head? Totally makes me think of Rubin, every time. Cut grass and sunscreen makes me think of summer, d’uh! Petrol… umm, let me get back to you on that. Other things, like a certain brand of supermarket hairspray, transport me instantly back to my teenage years, when I used to spray my hair into this hideous “quiff” thing, that would still be standing even after I’d slept on it. This hairspray was so strong you could use it to stick coins to your forehead, and I’ve no idea how I came to discover that. Also, The Body Shop’s White Musk perfume will take me back to that same era, while Calvin Klein’s ‘Escape’ is my 2nd year of university, and ‘Obsession’ is a certain bar in a certain small town in central Scotland, with sticky carpets and stale cigarette smoke.
What are your least favorite smells/scents?
Hospitals. That unique smell of disinfectant and… well, death, I guess.
Do they bring back memories for you? If so, what?
Yes, and too many of them.
What are your favorite perfumes/colognes?
I like to stick to a ‘signature’ scent rather than swapping around. For years now it’s been Jean Paul Gaultier’s ‘Classique’, but I’m thinking of defecting to ‘Fragile’. I guess I’m a Gaultier girl at heart, although as the answers above show, I also like Calvin Klein’s work in the fragrance department, and you can’t beat a bit of Chanel.
And now it’s your turn…
First up: I got another haircut. Yes I did. But! But! This haircut, it was a good haircut. Well, it wasn’t a bad haircut, anyway. Terry’s reaction: “It looks exactly the same as it did before.” Money well spent, then, although the hairdresser was gratifyingly horrified by the remnants of The Mullet . Also, both she and the girl who washed my hair said it was a lovely colour, and even although I know they say that to everyone, I still thought, “Ha! Take THAT, ginger haterz! Take that and party!”
Second up: Here is The Friday Five, with a little explanation first:
Ear worms are those annoying little songs that get stuck in your head. Sometimes they are the last song you hear on the radio before you go into the office, sometimes they just randomly pop in.
1. What is a common ear worm that you get?
I don’t think I have a common one (i.e. one that I get again and again), but the one I have right now, and have had ALL FREAKING WEEK, and also THE WEEK BEFORE THAT TOO is “Daddy’s Gone” by Glasvegas. Seriously, this song is in my head AT ALL TIMES right now and there is nothing I can do to shake it. Nothing. And this Friday Five isn’t really helping much, to be honest.
2. How long do they last?
This one? About two weeks and counting. GOD.
3. What do you do to get rid of them?
Well, I try to listen to something else, obviously. But then I get into the car and Terry puts on the Ear Worm, and that’s that.
4. What is the worse ear worm you’ve ever had?
Terry likes Meatloaf. ‘Nuff said.
5. Do you get some guilty pleasure in passing the ear worm along?
No, but Terry does. In fact, if Terry knows I have an Ear Worm, he will try to encourage it. Or he will try to replace it with Meatloaf. Actually, I really hope he doesn’t read this…
As always, feel free to answer on your own blog, or in the comments. And if you don’t want to do the whole thing, at least tell me what your current Ear Worm is, so I can finally get rid of “Daddy’s Gone”…
This week has been full of fail, hence the “no blogging” here at Forever Amber. Sorry. Anyway, the Friday Five! Is back! And is actually quite appropriate this week, so here it is. Feel free to answer the questions too, either in your own blog or in the comments. Peace out.
1. What made you happy this week?
The fact that I now have less than three weeks until my holiday, which, by the way, cannot come soon enough. Also the fact that I managed to go to the gym three times, after a two week absence which had absolutely nothing to do with the body pump instructor telling me I had “wee short legs” the last time I was there. Because, hello! I totally do NOT have “wee short legs”! Well, OK, I DO, because I, myself, am short. But my legs are actually NOT particularly short in proportion to my body. This is why I am able to buy tops from the “petite” sections in stores, but not bottoms, because they are always too short. On my not-even-remotely-wee-or-short-legs.*
2. What made you sad?
The weather. It made me S.A.D. And it also rendered me totally unable to get out of bed in the morning, to the extent that I can no longer get up in time for my regular gym classes, and have to actually go – gasp! – into the actual gym instead. And I HATE the Actual Gym. Gah.
