tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69616466691436667012024-02-19T04:18:46.780+00:00JHSkedA blog by the author of WolfSong and Basement Blues.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-70213574964974460232016-11-11T00:39:00.000+00:002016-11-11T00:39:09.622+00:00In the Belly of the Beast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We have become what our grandparents fought against.<br />
<br />
In the UK, people let a right-winger trample over human decency and truth in a way that would have done the old Apartheid government proud, and then wondered how they voted themselves out of the EU and why the pound was doing a gentle backstroke in the toilet.<br />
(I've been told to get over the Brexit thing. Since I'm currently on the receiving end of open hostility in public because of my accent, and I've heard horror story after horror story from friends and strangers about outright physical and verbal abuse, and since a fairly shallow review of history points out rather emphatically that a country that devolves to an isolationist, rabidly nationalistic stance is usually mere years away from being the aggressor in a war designed to lift the economy it systematically destroyed through that stance - no. No, I fucking will <i>not </i>get over it.)<br />
<br />
Then the USA came along, dropped a turd in the same damn toilet bowl, sprayed it orange, and elected it president.<br />
<br />
Trump spent the campaign legitimising hate speech against everyone who isn't a white male. He made it okay to sexually assault women. He let everyone know it was just fine to destroy people who are <i>other</i>, different in skin colour, religion, language and sexual orientation. He didn't just let the genie out of the bottle, he gave it a bottle of rum and a hand-job and fed it until it was running on its own power. He hatched the hydra.<br />
Granted, that didn't take much; the racists in the US and the rest of the world have been having an orgy of hysterical proportions since Obama got in. Once Trump got his nomination, I imagine most of the Ku Klux Klan were in thankful tears. Isn't that a lovely, heartwarming frigging thought?<br />
<br />
Then Trump gave his victory speech and I face-palmed so hard I have no clue how I stayed conscious. He talked about mending the fabric of society and was ever so bloody gracious. Plenty of people paid attention. The media reported it, played it ad nauseum. The republicans that disavowed him weeks ago fell over themselves to talk about what a great start it was. The moderates who couldn't trust Hilary with the security codes but decided someone they wouldn't leave their 16 year old daughter alone with was a better alternative. They're all over social media, telling us to give him a chance, despite him operating a campaign that would have got the Nazi party in its earliest incarnation run out of town on a rail. Most of these patronising folk are, strangely enough, straight white males.<br />
<br />
Guess who never listened? I'm guessing <a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2016/11/trump-voters-threatened-women-people-of-color-yesterday.html" target="_blank">these guys</a>. <a href="http://abc27.com/2016/11/10/election-related-social-media-threat-investigated-at-york-school/" target="_blank">And these</a>. <a href="http://www.newyorkupstate.com/news/2016/11/western_ny_dugout_defaced_with_make_america_white_again_swastika.html" target="_blank">And these</a>. And guess what? They aren't going to. They got the permission they wanted to brutalise the <i>other,</i> and the person who gave them that permission is about to run the country. Their views have been vindicated. They used Trump as much as he used them.<br />
Right now Trump could beg them to stop and they'd ignore him. They don't need him anymore. The<br />
genie outgrew the bottle months ago; the hydra won't be stuffed back in its egg sac - and monsters always demand blood. Make no mistake, people are going to die over this. The only question is how many and how long it will take.<br />
<br />
Today in the UK we celebrate the triumph of good over evil. Right now it's an empty exercise because as a species and a nation we haven't learnt a bloody thing.<br />
For all the fancy parades and wearing red poppies, all the footage we've seen of cities and camps inhabited by doomed souls. The mass graves and the gun torn beaches. The things that started because countries chose to listen to power hungry men who chose scapegoats that were <i>other.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
We have become what our grandparents fought, and we should be sickened by it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-403922983371656762016-07-24T17:18:00.000+01:002016-07-24T17:18:04.571+01:00Odin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I met Odin's human a few weeks ago. Nice lady. Turns out the boy is 12 years old, which explains a lot of the weight issue, as well as the eye - that's something that happens in elderly cats.<br />
<br />
