Zombie Apocalypse – the truth

Now, I’m not one for scaremongering, gossip-talk, nor am I easily led, but this is too important to gloss over.

Please, remain calm and poe-faced in the midst of this, the final call to arms.  We are to be deluged by – dare I speak the Name? – ..we are to be overrun by.. by those we heretofore have mocked in mock-schlock horror films.  Dare I write the word?


Who’s got the last laugh now?  Well, nobody, technically – zombies aren’t known for enjoying a good belly laugh – but still…THEY COME….

This post is the result of me reading about this blog post from the CDC (serious, poe-faces) that crashed the servers, which you can check out on the link below


So the doctor tries a little levity and as The Associated Press reports:

Zombie apocalypse.” That blog posting headline is all it took for a behind-the-scenes public health doctor to set off an Internet frenzy over tired old advice about keeping water and flashlights on hand in case of a hurricane.

What followed was an astounding increase in hits to the CDC website, with servers crashing or near breaking point.  A couple of comments following this internet storm are of note.  The first, from the article reporting the internet ‘frenzy’:

Above the post is a photo of what appears to be a dirty-fingered female zombie

Wow!!  She appears to have dirty fingernails???  Really??  Not, ‘CDC public health doctor pastes zombie picture above public information blog post’.  The appearance of dirty fingernails in a zombie is surely more noteworthy than the mere fact that the subject is of zombie descent to begin with.

Moving along:

We have a critical message to get out and that is CDC saves lives while saving money. If it takes zombies to help us get that message out, then so be it,” said agency spokesman Tom Skinner

Well, I don’t think there’s anything more to add is there?  I can confirm, having clicked on the link I provide you with in this blog post, that the picture posted does indeed appear to depict a dirty-fingernailed, female zombie.


An advantage of unemployment


Most of the time I’m thoroughly upset by my lack of paid employment, however I’m in a forgiving mood today so let’s look on the bright side…

As Karen Carpenter so melodically stated

 “rainy days and mondays always get me down”

Today is not only a Monday, it is also raining.  I’m guessing this double downer would have put Karen into an even deeper depression, given her dislike of rain or Monday as stand-alone downers.  Of course, brother Rick wrote the lyrics to most of the songs (I think), so perhaps this was his bugbear.  Just why a couple of singer/songwriters should dislike Mondays I have no idea.  Trying to relate to the masses, eh?

So, in my vernacular, it’s pissing it down.  Why is this good?

Since the only reason to be down on a Monday is because it signifies the end of the weekend/start of the working week, and since I am not working, Monday has no power over meOkay, it’s raining, but that doesn’t really bother me either.  I’m in bed with a tummy ache. 

Speaking of weather…

this is the site I use to check the pollen count if I get sneezy:


I find it pretty useful.

As an aside, scrolling down the page I noticed this little image:

This made me giggle.  Can you imagine the photo session? 

PHOTOGRAPHER: “Okay, who’s got the bigger tits?  Right, you, the brunette, can you just put this skin-tight red sweater on, please…Great.  Now, just cosy up to eachother, like you’ve had a few drinks-and this is your best mate-and there’s guys watching you-and one of the guys you really fancy.  FABULOUS.  Now, just one more thing…Brunette Girl, if you just turn to the side, shoulders back, and push your tits out.. More. More. Great. Don’t be shy – think of them as, err, a couple of weather-seeking missiles…  Perfect.  It’s a wrap!! ”

Objectify much?

Summertime (hayfever poem/Ella Fitzgerald)


I’m so sick of this hayfever, aren’t you?  It’s grass pollen at the moment and that seems to be what I’m allergic to.  Anyway, you know that gorgeous song, Summertime?  No, not the Will Smith single 😉  I’m thinking of Gershwin’s aria (I only just found out it’s technically an aria; I just knew it as that song Ella Fitzgerald sang). 

Well, I’ve changed the lyrics to make my hayfever poem, which is below.  It helps if you know the tune already, as I was singing the melody in my head when I changed the words around.  Below that are the original lyrics and below that is, hopefully, a youtube audio of the song aria being sung.

SUMMERTIME (a hayfever poem)

And the livin’ is sneezy
Nose is runnin’
And the pollen is high

Oh, your eyes start to itch
And your tear-ducts are fillin’
It’s okay baby
Let them tears roll by

One of these mornings
Your eyes will stop stinging
And when the birds sing..
You no longer yell, “DIE!”

But until that morning
Now, I don’t mean to alarm you
You’re stuck indoors, where you’re likely to fry

And the livin’ is sneezy
Nose is runnin’
And the pollen is high

Hayfever’s a bitch
And your face is a-puffin’
STEP AWAY from that daisy
‘Til your nose is dry

SUMMERTIME (real lyrics)

And the livin’ is easy
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high

Oh, Your daddy’s rich
And your mamma’s good lookin’
So hush little baby
Don’t you cry

One of these mornings
You’re going to rise up singing
Then you’ll spread your wings
And you’ll take to the sky

But until that morning
There’s a’nothing can harm you
With your daddy and mammy standing by

And the livin’ is easy
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high

Your daddy’s rich
And your mamma’s good lookin’
So hush little baby
Don’t you cry

A classic rendition (not the one I wanted, but still pretty good):

A more modern version – Leona on X-Factor:

My Dentist (phobia?)- part 2


So, after the botch-up on Wednesday (described in the last post) I was given an appointment for this week to go back to get a new inlay fitted on my root canal treated tooth.