3. What made you angry?
Oh God, do not even get me started. What made me angry was being libelled on the internet by a paranoid delusional, who wrote an entire post on his blog calling me and my fellow writers a lot of extremely unpleasant names, and accusing us of being dastardly, James Bond-style internet villains. And then a lot of people commented, agreeing with him and advocating violence against us “bitches”. That made me a bit angry, yes.
(No, I am not linking to the post. It wasn’t about any of my blogs, it was about a client’s blog, and they are dealing with it. I was mentioned by name, though, which made it all feel a little bit personal. And I’m not very good at being-attacked-and-not-hitting-back.)
4. What are you looking forward to in the next week?
The fact that I will have only two weeks to go until my holiday. TWO WEEKS. Until my HOLIDAY. Did I mention that I was going on holiday? Did I? Because I am going on holiday. In just over two weeks. And then I will have SUNSHINE and I will have LOTS OF FOOD and I will have absolutely NO internet drama to deal with. Bliss.
5. What are you not looking forward to?
The fact that I still have a month’s worth of advance posts to write before my holiday. And Christmas presents to wrap. And a haircut to arrange. And STUFF to buy. I need to go shopping. I need to go to the post office. I need to basically do all of December’s work and chores in the next two weeks, and OMG how will I do it? I’m going to be needing some strong, strong coffee, that’s for sure…
* Note: not that there is anything wrong with having wee, short legs, of course.
Tagged friday five, internet drama
Hey, folks, guess who’s back? Back again! The Friday Five’s back! Tell your friends!
Yes, I created a monster ‘cos no one wants to see Amber no more, with her constant whining about the cold, the cold, and OMG, did I mention how much I hate THE COLD? So in a bid to breathe new life into the old blawg, and give a girl who spends all day, every day sitting in a darkened room looking at pictures of shoes on the Internet something to write about, I’m bringing back The Friday Five. And guess what? You can too! Questions come from here, so feel free to take part if you wish. I may do this every Friday, I may do it for a few weeks and then get bored, or I may just do it this once and never mention it again. You just never know with me, and that’s half the fun, only not really, obviously.
Anyway, on with the show. Here are today’s questions and my “have-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat” answers:
1. Could you live without your phone for 1 week for $500?
Seriously, I could live without my phone forever for $500. In fact, I’d do it for free if it meant never having to talk on the phone again. That’s how much I hate the phone. And although I love my actual phone in a “hey, this is a pretty cool toy” kinda way, I only ever use the alarm on it to wake me up in the mornings and remind me to do things, and the camera to take pictures of my dog. And, OK, of that one time I decided to try out Amy Winehouse-style eyeliner. If I could work out how to blog from it, which I think may be technically possible, I would use it more, but yeah, I’d still take the $500. When can I get it?
2. Whom do you talk to on the phone the most?
Um, probably my mum, who has the distinction (and, dare I say, pleasure) of being the person I call any time strange medical symptoms befall me. I’m trying to cut back on this, though, because I know you wouldn’t think it, but it’s actually not much fun for anyone. I also sometimes call Terry’s answerphone (because his phone is rarely switched on, and when it is he’s normally left it in the car, in someone else’s home, or, on a couple of occasions, in the washing machine) if he’s been away from home for longer than I was expecting and leave him a message saying, “OMG ARE YOU DEAD? ARE YOU? CALL ME IF YOU’RE NOT DEAD!”
3. Whom do you no longer talk to on the phone but wish you still did?
I’ve actually never really been a “phoner”. I was never one of those teenagers who hogged the telephone line all night chatting to her friends, and this was because I didn’t have no friends. No, I’m joking, I did have friends, but for some reason we didn’t really call each other all that much, other than to make specific arrangements about stuff. Maybe if cellphones had been invented back then, things would’ve been different, but of course we had to use smoke signals in those days, which was a total drag. So, in conclusion, I don’t think there’s anyone I used to phone but still wish I did. This is why we have email, surely?