Her house was for sale. A month ago, a sold notice got slapped up.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, life continued. Odin came by every morning. He sat in my lap while I had my coffee, and I fed him breakfast. His coat turned glossy and soft. He head-butted me to get cuddles and loved being picked up. He'd lie on his back in my lap and drool happily. He smelled like green grass and talcum powder and rich black earth. On weekends he'd spend hours with me. He fascinated my three, who followed him around the house like ducklings.<br />
<br />
His human was worried about the move. She took in a dog that's tormenting him, and is furiously jealous over any affection shown to him. I offered to take him, and she thought about - but in the end, she couldn't give him up. If he doesn't settle, though, I've told her the offer is open.<br />
<br />
This Friday, the move happened. Odin came for his last breakfast, and I held him and smelled his fur.<br />
<br />
There will be no more cuddles in the alcove. No more loving head-butts and soft quacks and the gentle knocking of big paws on the front door, asking for breakfast. My mornings are oddly empty now.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-24106717425612015592016-04-15T20:17:00.001+01:002016-04-15T20:18:53.102+01:00Life, Kitty News and a new book announcement <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a slightly insane couple of months. The house I'm in is going on the market, so it's been a frantic scramble to unclutter and clean up, which is lot easier said than done when you have two humans, 3 1/2 cats (Odin is going strong and still appears for breakfast every morning) and a hell of a lot of art stuff and books.<br />
<br />
The next chore is finding someplace to live again, and I'm kind of despondent about that. Low income and a lot of stuff do not a happy combo make. It's frankly terrifying. I'm back to the rat again, and not enjoying it. On the bright side, stress and lack of money to buy sugary junk food means I've slid back through a size 10 and heading for the land of size 8, which I haven't seen in ten years or so. The downside of <i>that </i>is that my favourite jeans no longer fit (they're starting to look like a cross between those gangster-wanna-be styles and a full diaper, and if I sneeze without wearing a belt I'm likely to be arrested) and my inner bean-counter took one look at the price for a new pair and giggled hysterically before force-marching me out of the shops last week. For that price, the damn things should be giving me a daily back-rub and making me coffee in the morning.<br />
<br />
The cats are insane in new and interesting ways. Hathor has decided that dangling upside down from the curtain railing is her new joy in life, Bast has starting introducing his kleptomania to my undie drawer (and you haven't lived until you see a cat trying to look innocent with a pair of knickers draped fetchingly over his ears) and Sheba has starting wrapping herself in my duvet and swaying to some inner music only she can hear. When the last one happened at 3 a.m., the human in the room almost tested the water-proofing on the mattress. There were yellow eyes, okay? Ahem.<br />
Odin has figured out that hammering repeatedly on the door will get me downstairs eventually, and headed for coffee and his breakfast.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I post a lot of kitty dialogue on my FB page, and I've had a fair amount of private messages asking about a book. Not just an ebook. A <i>book</i> book, with pages you turn and hey, what about some illustrations?<br />
<br />
I'm happy to oblige, however book books cost more money to make than ebooks. Illustrations do interesting things to formatting in tree books, so I'd need to hire someone on that end. I can't do a graphic novel, because I'd still be working on it in 5 years - time is not my friend - but illustrations I can handle, so I've saved the cost of an artist. (My inner artist is sulking, btw. She likes being paid.) And I'd need an editor.<br />
<br />
And the PMs came back and they said: Fundraise, you idiot.<br />
<br />
<br />
So. I've got a GoFundMe page set up, with little snippets and pictures and videos if I can ever figure that part out - tech and I are still not quite buddies. I still intend to release an ebook - too many folks who prefer them to tree books nowadays - but if I get enough funding to do a good job on the physical book, I think it'll be pretty cool.<br />
<br />
The <b><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/2dtr6tp8" target="_blank">link is here</a>,</b> if you'd like to be a part of it. Anything and everything is appreciated. I'll love you. The cats will give you cool, sardonic cat acknowledgements. And you'll have a nifty book to play with.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-72934998509370954472016-02-28T00:45:00.000+00:002016-02-28T00:45:33.497+00:00Dear idiot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is an open letter to the man that tried to grab me in the lift this week.<br />
<br />
Dear idiot<br />
<br />
If I'd realised that your drunken, moronic, racist ass was going to step into the lift after me, I probably wouldn't have gotten on to it. I don't really enjoy fighting in a street situation, and the cramped conditions of a railway station lift aren't conducive to the best form of self-defence I know of, which is running like hell.<br />
<br />
When you lurched onto the train at Glasgow Central and started swearing at the walls it was easy to ignore you. Drunks on the train are obsequious throughout the UK - it's more unusual not to see them.<br />