Just because I love the visual, please welcome back, *American talk show host accent*

“Misterrrr Drill and Fill”

The reason I made a part 2 to this post is that something happened on Friday.  The something that happened is my temporary filling remained true to its calling.  It turned out, not only to be temporary, but also temperamental, refusing to last until my next appointment.  Couldn’t last seven days.

It is a different kind of filling to last time, which was also a temp, but this new one doesn’t have to be drilled out.  According to Dentist he ‘just flicks this one out’ – no drilling – YAY.  Except…

it suffers from premature ejection.  A very embarrassing condition for any filling.

I was eating a salad.  I thought an olive pip had found its way past the pitting machine, as I bit something hard.  Retrieving the object I realise with horror it is my ‘just flicks out’ filling.  Thank God I was at home.  I still had a freak-out, though. 

The prematurely-ejecting filling is white, hard, and rather large.  It looks and feels quite toothy, probably because there’s not much of my original molar left above the gum line, so the position the temp was filling in for was a central, executive position.  Lots of stress.  Like filling in for Richard Branson, maybe, while he’s pissing about in a hot air balloon.

Anyhoo, I get a bit stressed, “ohmygod,ohmygod,ohmygod”, holding the temp in my shaking hand.  I swear I didn’t used to be phobic about dental stuff.  I’ve had two dubious dentists, a few bad experiences, and now I’m a mess around them all.

My molar without the filling resembles a castle ruin.  I’ve got my next appointment tomorrow morning – eeeeeeek!!!

I’m sweating right now.  I feel sick.  I’m so bloody anxious and my stomach is turning over.  Occasionally the rational side of my brain hazards a know-it-all comment, “there’s nothing to be this scared about”, “get a grip”, “maybe you should just think exactly what it is that’s making you anxious and work from there”.

I’m anxious because I associate him with pain, discomfort and dodgy technique.  I’m also annoyed because every time I have to do something that is anxiety-provoking, it knackers me afterwards.

Anyway, as a side dish, I was thinking about whether I have “dental phobia”.  I don’t think I do, you know.  For me, a phobia involves a few things:

  • avoidance of the feared situation
  • disproportionate fear about the situation/thing
  • physical and/or psychological disturbance around the object of ones phobia.

I don’t avoid going to the dentist – I may have been guilty of postponing in the past, but if necessary I go.

I do have a disproportionate fear about going.  I mean, my fight or flight response is in full-swing, and really this much adrenalin should only be released if one is in imminent danger of being hit by a bus.  BUT, although disproportionate, the fear isn’t totally unfounded.  I have had several reasons to be wary of my dentist, and he has caused me discomfort and made dubious decisions (for instance, he waited until I was in agony before doing an emergency root canal treatment, rather than reacting to the increasing pain I’d told him about).  So, although my anxiety is excessive, I think some anxiety would be rational.

I do, obviously, have butt-loads of psychological and physical disturbance both in anticipation of my dental procedure and whilst having anything done.

So, I hit two out of three for the phobia criteria (of my own devising, not DSM or anything).  I think I have a huge fear about being treated by this particular dentist.  But, I think that if I had a good experience with my next dentist (I’m definitely changing practices after this gets sorted) my fear would markedly diminish.

This is all drivel in terms of it wasn’t really necessary for me to write or analyze it, but I’m SHIT-SCARED so I suppose writing it down is my way of coping with/dispersing the fear.

Outwitted, outclassed: the peas have it


I have had a tiring couple of days.  I decided on Thursday to find somewhere to lodge for a couple of days, somewhere near here, but not here, being my main requirement.  I settled on York.  I will probably do a post about that when my energy levels have come up a bit again.

I had salmon fillet and peas for lunch.  It’s healthy and quick. 

I started with a good handful of frozen peas, boiled them, drained them, plated them.  Then the peas started to get away.  A knife and fork are great implements for subduing most food types.  Peas, no.  Small round things do not find themselves taxed by a human being with a knife-fork combo.

They roll.  They roll all over the place.  They are aided by the frictionless surface of a ceramic plate.  I, the human being, the Food Chain Superior, I, was led a merry dance by these impudent little legumes.  Have they developed some sort of evolutionary advantage?  Doubtful.  In their pods they are closeted from minor predators, but once Bird’s Eye (or whoever else sells them) has strip searched the pods and hauled all the peas out for freezing, then the game is on.

The two main ways to lose peas:

  1. peas piled onto fork start to jump off like lemmings in the journey from fork to mouth.
  2. peas ‘jump’ off plate as you chase them around the plate, trying to herd them onto the fork with the flat end of knife.