4. If you could get ahold of one celebrity phone number, whose digits would you want?
Michael Stipe’s. I wouldn’t call him though, because I don’t think he would like that, and I wouldn’t know what to say to him, as I am Not Good On The Phone. Also, he totally didn’t accept my Facebook friends request, so no phone calls for him. (Do you hear that? It’s the sound of Michael Stipe’s heart breaking…)
5. Do you talk on the phone more or less than you used to?
I think the answer to this is probably self-evident, no? In the early days of The Business, when I used to do a lot of freelance writing, I had to talk on the phone a LOT, because people would call me up and ask things, and then call me again and ask more things, and it was all talky-talky-talk. It was my version of Hell on Earth, although obviously not quite as bad as the call centre I used to work in. (If there is a hell, I’m totally convinced it looks EXACTLY like a call centre, seriously…) Now I’m all about the blogging, people tend to email rather than phone, and while this makes Amber a Very Happy Girl, it has also made me totally lose what little knack I had of using the phone. Which is why I answered the business line a few weeks ago with the words, “Hello! Hot Igloo speaking! Amber!”
OK, your turn. If you don’t want to answer in your own blog, feel free to answer in the comments section…
Tagged friday five, phones
It’s a while since we’ve had a round of Inadvertently Ask Amber – the game where I answer questions suggested to me by the weird and wonderful Google searches people use to find this site – but that doesn’t mean The Crazy hasn’t kept coming, because it most assuredly has. No, it just means I haven’t been telling you about it. Given that I even told you about that time Rubin took a dump in front of his new girlfriend, that’s kind of remarkable, isn’t it?
I have, however, been keeping close track of The Crazy, carefully filing those idiot search terms away in a file called “Things to remind me there are crazier people than me in the world”. So, without further ado, let’s have a look at them, shall we? And let’s just get the mad Redhead Hatin’ out the way first:
will i produce a red haired baby
Like, out of thin air, do you mean? Well, probably not, but if you do, can I watch?
Aside: I know I’ve asked this before, but I ask it again, because I have this habit of saying the same thing over and over again sometimes. I said, I have this habit of saying the same thing… oh, never mind. Anyway my question is this: why do people ask Google such specific, and quite personal questions? It’s not a Magic Eightball, you know! And neither am I. Which brings me to this one:
why am I cold all the time?
You are cold all the time because you have the mysterious, incurable, Cold-All-the-Time disease. Sorry, but you DID ask… Seriously, how would I know? I mean, I’m cold all the time, sure, but that’s because … well, it’s because it’s freaking cold. ALL THE TIME. Don’t even get me started on THAT one…
what are the names of the dogs in the famous five
Duh! There is only one dog in The Famous Five, and he is called Timothy, or Timmy for short. You can’t call him that, though. Only I can call him that, because I’ve read all the books and memorized them. Once YOU’VE done that too, then you can call him “Timmy”. His special talent: discovering underground passages by burrowing into rabbit holes, climbing out of wells unaided, having the waggiest tail ever. God, I loved that dog.
100 reasons to break off a wedding
Damn, you people ask a lot of me, don’t you? Sorry, but if you think I have time to sit here and write out 100 reasons why someone might break off a wedding, you clearly don’t know how lazy I am. Next!
does putting olive oil in ear make you deaf?
WHAT? WHAT? SPEAK UP, YOUNG UN, ALL THIS OLIVE OIL IN MY EARS DONE MAKE ME DEAF!
Actually, no. No, it doesn’t. Well, it could do if you used it all the time, I suppose. ( Disclaimer: is not a doctor.) I mean, when I did it that time, I ended up at the doctor’s surgery having my ear syringed, and the nurse told me to never pour anything in my ear EVER AGAIN, because only stupid people do that, and she may also have said something about me being lucky not to have made myself deaf, but I couldn’t really hear her, on account of I had a syringe in my ear at the time. And also: olive oil.
a caravan is parked in my street who do i report it to
You can report it to me. I am the Caravan-Parked-in-Street Overlord. Didn’t you know?
black babies stay black in dark room forever?