And I'll admit to not paying much attention in the half-minute walk from the train to the station; my leg hurt, I was tired, and it was bitterly cold. I just wanted to get home. I was feeling good, though. The new job was going great, the migraines are at a fairly low level (thank you, new meds and a good GP) and I was looking forward to a nice cup of tea and unwinding before bed.<br />
<br />
I stepped into the lift, nodded at the chap standing in front of me - and then you stepped in behind me, smelling like an incontinent badger, and decided you wanted a cuddle.<br />
<br />
I've noticed in the past that a higher number of females don't Want To Cause A Scene when a male makes them uncomfortable. I don't know if this is a UK thing, but I've seen a lot of it here. I've watched women that are fiercely independent and strong mutter things like "Excuse me," or "Please stop" when harassed. It usually makes it worse, because the cock-wobbles doing this stuff get off on it. Correct me if I'm wrong, dear tosspot, but I'm 99% sure that this is what you were aiming for. You saw a small woman in a beanie cap and giant coat and decided this would be fun.<br />
<br />
Sadly for you, I don't respond to physical harassment the way you were expecting. Part of this is background and training, part of this is just me, because, dear arse, you triggered every homicidal instinct I have. I'm also very fast, and you are a sloppy drunk.<br />
<br />
This is why you ended up with my knuckles resting against your throat and the other fist waiting for your next action. To be honest, I don't remember moving, but I was in stance almost as soon as your arm landed across my shoulders, and your next grope faded into mid-air.<br />
<br />
And I let you see that I really, really wanted to hurt you. Judging by the smell intensifying, you peed yourself a little at that point.<br />
<br />
Make no mistake, I'm a small woman. A solid punch or even open-handed slap would've bounced me off of every wall in the elevator, which is why my knuckles were against your throat until the door opened and you got out. The reason I didn't punch? I have no wish to end up in a UK jail, and until you took a swing at me, I couldn't legally defend myself any further than I just had. This is a country where someone won a <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/millionaire-ehsan-abdulaziz-who-said-he-accidentally-tripped-and-penetrated-teen-is-cleared-of-rape-a6774946.html" target="_blank">rape defence by claiming his dick slipped </a>when he tripped on a teenage girl, and holy Cthulhu, I wish I was joking about that. It means I trust the justice system for sexual assault victims about as far as I could through it.<br />
But, dear chunderbucket, I wanted to. I really did.<br />
<br />
<br />
The fact that you waited until you cleared half the length of the corridor before beginning to screaming abuse at me also tells me volumes about your sense of self-preservation. I didn't respond because you weren't worth the breath or effort, and I had no intention of escalating a situation again, but I'll respond to some of them here.<br />
<br />
"This is Scotland!" Yes, I'm well aware of that. It's fucking freezing. I also don't care if it's outer bloody Mongolia, you don't grab a woman you don't know.<br />
<br />
"Dirty fucking immigrant." Oooh, you noticed my accent? In two short sentences*? Congratulations.<br />
<br />
"Fucking Jewish bitch." *beep* wrong. Not Jewish. Although I'm not sure why you thought that would be a good reason for assaulting me? Or is that because you were going home to jerk off to the BNP website? I have no problem being called a bitch; it usually happens because you've pissed off a male with entitlement issues. I'm good with that.<br />
<br />
"Got no business being in my country!" (there may have been sobbing at this point.) *beep* wrong again. My ancestors came to Scotland with the vikings, you pathetic little fuck. I just happened to be raised outside the country. And it's great to know you only have problems assaulting dirty Jewish immigrants when they don't argue back. Your mother must be so proud.<br />
<br />
Then you went back to This is Scotland! again, and I got bored. I love this country. I was raised surrounded by traditional Scottish culture and heritage, even in Africa. My direct family fought and bled in the trenches of two world wars wearing kilts. You, on the other hand? You snivelling, self-entitled, cowardly, pants-staining little badger's arse? You represent the very worst of it. You represent bigotry and misanthropy and drunken hyper-aggression; a slimy misogynistic stain on Scotland's shoe sole. You make me want to puke.<br />
<br />
Have a long life, dear idiot. Long enough to realise that you're a dinosaur, that women aren't there to be pawed at will, that hurling abuse at someone who defends themselves makes you look like an even bigger idiot, that the world is a very small place and we are all stuck on it together, no matter what race or religion or creed we come from, and that the Daily Fail is not suitable reading material for any adult with a functioning brain.<br />
<br />
And for the love of Scotland - dude - take a bath.<br />
<br />
Regards<br />
Me<br />
