The Mutant Girl Who Lives Down the Lane

Just a quick update here, on my wee deserted blog.

I'm not here any more, I've moved myself over to Little Mutant Girl, so if you're interesting in reading more about my boring little life, head on over there. It's got illustrations and everything.

Parenting

No, not me parenting (although my lumpy little ovaries are screaming at the to START, RIGHT NOW DAMNIT - they're just not sensible) but my father. Parenting me. It's bloody odd, I'm telling you. I've been an independant wee birdie for nearly two years now, able to do what I want, when I want (or almost, anyway. See:homeless.) Not any more, now I have somebody enforcing rulesand restrictions, the most frustrating of which is that I am no longer free to roam the house as I please in the wee small hours. The moment Dekus the Dad lays his head down to rest for the night an electronics ban comes into play. It's like living in the dark ages, I'm tellin' ya.

It does have its upsides, this curfew, (aside from lowering DtD's electric bill) which is that I am now forced to do something productive with my nights, like reading and writing, honing my literary skills. Which can only be a good thing, let's face it, because it is an area in which I am sorely lacking right now. The major downside is that in his waking hours, Dekus the Dad likes to control both the television and his laptop, at the same time. How exactly does one fully dedicate oneself to fighting off hoardes of zombies when one is also utterly engrossed in back-to-back episodes of M*A*S*H*?

Apparently this is his way of weaning me off of hours of reading blogs, playing The Sims 3 (it's an addiction, I say) and day time television and getting me to clean his house while he's at work. Tough chance, Dekus, what you fail to realise is that whilst you are working, I have free reign of your home and electric appliances.*

Honestly though, I'm not finding it too bad. I realise that I'm a lucky little button to even have these privelages in the first place, some people aren't so lucky. I know, for a long time I was one of them. I'm going to miss watching terrible films before bed though, I'll admit that in a heart beat.

Some bloggers write about their husbands, some write about their children. Me? I write about my dad.




*I'm not that bad, honest. I walk his dog and do the dishes. I just refuse to use the vacuum cleaner. I have my reasons.

Such Is Life

I was going to update earlier, but I figured 'Nah, I'll leave it until tonight. Something interesting might happen.' I was right too, three hours later I got myself an email from somebody asking me to review their product. If you ask me, that means I'm moving up in the world of blogging. To my dismay I had to decline with a polite "Unfortunately I am not currently American." Still, that's progress.

Life's good, ain't it? I'm warm and comfortable. I walk the streets and am flooded with memories of my childhood, every corner, garden and insignificant shrub is brimming with nostalgia, it's a glorious feeling. Hot and warm and fuzzy and beautiful. I'm no longer walking around with my eyes to the ground, not caring enough about my surroundings to take in their wonder. Everything is new and old and exciting and breath taking.

Me and my dad have been doing some quality father-daughter bonding since I moved over. Not sitting around reminiscing, or discussing life, love and politics. No, that's just not how our relationship works. Instead we have been getting to know each other all over again through the medium of Facebook, which 65-year-old Dekus the Dad is more obsessed with than even I am. So we sit here in the livingroom, silent in each others' presence, sending each other gifts on Zombie Lane. I like to think that this is not only bringing us closer together but also preparing us for the impending zombie apocalypse (although that's highly unlikely. When the dead walk the Earth I'm quite sure they will be able to do a whole lot more damage than merely knocking us all out for a couple of moments.) Sometimes, when the mood strikes, Dekus the Dad will also take it upon himself to read passages from his Wall aloud, filling me in on all the goings on of our family, "Oh, says here that your cousin is off on Holiday next March and your Aunt may or may not have been turned into a pot of Tomato soup." I think we're stumbling into an odd little routine, it's quite pleasing really.

Dekus the Dad - he also might be Santa Claus.

I haven't done much. Honestly. I did go visit some cars on Friday. There were also people, but mostly cars.

Yes, three Minis. Aren't I a lucky one? These could have been in traffic light formation but I declared "NO!" because people should not indulge my bizzarre whims, it's unhealthy and could give me a large ego.




OHMYGOD you know, I totally forgot to tell you something. The day before I left Belfast I went for lunch with the delightful Jonathan and GUESSWHATGUESSWHAT. My good friends the Hare Krisnas must have known I was departing from the glorious city so they threw me a little going away party.

Honestly, they're just so thoughtful.

YOU KNOW WHAT ALSO HAPPENED!? I met a Tiger. A real one. Who wasn't in a zoo.

My life is interesting.

Sorry that this post was so picture-heavy, it's the first opportunity I've had.

I Made It

I have a home, for the first time in over a year I have a place where I don't have to live in fear of stepping out of line, pissing off my co-habitants and finding my ass out on the street. Best part of it all? I get to eat. Every day. Multiple times. Bless you, Dekus the Dad, for putting up with me and my shit and feeding me and my dirty nicotine and caffiene addictions.

I'm glad it's all finally happened. If I'm honest, Belfast was like a prison for me, I felt stifled and unable to progress. Homelessness gets you into a bit of a Catch 22 type situation; can't get a job until you have a home, can't have a home until you get a job. But it's all over now, I'm free to grow and expand my horizons, I can finally see possibilities for myself. I'm stretching out my cramping soul and it feels damn good.

Living here is still pretty surreal, I must say, I can't quite grasp that I'm here and this is my forever home now. even after ten days here I occasionally find myself thinking about "When I go home". Stop it, Brain, you are home, in a place where people love you and will look after you.

So what have I done since I got here? Not much, not much at all. Three days spent with friends and seven days spent arsing around, taking advantage of all my new home has to offer: TV, food, internet, a cuddly dog and nostalgia by the bucketload. Now I just have to go about getting my finances in order, paying my gigantic phone bill and registering with a doctor.