I can’t even imagine what kind of crack you were smoking when you typed this. And I don’t want to.
wear one dress for a whole year
No. YOU wear one dress for a whole year. See how you like it. Report back, please.
why are scottish people so pale
Because we have no sun, ever. EVER. GOD.
do you know what a ponky is
Do I know what a ponky is? Do I know what a ponky is? D’uh! This, my friends, is a ponky:
So, what you’re basically seeing here is a pink donkey = “Ponky”. Do you see what I did there? This isn’t just any old Ponky, though: this is Ponky Number 2. Here is Ponky Number 1:
Have you spotted the deliberate mistake yet? Because we didn’t. My mum and I found this Ponky at Ikea one day, and were thrilled at the sight of it. “Look, a pink donkey!” we shrieked in delight. “A Ponky!” So we picked the Ponky up, and we paid for the Ponky, and we took the Ponky home with us, and we gave the Ponky to Rubin, all the while repeating the word “Ponky” over and over again, like PonkyPonkyPonky and feeling damn pleased with ourselves for having invented it.
It wasn’t until about three days later that I realised the awful truth – the one that probably hit you RIGHT AWAY….
Yeah, it was a freaking RABBIT.
No, I don’t know. I have absolutely NO IDEA how we could have mistaken it for a Ponky. In our defence, we’d never SEEN a Ponky at that point, and I dunno, maybe the rabbit had secret powers that it used to make us THINK it was a Ponky. All I can say is, at least you won’t make the same mistake, readers. Be ever vigilant for Ponky Imposters. And don’t tell Rubin, OK, because when we told him we’d got him a Ponky, he believed us. Shhh!
Anyway, to come back to the question in hand: yes, I do know what a Ponky is. But sometimes I mistake them for rabbits. Easy mistake to make, could happen to anyone, moving right along…
oh god i need tights now!
Oh, um, that’s nice! Thanks for sharing! You sound really… special! What brought this on so suddenly, though? Was it the Ponky story?
amber mcnaught height on profile
Wow. Always slightly creepy when someone Googles your full name, no? I don’t know what the “profile” reference is, but just so’s you know, I’m 5″3. You’re welcome.
there’s a boy in a sissy girls dress
THERE IS? Oh man, thanks for telling me! I can’t BELIEVE I was sitting here writing about Ponkies when THAT was going on! Laters, folks…
Skribit question: How much would you sell Rubinman for?
Did I ever tell you about the time I found a turd on the kitchen worktop? The kitchen worktop WHERE WE PREPARE OUR FOOD? THAT WE EAT? No? Well, picture this, people…
It’s early one morning. You’ve just dragged your unwilling self from bed, in response to the constant barking that’s been coming from the kitchen for ten minutes now. You stagger downstairs, rubbing your eyes and asking yourself once again, “Why did we buy a puppy?” Did I mention it’s EARLY?
You reach the kitchen and open the door to reveal its occupant: a puppy Rubinman, who for some reason doesn’t seem quite as ecstatic to see you as he normally does. In fact, he almost looks guilty. Brushing this thought aside, you trudge your weary way to the back door, to let the Rubinman out for his morning ablutions, and as you turn the key in the lock, you happen to glance idly at the kitchen counter to your right, and on that kitchen counter (THAT YOU PREPARE YOUR FOOD ON! YOUR FOOD THAT YOU EAT!) you see a TURD. Once more for dramatic effect, ladies and gentlemen: A TURD.
You instantly stop what you’re doing, scarcely able to believe your eyes. Surely not… it can’t be… it just can’t be. But it is. Someone has crapped on your worktop – and you suspect that someone may still be in the room, looking guilty. You look at the Rubinman. He looks at you. You both look at the turd. You look back at the Rubinman, who seems to say, “Turd? What turd? I don’t know nothin’ bout no turd, dude. And anyway, lookit the size of me. Am a PUPPY! How would little puppy me even get up there? Better ask Terry, is all I’m sayin’…”
You consider this matter further as you let the dog out and remove the offending… turd. Then you scrub down the kitchen with bleach, about fifty times in a row. Then you have a shower – again with the bleach. Then you have another shower. As you stand there, scrubbing the palms of your hands with a nailbrush and wondering if you and your home will ever feel clean again, you ponder the matter. For the Rubinman has a point, you see. There appears to be no way that he, being a puppy, could have made it up to the worktop and back down again. Seriously, how could the Rubinman have done it?
So you finish your shower and you go to the bedroom, where Terry is still sleeping soundly, mercifully unaware of the scenes of horror that have just taken place in the kitchen.
“Terry, did you by any chance crap on the kitchen worktop last night?” you ask, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible. Terry says… Actually, maybe let’s just draw a veil over what Terry had to say in response to that question.