<br />
<br />
*"Don't fucking touch me. I'm serious."<br />
<br />
PS: The other guy in the lift didn't say a word, and also exited at top speed. Since the odds were high my new friend Randy the Skunk would have swung at him, I don't blame him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-74862290987879485022016-01-28T18:14:00.000+00:002016-01-28T18:14:01.901+00:00Rocks & Gravel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0OvDjDiI8PYm9LfxWetN4quXZ7zRcCF4htIYssi6S8ZRmj7uJwc7DJe_8kPx-tNv6Q90m4R9xZ5_8Fq4lv09vX85-4A7zvAB4WP-Fh27Ij7EMIIkq_vMTTDoargCO5lk39uw930MHUO-/s1600/RocksAndGravel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX0OvDjDiI8PYm9LfxWetN4quXZ7zRcCF4htIYssi6S8ZRmj7uJwc7DJe_8kPx-tNv6Q90m4R9xZ5_8Fq4lv09vX85-4A7zvAB4WP-Fh27Ij7EMIIkq_vMTTDoargCO5lk39uw930MHUO-/s640/RocksAndGravel.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Title: Rocks & Gravel</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Author: Catie Rhodes</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Series: Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TmG2U_yT3nMzPIfg7uM4gJIceQtsYNKBDuX-jpE0EPHCiMnPT4hhtUjtTMJeuderzicaGJPFJMJIaYzKyBAlAVS2CaW6rMxMPGb5H89DqiHWljur2oxzR9X7ccFbpn6_K-HHdMIWuh-_/s1600/RCPR-BookLinks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3TmG2U_yT3nMzPIfg7uM4gJIceQtsYNKBDuX-jpE0EPHCiMnPT4hhtUjtTMJeuderzicaGJPFJMJIaYzKyBAlAVS2CaW6rMxMPGb5H89DqiHWljur2oxzR9X7ccFbpn6_K-HHdMIWuh-_/s400/RCPR-BookLinks.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1V9QqoO"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPpcos5_Cyv9Ca7NmGij5ySVL-v8TSYh-RW1VrBCs6HEcQLgPV9Yk4ehicjSaxTCiJtBXvdVGInkU01CTrLFzEcyjqhryeDFgss4556DvMvTkLpUh_bMVXawJB0VCM6FCkUNi7uNyQ37c/s1600/Axs.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://apple.co/1V9QhC2"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sKWseQVu7C2QWSmXVsiGDHyI0ui5oU5wfOzj0XSZybFW2QrZ_Ef-maI6hehJmNa_StVsCJ5sjZa_LXHRpQtdnEa6SGDVWFDmdrDw8Euj9aztK79FL9hLvGAgov4sfLYRyzm9GX3qF3oy/s1600/iBookxs.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://bit.ly/1PiUsgA"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDOWrS7YNMFjGRl8AdK02UVTOYI2dZKoy-GiGKH7VoNZz1gN5qZMxF_D4MRYJv2kH0IuYhk_AVfVC2M6rb_7ldmmM5_eh-a8rPyIJ2fVwzcankFV1W2_lzUcSoC0Lx3pik9Mz7T7zK7Wj/s1600/Koboxs.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://bit.ly/23g5YgU"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPj8ehZAnqyY2uPTAoy9nqY7vUbh5LeX36zW8a_EKKKbyPI3-eM7h_Qf1SXM5aSaO1M-ih8HnRkjWNL311w0QsVwblMfbHKj62ppt2FbiR4AbCVS9SXgaFXVI_3aypUZUGUnv_FebZYVRz/s1600/BNxs.jpg" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CMn21RwS5720E6c0NfOA7EAszcRZGiT1A0_9cY2RPu15vB_RS6OEZCU1wPdkwSPiQVsNLfXyBuDOUJwx6vfn4cwVp017Ms66nGGPUntZyu9tmwuHeDpcffaBRoS2GjME1TWBEVvc4qpI/s1600/RCPR-blurb.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CMn21RwS5720E6c0NfOA7EAszcRZGiT1A0_9cY2RPu15vB_RS6OEZCU1wPdkwSPiQVsNLfXyBuDOUJwx6vfn4cwVp017Ms66nGGPUntZyu9tmwuHeDpcffaBRoS2GjME1TWBEVvc4qpI/s400/RCPR-blurb.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><br /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Peri Jean Mace knows ghosts create chaos in her life. She also knows the Mace Treasure spawns blood, death, and sorrow. They’re both trouble and she wants nothing to do with either one.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When a ghost steals secrets about the cursed fortune, Peri Jean is dragged kicking and screaming into the dangerous world of the treasure and the people who hunt it. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now she’s stuck between a vengeful ghost and treasure hunters willing to do anything—even murder—to get rich quick. A storm of curses, old betrayals, and murder are about to rain down on Peri Jean. Can she accept the truth about herself and save all she loves before it’s too late?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWtSiyyEtgyL-R6R6eyNL3yR_eZ-DM6RQYm3_3Mb_t2UU3MonAbni7mrmiaeE8FGsPAogqLpqWyBHzpnoVIP9VN71SoESuhV9stFgc7yZRXig9khO6edK67yX1X7KxZTBiCSWjcSSWsG5/s1600/RCPR-AuthorBio.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWtSiyyEtgyL-R6R6eyNL3yR_eZ-DM6RQYm3_3Mb_t2UU3MonAbni7mrmiaeE8FGsPAogqLpqWyBHzpnoVIP9VN71SoESuhV9stFgc7yZRXig9khO6edK67yX1X7KxZTBiCSWjcSSWsG5/s400/RCPR-AuthorBio.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Catie Rhodes is the<br />
author of the Peri Jean Mace Paranormal Mysteries. Her short stories have<br />
appeared in <i>Tales from the Mist</i>, <i>Allegories of the Tarot</i>,<br />
and to <i>Let’s Scare Cancer to Death</i>.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJT6jQ1tJpOggDA9L5WOIShlQ5ZLl6dmgaVaYYC68OgAggBxnPzCDUkvcTTYgiZwy-pb3k-rwcc7rgwyjZ3IFpQwiep47muxPP8N92Z5sLhoMIQokcjlqZxlVBy5pU1TgnUe06gI2x5S5/s1600/Catie+Rhodes+Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJT6jQ1tJpOggDA9L5WOIShlQ5ZLl6dmgaVaYYC68OgAggBxnPzCDUkvcTTYgiZwy-pb3k-rwcc7rgwyjZ3IFpQwiep47muxPP8N92Z5sLhoMIQokcjlqZxlVBy5pU1TgnUe06gI2x5S5/s1600/Catie+Rhodes+Headshot.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Catie was born and<br />
raised behind the pine curtain in East Texas. Her favorite memories of<br />
childhood are sitting around listening to her family spin yarns.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7TZXjJtYiN3Z_9GMOJOg76w8KSLjBM3jYCU_UmoaqzAl9KyMOXN_oFPPPKGGZ2Vj_h212ziatwnNjL2Qnt6adVfL1BWbbs-x2S1ZCi_P0v2VvTgXnh8hN-rZFZ4vtQzBv4i4HA8aMNh6/s1600/Catie+Rhodes+Headshot.jpg"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Some of the tales were spooky. Some had<br />
