Search Keywords
My name I can understand, but the other two??? What?! And most importantly: WHY DOES THIS TAKE YOU TO MY BLOG???????????
Showing posts with label fuck my life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fuck my life. Show all posts
Sunday, 30 September 2012
Thursday, 20 September 2012
Not on my (search) terms
Gosh, I haven't been on here in a while. We have lots of catching up to do, my friends. It's been a busy couple of months.
Although I haven't written any posts since early August, this has not had the usual impact on my number of page views. Normally, I obsessively check the number of views my blog receives, like a small child checking presents under the tree. Click on me! Validate me! Prove I exist! (as Miss Fox would imitate in a whining voice that sounds in no way like my own: 'Pay me attention!') It probably sounds remarkably tragic (on a par with my weekly enjoyment of Holby City - don't judge!), but now that I'm not in full-time education, I don't get grades to measure my self-worth, sorry - academic attainment, by. Blog stats are thus a meagre attempt to self-assess. AND YET all this has now been SPOILT. Because, despite not posting anything for weeks, I'm still getting regular views. Why? Because of people google-imaging those fucking VAGINA CUPCAKES! Now when I look at the traffic sources and how people have bumped into my blog, I repeatedly discover it's from googling 'cunt cakes', 'hymen pussy', 'lesbian vaginas' and 'kate is so gay'.
This does not make me happy. Not only do I feel quite sad, and weirdly unclean through association, but I also now can't know how many people are reading my blog for the content, rather than just scouring the web for jammy cunts (as it were). The only small thing that can assuage these frustrated and vaguely voyeuristic feelings (almost like hearing someone wanking in a public toilet) is that they might accidentally read the content while they're unbuttoning their trousers, or the type-face might flicker in the corner of their eyes as they glaze over, and they'll accidentally catch some lefty feminist rhetoric which might slip through the cracks in their hypothalamus, lodge itself somewhere, and spread like a lovely bacteria. WOMEN ARE NOT OBJECTS. ART IS POWER. CREATIVITY IS GOLDEN. KATE MAKES LEARNING FUN.
Hmmmm. I haven't actually written about any of the things I meant to. And I'm too tired now. Bollocks. (Please don't let that mean I'll get search terms of people looking for testicles now; there's only so much genitalia I can take!). I'll have to leave all my other musings and updates for another time. Including my bumping-into-Boris-Johnson-this-evening story. I bet you can hardly wait.
Although I haven't written any posts since early August, this has not had the usual impact on my number of page views. Normally, I obsessively check the number of views my blog receives, like a small child checking presents under the tree. Click on me! Validate me! Prove I exist! (as Miss Fox would imitate in a whining voice that sounds in no way like my own: 'Pay me attention!') It probably sounds remarkably tragic (on a par with my weekly enjoyment of Holby City - don't judge!), but now that I'm not in full-time education, I don't get grades to measure my self-worth, sorry - academic attainment, by. Blog stats are thus a meagre attempt to self-assess. AND YET all this has now been SPOILT. Because, despite not posting anything for weeks, I'm still getting regular views. Why? Because of people google-imaging those fucking VAGINA CUPCAKES! Now when I look at the traffic sources and how people have bumped into my blog, I repeatedly discover it's from googling 'cunt cakes', 'hymen pussy', 'lesbian vaginas' and 'kate is so gay'.
Search Keywords
Entry
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Pageviews
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cunt cakes
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4
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cupcakes clitoris
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3
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hymen pussy
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2
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vag cupcake
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2
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vaginal cupcakes
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2
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lesbian and my beautiful
girlfriend scenes
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1
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This does not make me happy. Not only do I feel quite sad, and weirdly unclean through association, but I also now can't know how many people are reading my blog for the content, rather than just scouring the web for jammy cunts (as it were). The only small thing that can assuage these frustrated and vaguely voyeuristic feelings (almost like hearing someone wanking in a public toilet) is that they might accidentally read the content while they're unbuttoning their trousers, or the type-face might flicker in the corner of their eyes as they glaze over, and they'll accidentally catch some lefty feminist rhetoric which might slip through the cracks in their hypothalamus, lodge itself somewhere, and spread like a lovely bacteria. WOMEN ARE NOT OBJECTS. ART IS POWER. CREATIVITY IS GOLDEN. KATE MAKES LEARNING FUN.