So. It wasn’t Terry. It wasn’t me. Rubin says it wasn’t him, but the thing is, I just don’t believe him. He was found at the scene of the crime. He was in the habit of crapping in the kitchen at the time. And to be perfectly honest, it wouldn’t have been the first time we’d found a dog turd in a place it really shouldn’t have been. He had previous convictions, basically. I mean, it just didn’t look good for him, did it?
As for how it got there, well, you know the phrase, “Don’t play with your food”? When Rubin was a puppy, you could easily have exchanged the words “your food” in that sentence with …. Yeah, so this totally wasn’t the kind of answer you were expecting to your innocent “How much would you sell Rubinman for?” question, was it? In fact, you’ll probably be scarred for life now. I know I am.
Why am I telling you all of this? Well, in the years that have passed since The Mysterious Incident of the Dog Turd in the Nighttime, that turd has continued to haunt me. Images of it have popped, unbidden, into my head from time to time – most often when I try to prepare food on the kitchen worktops, to be honest. Thank God we replaced those bad boys is all I can say! So when I received the Skribit question, “How much would you sell Rubinman for?” and I started to write a long, gushy entry about how Rubin is my prechus fur-baby, and no amount of money would ever persuade me to part with him, I suddenly remembered The Turd.
That’s why my answer to the question is: when can you pick him up? We’ll even throw in the yoda costume for free…
No, I’m kidding. Rubinman is not for sale. And after reading this, would you really want to buy him?
(P.S: Rubin’s account of The Mysterious Incident of the Dog Turd in the Nighttime can be found here.)
So, that whole Skribit thing, that worked out really well, no? I mean, it’s not like I got you all to ask me questions, and then just promptly forgot all about it or anything, because that would’ve totally sucked.
OK, OK – I didn’t forget about it, but I did ignore it, and I hold my hands up in shame. Here’s the thing, though: in order to go on holiday to Florida for two weeks next month, I’ve basically had to do an entire month’s work of work in advance (long story), so that I still get paid while I’m lying in the sun and shopping at Sephora. This, also, has sucked, and it continues to suck, which hasn’t left me with a whole lot of time for Skribit questions. Or, anything, come to think of it.
All of which is my long-winded way of saying that I’m now going to try and let myself off the hook by answering the easiest questions from the Skribit box The other ones – the ones which require me to actually think – will be answered too, but not today. So, without further ado, your questions, my answers…
The peanut image from the header! Am I the only one who doesn’t see it anymore? I miss it 
The peanuts are back! And now there’s not just peanuts in the header, but ALL KINDS OF NUTS! Forever Amber: now with added nuts! Yeah, I managed to totally screw up the header one night when I was trying to do something very simple to the template, and by the time I noticed they were gone, I was so frustrated that I decided just to work on the assumption that no one would ever miss them. But you did! And so Terry was immediately dispatched to sort out the header, which just goes to show that I may not be good at answering the Skribit questions, but I DO read them…
If you weren’t a redhead, what would you be?
Well, both of my parents have dark hair, so if I hadn’t been born a redhead, I’d probably have been a brunette. Would I have kept it that way? Probably not. Not that there’s anything wrong with brunettes, of course, but I think if I hadn’t been born a redhead, I’d have dyed it… red. No, I’m being serious. It makes me feel special. And it annoys all of the people who find my blog having searched for the phrase "redhead’s aren’t human" and stuff like that. (actual search term used to find this blog. Sometimes humanity scares me.)
Which are your favourite items in your wardrobe (tops, skirts, dresses, shoes, jackets)?
Given that I edit a blog about shoes, and seem to be stuck in a cycle of buying at least one new pair a month, I think I’d have to say the shoes. Other than that, I’m quite partial to outerwear of all descriptions, and am building up an impressive collection of dresses that I never get the opportunity to wear. Go me!
Edinburgh trams – why?
Dude, search me. I think just because people are lazy? And maybe because Princes Street can feel quite long when you’re wearing high heels and carrying a lot of shopping….
So, there you have it. The Skribit box is almost empty. I feel like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now you can go fill it up again with more questions…I promise I’ll try and answer them in a timely fashion this time. Maybe with illustrations and everything.*
* Maybe not.
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