grim endings. Some were sidesplittingly funny. The stories all had one thing in<br />
common: each had an element of the mysterious or the unexplained.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Those weird stories<br />
molded Catie into a purveyor of her own brand of lies and legends. One day, she<br />
found the courage to start writing down her stories. It changed her life<br />
forever.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Catie Rhodes lives<br />
steps from the Sam Houston National Forest with her long-suffering husband and<br />
her armpit terrorist of a little dog.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">When she’s not<br />
writing, Catie likes to cook horribly fattening foods and crochet or knit stuff<br />
nobody wants as a gift. She also reads a whole helluva lot.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3LbCkqHfY9fAYmQhRd3WAKeDEyi1xMl5twyUL6NpeGoTjZd1jgkrlebSTgT1i35g_SZ1-4W3BT58gK2zbvIsu7tRyfpYKrQFU04m1mZOI5YJPKt4wYMdQOOE6suj_rRgm1mdzhJ4bxC7/s1600/RCPR-AuthorLinks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3LbCkqHfY9fAYmQhRd3WAKeDEyi1xMl5twyUL6NpeGoTjZd1jgkrlebSTgT1i35g_SZ1-4W3BT58gK2zbvIsu7tRyfpYKrQFU04m1mZOI5YJPKt4wYMdQOOE6suj_rRgm1mdzhJ4bxC7/s400/RCPR-AuthorLinks.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://catierhodes.com/">WEBSITE</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/catierhodesauthor/">FACEBOOK</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/catie_rhodes">TWITTER</a> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">/ <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/catierhodes/">PINTEREST</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/Catie_Rhodes">GOODREADS</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br />
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There are a couple of traditionally published authors I adore. Tight plots, great story, amazing sense of humour. Since I like my series books, a new release by one of these authors is a massive treat for me; it's like settling in for a new conversation with old friends and catching up on the news. Candy for the soul, ya know?<br />
<br />
So when the latest release day hit, I went over to Amazon and looked at the kindle page. It was over £15 for the ebook.<br />
<br />
Me: WTF? Must be a glitch.<br />
<br />
Nope. I've gone back to that page every week for the last couple of months. As of now, it's sitting at over £9.00. The paperback is not available yet, and yes, I like this series enough to revert to tree-books if I must. But £9.00 for a kindle book - nope. That reduces my book budget, which at the moment is so tight it makes squeaky noises when I look at anything over £5.99, to something that the universe is likely to set on fire while giggling gently to itself.<br />
<br />
It's not just that particular author, either. Pre-order on another favourite is £8.99. Yet another is £9.99, for something out in September.<br />
<br />
Me: Um. Wut?<br />
<br />
Google isn't showing me much conversation about the matter, but surely I'm not the only one thinking "I love you guys, but that's cat-food and toilet paper and a bunch of other stuff I can't justify giving up to read."<br />
<br />
The thing is, those prices are publisher set. These are traditionally published authors, who get paid quarterly and have to earn out their advances. They have zero control over the final price set on sites like Amazon. They are also the ones that will likely be blamed for falling book sales, and possibly lose their contracts. (This is also the reason I'm not naming names. It's pointless calling out authors when it's the damn publishing house that's causing the issue.) While I'm seeing a lot of hissing and booing in the reviews section, most folks seem intent on blaming the writer instead of the publishing house.<br />
<br />
A person of a cynical bent (who, moi?) might wonder if this is the latest ploy by publishers to reduce ebook sales and increase paper sales. Or whether this is an epic tantrum aimed at Amazon by the publishers after the Apple debacle last year. Who knows?<br />
<br />
I do know that charging close to double the price of a paper-back for an ebook is price-gouging of a sort that would make loan sharks blink in envy. I also don't see anyway this is sustainable in the long run; most folks simply can't afford to pay these prices. Book sales across the board for traditional authors is likely to drop. There might be a short term increase in money, but in the long run, that income stream is on a death march. So are a number of the authors involved, unless they get their rights back and start self-publishing. Most writers - even traditionally published ones - still work a day job because their income from books is so low it's ridiculous. You don't write for the money, kids. You write because you have to.<br />
<br />
From an indie author point of view, how does this affect our pricing? Do we put prices up in an effort to keep up, or drop them back down in competition? The time of the .99c ebook creating sales went the way of the dodo at least 18 months back; the majority of readers now associate low prices with low quality, which is a pity. I found some great new authors at that price.<br />