Hmmmm. I haven't actually written about any of the things I meant to. And I'm too tired now. Bollocks. (Please don't let that mean I'll get search terms of people looking for testicles now; there's only so much genitalia I can take!). I'll have to leave all my other musings and updates for another time. Including my bumping-into-Boris-Johnson-this-evening story. I bet you can hardly wait.
Friday, 3 August 2012
East London charm
Guy: Hey. Do you recognise me? We met at that conference...
Me: Sorry. Which conference?
Guy: You know.
Me: Sorry....
Guy: Only messing with you. I just wanted to say 'hi' cos I think you're pretty. Where are you going?
Me: The Aladdin.
Guy: To meet your boyfriend?
Me: No.
Guy: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No.
Guy: Do you want a boyfriend?
Me: No. I have a girlfriend.
Guy: Really? That's amazing!
Me: (hint of anger in my voice) Why's that amazing?
Guy: Can I have your number?
Me: Umm... No!
Guy: Why not?
Me: I don't think my girlfriend would like it.
Guy: She can come too.
Me: I definitely don't think she'd like that.
Guy: Well, maybe I could just come and watch?
I give him a filthy look and walk away.
I know it wouldn't have changed his bigoted, homophobic, skank views, but I wish I'd stayed and explained to him how offensive that was. I also wish I'd called him an imaginative compound swear-word.
Sunday, 27 May 2012
Don't be so gay
With same sex marriage a hot political topic in the UK and the US, not to mention some very concerning legislature on the horizon in the Ukraine, issues around homosexuality are getting quite a bit of press at the minute (which reminds me - I still need to read and respond to the government's consultation before 14th June). I particularly enjoyed Victoria Coren's Why love trumps economics in last week's Observer; not only for its ideological argument, but also for the paragraph that ran: They [those in the Tory party revolted by the idea of gay marriage] know better than to reveal the full terrifying vision of social collapse that a gay wedding triggers in their minds: a church full of crop-haired anarchists, most of them speaking foreign languages; teenagers snorting heroin off the altar, most of them on Facebook; women publicly breastfeeding in the pews, most of them bishops; two newlywed drag queens high-fiving as a vicar in hotpants says: "You may now fist the bride." Reading this on the train on the way back from a Northern socialist wedding (more a call to arms than celebration of romantic feeling; the groom's speech fleetingly referred to his wife before tackling the deficit, tax-avoidance and bankers' bonuses, before seguing nicely into a ceilidh), it also prompted an interesting discussion with my (straight) identical twin, over her feelings of the importance of marriage reforms for straight couples who don't want to get 'married', but instead want a 'civil partnership', to make things truly equal. Equality is a strange pigeon, as my girlfriend would say.
But, closer to home, I've been pretty frustrated recently (to put it nice and politely) with my own experience of what has ranged from latent heteronormativity to slurred bigotry, calling at casual homophobia and a few other stations on the way. Whether it's left-wing, predominantly open-minded friends who wouldn't date a bisexual, to those who don't believe lesbians can have sex, or facebook friends saying 'gay' as an insult, to people shouting stuff at me in the streets, I'M TIRED OF IT.
Picture the scene:
My beautiful girlfriend and I are about to enter a tube station to get the last train home after a night out.
GUY: Hey! I like what you're wearing (to GEM). Why don't you give me your number and maybe we could chat some more about fashion some time? (We didn't point out that this hardly constituted a conversation)
GEM: I'm OK, thanks.