I only lost about 4 peas today and I’m not bothered about that in terms of hunger, obviously.  What pisses me off is that they roll onto the carpet.  I have to stop eating and retrieve the errant pea(s) before someone squishes it into the carpet (though that’s what it deserves, little bugger).

As I say in the title:

Outwitted, outclassed: the peas have it!

On the other hand, being boiled in my pan can’t be much fun.  Perhaps I should allow them their one last little act of rebellion…

I was bored, okay?


It has been a lovely sunny day where I live, in the north bit of England (we haven’t got many bits, so we tend to hold onto the bits we do have).

I went to the supermarket – my usual haunt, when I have nowhere particular to go – Morrisons.  I didn’t actually use the store for a change, but I did take an old pair of jeans, thinking I could toss them in the clothes recycling bins they have there.  I’m incapable of leaving the house with absolutely no end in mind.  If I lived somewhere picturesque, then, sure, I’d go for walks just for the hell of it.  As it stands if I want to go for a walk, I choose a shop, or decide I need a copy of the paper, or a lottery ticket.  Off the point, there.  Back to it:

Morrisons.  The bins for clothes, large, angular metal contraptions, rather aggressive, in primary colours, side by side, rusted and intimidating.  The mechanism for depositing old clothes is rather like the drop box at the bank, where you can deposit a cheque in an envelope.  You pull a lever, the mouth gapes open, you put your money in, mouth snaps shut.

Here it is:

“CLOTHES!” it yells.  “Give me clothes.  NOW!”




“Okay, okay, you want clothes.  I shall give you clothes and appease your anger.”  Anxiously, I stoop forwards to get a closer look at the mechanism for feeding this monster.  I am surprised to see this warning:

Seriously?  You’re seriously worried that I might think it’d be great fun (on this lovely, sunny day) to try to clamber into the jaws of this appalling metal monster.  Do you think I’m mad? (Don’t answer that).

Perhaps I’m being too hasty.  After all, people have their fun in all sorts of ways, and if inserting oneself into the bag drop is, like, the new huffing glue, then I stand corrected.  Even a helpful phone number there in case a hapless young adventurer gets themselves in a bit of a pickle.

It’s good that they ram the point home, with this sticker.  How cool.  You can look at it from any angle and the perimeter of the sticker will always read “WARNING!”  Genius.


“Climbing into this bank can cause injury.”

Interesting.  Don’t do it, kids.  Don’t climb into the bank because it can cause injury.  That’s a good reason.  Also, I might add: climbing into this bank would be futile, ridiculous, like trying to post yourself through a letterbox.  For what gain?  Maybe there’s a nice pair of really old cast-off trousers that possibly might fit you, if only you could actually see in the dark cavernous stomach of the bin you’ve dropped yourself into. 

So, that was my day.  I don’t usually take my camera out with me, but I happened to today, and this made me smile, so I couldn’t resist snapping it.  My jeans are safely inside and you’ll be pleased to know I heeded the warning not to jump on in after them.

Just me babbling from here on

I’ve been okay today, but bored.  Last night I didn’t want to do anything except stay home with a ready meal, a drink and a copy of Reveal, so I turned down the offer of a drink with my friend.  Today, despite sleeping really badly, I have felt oddly bored.  Perhaps the knowledge (gained from over-texting and Facebook peering) that a lot of people were either excited about sport matches going on today, or having bbq’s, or sat in beer gardens, made me feel like I wanted to join in with these frolics.  It’s probably just a case of wanting something because it’s not immediately available to me. 

The path I chose today was one of languorous submission.  I can’t stand watching football so meeting anyone (i.e. male friends or family) who would be doing that, would have been so wildly out of character that it would have resulted in enforced psychiatric admission or a declaration that I must be suffering sun-stroke, with a dire warning “no more sun-provoked activities, for you, young lady”.  I couldn’t be bothered with that, so I lounged about on my own.  Until I decided to go to the supermarket, and dodgily take snap-shots of their recycling equipment (wonder what people thought of that?)

Made me smile


Half an hour ago I groggily sat myself up and reached for one of the books that litters the left-hand side of my bed.  From Dawn French’s autobiography:

“I am trying to book a holiday.  It has to be one week long and in the UK somewhere.  We haven’t got enough time to go abroad, and besides, I don’t really want to do that – I’m feeling a bit carbon footprint-guilty, plus I hate flying.  Flying, for me, is utterly exhausting for the simple reason that it is my duty (on behalf of all the passengers, I hasten to add) to keep the plane in the air by sheer force of my mind… If I lose concentration for even a minute, the massive metal crate will surely plummet earthwards and hundreds of tragic deaths would be on my conscience…”

I’m not particularly phobic about flying myself – I mean I don’t like it (cramped, gaudy colours (esp. Easyjet-orange), ears popping, kids skriking etc) – but I do appreciate the thought process she describes in humorous fashion.