<br />
I have no clue what the end game is here. If readers vote with their wallets and go back to tree-books, that gives the publishing houses a grand excuse to stop producing them. If we continue to buy ebooks for prices that would choke a walrus, publishers have no reason to drop the prices. It's an ugly game, whatever the rules and reasons, and in this case, both writers and readers are the losers. The publishers are likely to gallop merrily into the sunset, and wonder why the hell their business is in trouble over the next two years.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-29927251702695863332015-12-26T14:25:00.002+00:002015-12-26T14:25:55.333+00:00Blessings: Kitty update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couple of weeks ago, Bast threw up in the lounge. A pool of white froth, it was startling mainly because he doesn't throw up; unlike Sheba, who does so at least three times a week.<br />
<br />
Then he galloped around like his usual self. Cats throw up. It's one of the things you learn to live with if you have a cat.<br />
<br />
That was a Sunday. Tuesday he came downstairs and threw up in front of Stace while I was at work. She called the vet and took him in, because he wasn't being his normal self: no appetite, no running around, and his sides were shrunken.<br />
<br />
The vet put him on a drip because he was seriously dehydrated and kept him in overnight. Multiple x-rays followed. There was some sort of blockage in a lung. Possible heart damage. They didn't think he'd make it.<br />
<br />
The next couple of days were a blur of vet updates and cold, hard fear. Fear is a funny thing. It's one of the most physical emotions, and it settles into your stomach and heart and mind and squeezes until your lips go numb and you struggle to think past it. It's the third time this year I've had that experience, and I'd sincerely like it to never happen again.<br />
<br />
The vet had no clue what was causing the blockage. Stace and I scoured the house looking for something the boy might have eaten. Nothing. Nada. Zip. We've tried to make the house pretty much cat-proof - no poisonous plants, no sharp objects left lying around - but still, a house collects objects and he could've swallowed anything from cardboard to cinnamon sticks.<br />
<br />
The vet took something like 700 ml of liquid off of his lung, and sent it off for analysis. Every time the phone went we expected the conversation to start with "I'm sorry, but..."<br />
<br />
More tests and x-rays. More phone calls. Had he fallen? (Unknown) Been hit by a car? (Definitely not.)<br />
<br />
<br />
In the meantime, Sheba and Hathor searched everywhere for him. In the cupboards. Under the pillows on the bed. Behind the couches. Eventually Hathor retreated to his favourite sleeping spots in turn, curled up and withdrawn. Sheba sat down on the stairs and howled.<br />
<br />
The last set of scans after the fluid had been reduced showed something out of a horror story: Bast had a hole in his diaphragm. His stomach had navigated up and into his left lung. His heart was thankfully undamaged.<br />
<br />
Bast was transferred to the vet school in Bearsden, and Stace and I rushed over to meet the surgeons. It was operable. Barring severe complications, and provided he made it through the op, we'd get our boy back.<br />
<br />
We went home to wait.<br />
<br />
<br />
They phoned the next morning to let us know he'd sailed through the op. He'd ended up with both his stomach and several feet of his small intestine in his chest cavity and lung; trauma usually only seen in car accident survivors. There is a chance it was a birth defect, or possible caused by the abuse they suffered as kittens. How he survived so long without it coming to a head before is unknown.<br />
<br />
We picked him up on the Sunday morning, and he purred and cuddled up to us all the home through his carrier.<br />
<br />
Three paws, his neck and his belly were shaved down from the frantic efforts to save him as well as the op itself.<br />
<br />
He was stapled down the length of his chest and belly, which annoyed him because he kept wanting his belly rubbed and we wouldn't touch him there. So he'd walk sedately around the house after us and hurl himself to the ground if we looked at him, then complain bitterly because tummy rubs weren't on the menu.<br />
<br />
We were given vials of oral painkiller that had to be squirted onto his gums, (after the first attempt ended up with painkiller on the ceiling, up my nose, and along Stace's sleeve, we stuck him in the carrier with his head sticking out and lifted his lip to squirt the stuff in. I'm fairly sure we were more traumatised by the process than he was.) and a tablet that was crushed into his food for the next week.<br />
<br />
This Wednesday the staples came out. He's eating and playing and back to being our usual happy boy. Hathor and Sheba are much happier as well. Christmas was definitely good; the best present was getting Bast back safe and sound.<br />
<br />
Here he is in all his shaved-down, post-staple glory. You know Bast is happy because he gets a smile on his face.<br />
<br />