GUY: Well, why don't you give me your number and you can give me a call later and tell us where you two end up, if it's any good?
GEM: Nah, it's alright. We're actually going home.
GUY: Well, why don't you give me your number anyway? (Credit should go to him for persistence, I will concede).
GEM: We're actually together (gestures at me).
GUY: (pause) Well, why don't you take my number anyway, so you can call me when you realise the strap-on's not enough, and it's a real cock you're after.
Charming. What did he think? That she was going to turn around and say, 'Oh my god, you're right! What have I been thinking?! I thought I was a lesbian, but now you've suggested it, meeting you, I've realised that all I needed was your big, giant, delicious cock to make me realise what I was missing. How silly of me....'????
Fade out.
Scene #2
Walking down the high street.
PAINT BALL GUY: Hey girls! Fancy shooting your boyfriends?
ME: I don't have a boyfriend. I have a girlfriend. You shouldn't make assumptions.
Fade out.
Scene #3
Walking down the high street the following day.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: Hey, girl in blue.
ME: Hi. I'm not really interested in paint-balling.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: What about your friends? Or your boyfriend? Attractive girl like you must have a boyfriend.
ME: It obviously wasn't you I spoke to yesterday. I actually have a girlfriend.
GUY FROM BEFORE: Yeah - she's got a girlfriend.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: Do you both need boyfriends?
GUY FROM BEFORE: Wouldn't that slightly defeat....
Moron. Paint ball guy #2 - you disappoint me. Do we both need boyfriends?! I want to set Julie Bindel on him
Unimpressed fade out.
Scene #4
MY DOCTOR: What contraception are you using?
ME: I'm not.
DOC: Are you trying to get pregnant?
ME: No.
DOC: Do you have a boyfriend?
ME: No. I have a girlfriend.
DOC. Then there's no point going on the pill. Unless, of course, you are planning on having sex with men in the future? We're not all the bad, really!
ARGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH. Of course Mr Doctor, because I thought you men were all disgusting and gross and horrid, and that's why I have a girlfriend. Not because I accidentally fell in love with my best friend and was lucky enough that she fell in love with me too. Of course. And now you come to mention it, Mr Young & Cocky Doctor, I've just realised that you are not all that bad, really. Just some of you.
Fade out, sexually, with Bond girls dancing and Brigitte Bardot & Serge Gainsbourg playing in the background....
Hmmph.
But, closer to home, I've been pretty frustrated recently (to put it nice and politely) with my own experience of what has ranged from latent heteronormativity to slurred bigotry, calling at casual homophobia and a few other stations on the way. Whether it's left-wing, predominantly open-minded friends who wouldn't date a bisexual, to those who don't believe lesbians can have sex, or facebook friends saying 'gay' as an insult, to people shouting stuff at me in the streets, I'M TIRED OF IT.
Picture the scene:
My beautiful girlfriend and I are about to enter a tube station to get the last train home after a night out.
GUY: Hey! I like what you're wearing (to GEM). Why don't you give me your number and maybe we could chat some more about fashion some time? (We didn't point out that this hardly constituted a conversation)
GEM: I'm OK, thanks.
GUY: Well, why don't you give me your number and you can give me a call later and tell us where you two end up, if it's any good?
GEM: Nah, it's alright. We're actually going home.
GUY: Well, why don't you give me your number anyway? (Credit should go to him for persistence, I will concede).
GEM: We're actually together (gestures at me).
GUY: (pause) Well, why don't you take my number anyway, so you can call me when you realise the strap-on's not enough, and it's a real cock you're after.
Charming. What did he think? That she was going to turn around and say, 'Oh my god, you're right! What have I been thinking?! I thought I was a lesbian, but now you've suggested it, meeting you, I've realised that all I needed was your big, giant, delicious cock to make me realise what I was missing. How silly of me....'????
Fade out.
Scene #2
Walking down the high street.