It all sounds so simple when you just list it like that.

Writer's Blockage

So I haven't updated in quite a while, eh? This would probably be because I have been all over the place in body and mind. I finally got home to Chester a week ago (hurrah!) and it's been one fiasco after the other. I'm still adjusting and I'm not entirely sure what to make of anything yet. Due to this I have been struck by a destructive case of writer's block (I use that phrase loosely, for I am no writer). I'll tell you all about it some other time, but for now I leave you with this anecdote.

Setting: Living room
Characters: Robyn, Adam (brother) and Dekus the Dad.
Dekus the Dad: I bet your mum's sorry she died when she did now that David Essex is on Eastenders.



This is my life now.

Is There A Doctor In The House?

I'm just back from discussing my weird back problems with a doctor again, because right now all I want to do is claw at my shoulder and gauge out all the tendons, muscles and nerves because it feels like I have an itch way down deep in the flesh and it's not fun. It's worse than pain.

Anyways, the trip to the doctor was pretty uneventful, apart from her giving me a letter to pass on to whoever is unlucky enough to end up as my doctor in Chester. This is that letter:
"XR CERVICAL SPINE
I note my findings on previous imaging. No evidence of bony cervical rib formation. The appearances of the right first and second ribs are felt secondary to an underlying cervical thoracic scoliotic deformity convex to the left, the apex of which is at TI. Given the presentation referral to Orthopeadics could be considered."
WTF does this mean? I can gather that I don't have cervical ribs, I'm deformed(!!) and need to go see some Orthopeadics. I suck at doctor lingo, so anything else is beyond me. Please help.

The doctor did say I may require surgery.

The Reason is You

I said in my first post that I started blogging to get all my 'big thoughts' out (something I'm yet to accomplish) and I stand by that, but I have another reason now as well. I was almost giving up, I had lost my enthusiasm. That is, until I discovered The Bloggess and the beautiful sense of community surrounding her blog.

I was reading through some of her old posts (ok all of them - I was hooked) when I came to the James Garfield Christmas Miracle. I cried, honestly. To think that all these strangers came together to give each other hope, support and assistance. It was beautiful and it moved me. I want to be a part of something like that, to belong to such a fantastic network of people. To be there with them through their laughter and joy, sorrow and heartache, and to assist them whenever and how ever I can.

Basically what I'm trying to say is hello blogosphere! I'm here for the long haul and I hope you'll have me.

Cheerio Belfast

Today I found out that my ID has been posted out and will arrive within the next week. I was surprised that rather than relieved I felt a surge of sadness at leaving this place. I wanted to say goodbye to the place that has been home to me for the last seven years. It was this city and its people that helped to shape me into the confused little person I am today.

I took the scenic route, through culture filled alleys crammed with quirky bars and whimsical street art, to my favourite spot in Belfast; it's a wall set off the main road outside a gay bar and just round the corner from the Circus School. I love it because the surrounding area is full of memories for me. From here I can see the Albert Clock and the Royal Mail building, which to many people would seem like strange markers but to me they are symbolic buildings around which many of my teenage years revolved. I spent many a drunken afternoon running through the fountains by the Albert Clock and the immense, mirrored facade of the Royal Mail was on the receiving end of many long, admiring gazes while I was high as a kite.

I walked through subways that made me heady with memories, flashbacks from a booze-filled, carefree time. It made me think of happy times with friends I have loved and who I have grown away from. Moving from here is going to be hard, some of the happiest days of my life have been spent wandering through this city, but I now realise that there is very little left here for me. Today I wandered these streets alone. thete

Dear Stephen Merchant

I saw you on Chatty Man with Alan Carr and you said that you are looking for a woman. Is this true? If so I would like to apply for the position Post-haste. I know that you said small women were problematic, and compared to you I am the size of a pea, but I think you are simply unaware of the benefits of having a pixie for a girlfriend, for instance
-We small folk are very good at being the 'little spoon'.
-My head makes for a very good arm rest.
-It doesn't take a lot to get me drunk so I'm a cheap date.

The first time I saw you I kinda knew we were meant to be together, and when I saw you on Chatty Man it only proved that I was correct. Then I was tweeting about it and some guy said he would totally pay to watch us get it on so not only is our love *beautiful* it is also *marketable*.

Lots of love,
                 Robyn xox

P.S. If you could please get back to me on this by October. It's my cousin's wedding and it would be really good if you could make it.

P.P.S. To show you how good we look together I am attaching a mock-up of us that my friend Patrick made. Obviously I am standing on a dwarf's shoulders to give myself a boost because in reality there is no way my head is reaching your shoulders.

Why Girls Should Earn More Money Than Guys

You know the way there's still inequality in the workplace? Yeah, me neither, I don't know anything about that type of thing seeing as I'm chronically unemployed.  But if they aren't going to make things equal they should totally swing it the other way. Ya wanna know why? It's so much more expensive being a woman. Here's my reasoning:
1. Tampons.
Women need tampons and men don't. Unless they've been doing some weird shit, in which case I don't want to know. Ever. At all. Not one little bit... Ok, maybe an ounce.

2. Toilet Paper.
Us girls use more toilet paper than the average man because we wipe for #1s as well as #2s. This obviously means we spend more on money on it than men. Logic.

3. Hair and Make-Up.
Alright, not every woman needs these things, some people prefer to go 'Au Naturale' and kudos if you're.one of them, I wish I had your confidence. But for all us woman who are too insecure to go out looking like our naturally beautiful selves, the cost of using make-up and hair products every day makes our monthly expenditure sky rocket.

These things are the only three reasons I can think of right now.

On a totally unrelated note, how painful are periods and childbirth? Not that I actually know about the childbirth thing but still, I've heard it's pretty bad.