I hope your Christmas was just as good.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-49003510106669178272015-11-22T22:19:00.002+00:002015-11-22T22:20:29.858+00:00Moment of Aargh (Glasgow series, Part 0001) and introducing Odin.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One thing definitely hasn't changed since moving to Glasgow. I am still the queen of WTF Did I Just Do? moments. I've managed to get to the train station in my slippers at least once in the last month.<br />
<br />
Stace is on a baking kick, which is so awesome: I come in, and there's cake. And it's <i>good</i> cake, which is even more important.<br />
<br />
This means that the butter, eggs, etc get used up pretty fast, so the other day when I went to make some toast, the butter was pretty much done. No problems - we have more in the freezer, one of those lidded little plastic tubs with an inner foil seal under the lid. The plan was to take it out, nuke it for 30 seconds so I could scrape enough off the top for the toast, and leave it out to defrost thoroughly, because in Glasgow you don't need to keep butter in the fridge come November. Hell, you could probably safely leave your milk out for most of the week. Our kitchen is the approximate temperature of a walk-in fridge anyway.<br />
<br />
So, I bent down to the freezer, hauled the frozen tub of butter out, turned around to walk away, and promptly tripped over my own two feet. I didn't quite face-plant (Wahey!), but I flung out my hand to catch myself, and of course I used the hand holding the butter. It slammed off of the wall and escaped, sailing across the kitchen like The Little Butter Bar That Learnt How To Fly.<br />
<br />
Me: Oh, crap. Not to worry, the lid's still on-<br />
<br />
The lid must have been loosened during the bash against the wall. Half a second into the flight, it spun off of the top of the butter and tried to imbed itself in the microwave door.<br />
<br />
A half second later, the inner foil fluttered gently down to the floor tiles.<br />
<br />
Me: Aw, come on.<br />
<br />
The butter, now lidless and foil-less, bounced off of the spare utensil drawer and whirred back at my face. I ducked. It slammed into the wall beside me and sailed back across the room.<br />
<br />
Me: Holy sh-<br />
<br />
The butter, which by all rights should've been firmly fixed by its own weight inside that bloody tub, separated from the container and dropped. On my foot. Frozen butter hurts, by the way. The container landed completely upright on the kitchen counter, spun twice, and stopped.<br />
<br />
Me: Oh, fuck a duck.<br />
<br />
<br />
*******************************************************<br />
<br />
Shortly after we moved into the house, we noticed a gorgeous black cat wandering around. The neighbour told me he's lived in the area for years, and the woman who had him died some time ago. One of her neighbours took him on. Unfortunately, I have no idea who, or if the person is even still in the area.<br />
<br />
The cat I saw the first couple of times was desperately stalking pigeons. He caught a couple, and ate most of them. His coat was dull, and watching the way he walks makes me think there's a good touch of arthritis involved. Our bunch aren't allowed out without a harness or going into their outdoor pen, so the old boy spent a lot of summer sitting on the deck looking in at them, with Bast in particular watching him back and chirping. He was extremely skittish around humans, though.<br />
<br />
Then he started coming to the front door. We have a couple of spare cat bowls, so I started putting a bowl down for him. (I later found out Stace was doing the same thing. There's a reason my cousin and I get on pretty well most of the time.)<br />
On rainy, cold days, we leave a bowl of food in the front door alcove for him and leave the one door closed so he gets a bit of shelter and a place to sit while he gets his food.<br />
<br />
His coat is starting to shine, and he's put on a bit of weight, but he's still pretty jumpy. We've called him Odin because his one eye tends to close slowly while he looks at you. I'm not sure whether it's a medical issue, but there seems to be constant clear discharge, and he won't let me close enough for long enough to get him into a carrier. I'd like to get that looked at, because it's bugging the hell out of me. He also has an overbite, which seems to be a thing with black toms in the UK. It is pretty freaking adorable, though. He'll let us stroke him, briefly, before settling down to eat.<br />
He missed a couple of visits during the big storm we had last week, and we were both very relieved to see him one morning, waiting patiently for the doors to open so that he could get his breakfast.<br />
<br />
We can't let him in the house because we have no clue whether his shots are up to date (Sheba got taken to the vet the day after I adopted her and was all up to date by the time the other two met her) and I won't take a chance with my three. Introducing a new cat can also be a tricky business, and it's almost impossible to turn an outdoor cat into an indoor cat and have a happy animal. Three indoor cats with no road-sense and access to a cat door would have the life expectancy of a soft-boiled egg since we live on a very busy road. It's a dilemma I can't see a way around just yet; any ideas that are feasible would be great.<br />