PAINT BALL GUY: Hey girls! Fancy shooting your boyfriends?
ME: I don't have a boyfriend. I have a girlfriend. You shouldn't make assumptions.
Fade out.
Scene #3
Walking down the high street the following day.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: Hey, girl in blue.
ME: Hi. I'm not really interested in paint-balling.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: What about your friends? Or your boyfriend? Attractive girl like you must have a boyfriend.
ME: It obviously wasn't you I spoke to yesterday. I actually have a girlfriend.
GUY FROM BEFORE: Yeah - she's got a girlfriend.
PAINT BALL GUY #2: Do you both need boyfriends?
GUY FROM BEFORE: Wouldn't that slightly defeat....
Moron. Paint ball guy #2 - you disappoint me. Do we both need boyfriends?! I want to set Julie Bindel on him
Unimpressed fade out.
Scene #4
MY DOCTOR: What contraception are you using?
ME: I'm not.
DOC: Are you trying to get pregnant?
ME: No.
DOC: Do you have a boyfriend?
ME: No. I have a girlfriend.
DOC. Then there's no point going on the pill. Unless, of course, you are planning on having sex with men in the future? We're not all the bad, really!
ARGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH. Of course Mr Doctor, because I thought you men were all disgusting and gross and horrid, and that's why I have a girlfriend. Not because I accidentally fell in love with my best friend and was lucky enough that she fell in love with me too. Of course. And now you come to mention it, Mr Young & Cocky Doctor, I've just realised that you are not all that bad, really. Just some of you.
Fade out, sexually, with Bond girls dancing and Brigitte Bardot & Serge Gainsbourg playing in the background....
Hmmph.
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Explaining Applied Theatre at the Job Centre....
Advisor: So, you're a Drama teacher?
Me: No, not exactly. I'm not a qualified teacher.
Advisor: Have you thought about any further education or training? A PGCE is just one year.
Me: I know. But I just finished my Masters about a month ago. I don't really want to do a PGCE just now. I mean, maybe in the future, or in a few years I'd perhaps like to go into lecturing... I don't know.
Advisor: So are you looking for university lecturing jobs?
Me: No. No, certainly not right now.
Advisor: And you're not a Drama teacher?
Me: No, it's more like...entering into a dialogue with different community groups, not exactly teaching them... Using Drama to build personal and social skills, or for social change.... or.......[tails off, over compensating with arm gestures]
Advisor: Right [sounding either dubious or confused - or both].
So it's quite specific then...
Me: Yes.
Advisor: OK. Well, I'll do a job search for you [turns to computer....a minute later]. So, we've got a senior lecturing job at UCL, in Philosophy.
Me: On £45k? I don't think I'm really trained for that...
Advisor: Or something to do with programming systems at LSE.
Me: Economics? That's not really my field...
Advisor: Or you could be a Youth Worker?
Me: No, not exactly. I'm not a qualified teacher.
Advisor: Have you thought about any further education or training? A PGCE is just one year.
Me: I know. But I just finished my Masters about a month ago. I don't really want to do a PGCE just now. I mean, maybe in the future, or in a few years I'd perhaps like to go into lecturing... I don't know.
Advisor: So are you looking for university lecturing jobs?
Me: No. No, certainly not right now.
Advisor: And you're not a Drama teacher?
Me: No, it's more like...entering into a dialogue with different community groups, not exactly teaching them... Using Drama to build personal and social skills, or for social change.... or.......[tails off, over compensating with arm gestures]
Advisor: Right [sounding either dubious or confused - or both].
So it's quite specific then...
Me: Yes.
Advisor: OK. Well, I'll do a job search for you [turns to computer....a minute later]. So, we've got a senior lecturing job at UCL, in Philosophy.
Me: On £45k? I don't think I'm really trained for that...
Advisor: Or something to do with programming systems at LSE.
Me: Economics? That's not really my field...
Advisor: Or you could be a Youth Worker?
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