<br />
Bast desperately wants to meet him. If he knows Odin is in the alcove, he hurls himself at the door chirping frantically. There's no hissing or growling, and knowing Bast he wants to play with a new friend, but since Odin could probably dismantle him in three seconds flat, that door is staying firmly closed for the meantime.<br />
<br />
We're planning on putting a box and blanket down for him so if he wants to snuggle up for most of the day he can. It would be good to know he has a warm place when winter hits.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-47343768934468222892015-08-28T21:45:00.000+01:002015-10-06T22:57:56.488+01:00Affordable Pre-Made Book Covers for Indie Authors - Available Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been doing ebook covers for some time now for my fellow indie authors. It's fun and I love it, but doing book cover to spec takes a long time and can kill an author's budget in a hurry.<br />
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So I've put together a number of pre-made covers for you, at the very affordable price of $50.00 each.<br />
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All covers are one-off designs - you won't find these popping up again with a different shade or font type. (Having two different ebooks by different authors with the same cover on the Amazon store is kind of like wearing a fancy dress to the dance and having the prom queen pitch up wearing it. Awkwardness abounds.)<br />
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Font size, type and colour can be changed if needed, and of course sub-titles and blurbs will be added if you need them<br />
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Covers will be sent in high resolution jpeg files, minimum 300dpi, perfect for an ebook thumbnail.<br />
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Availability is strictly first come, first serve, and all sales are final once payment is received to avoid any awkwardness. Once a cover is sold it will be noted as such on this page to avoid dashed dreams, broken hearts, and sobbing from all parties. <br />
<br />
Payment is through Paypal, and if you don't already have an account it is very easy to setup.<br />
<br />
To select your cover,:<br />
1) Drop me an email at shadowkatzdesign(at)outlook.com with the file name (under each cover on this page), your title, author name and any changes to font colour, size or type, plus the sub-title and blurbs if needed.<br />
2) I will send you the Paypal details, and<br />
3) As soon as the payment is through, the file will be sent to you using the email address you contacted me with.<br />
<br />
<i>FAQs:</i><br />
<i>Q: I don't have a Paypal account. Do I really need one?</i><br />
<i>A: Yes. It doesn't take long to set up. Trust me, if I can manage, anyone can. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Q: I bought a cover and I want to keep it for a series with some minor changes. </i><br />
<i>A: Something small like a colour-wash and font changes can be negotiated.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Q: I want a spec-built cover.</i><br />
<i>A: Happy to oblige - drop me an email at shadowkatzdesign(at)outlook.com, and we can discuss rates.</i><br />
<br />
Onto the good stuff! Some of these fall pretty squarely into a single category, others can be used across a couple of genres.<br />
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<i>Romance & Erotica</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWYeRJW0PnyFOD7s_9zOKWfvkBtgbPgN7wGP15LFUGm56IwcqmxtMaX2yoGFxfm600ERltKcyOASCYweJlcQgaW0U1GpdyesxpyNn6WVVFIJxAVW7qdUHCkxb6p7JOyaR-4KQBgPiwwM/s1600/Erotic+cowgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWYeRJW0PnyFOD7s_9zOKWfvkBtgbPgN7wGP15LFUGm56IwcqmxtMaX2yoGFxfm600ERltKcyOASCYweJlcQgaW0U1GpdyesxpyNn6WVVFIJxAVW7qdUHCkxb6p7JOyaR-4KQBgPiwwM/s200/Erotic+cowgirl.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erotica 001</td></tr>
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<i>SciFI</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWtCDNDb_Gcph4HWoZBjzmm3yN79AsGYpcsm6BeBqm4dDFI1cG4BkhybVsvPGY0FGg49eYDwvmxJLSZTTUy4OXj-zXr5OrjAtRPgeHRDYQMykH3asWxZpfMEWxlSWcfZihSACK8RiZB4/s1600/scifi+red+planet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWtCDNDb_Gcph4HWoZBjzmm3yN79AsGYpcsm6BeBqm4dDFI1cG4BkhybVsvPGY0FGg49eYDwvmxJLSZTTUy4OXj-zXr5OrjAtRPgeHRDYQMykH3asWxZpfMEWxlSWcfZihSACK8RiZB4/s200/scifi+red+planet.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">scifi 001</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgfiDQAkEJcWL_dBk9_Xke0SPqZguMo1ro-2DI0UvHzfjfO4SLMnt_HGQjphaKKe9b2kvcPVXX5iBxTz5EvSgm82lLLsXQZf-t2w9UblsNDpoEtKoi0L3UgC42V7_9ZzsIJkgREEFX4w/s1600/scifi002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgfiDQAkEJcWL_dBk9_Xke0SPqZguMo1ro-2DI0UvHzfjfO4SLMnt_HGQjphaKKe9b2kvcPVXX5iBxTz5EvSgm82lLLsXQZf-t2w9UblsNDpoEtKoi0L3UgC42V7_9ZzsIJkgREEFX4w/s200/scifi002.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">scifi 002 SOLD</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i> YA, Urban and Dystopia</i></i></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijG_ElH3pRCIal4y9lQTLU-HUCbftlPJcXlVdgCijCazKEKg1y8vLyU1pilW7AE3b9wZfI5Fm1oI_4S_r1Ab4cIlHGUVnY6olWjM2sqh8CzcDQqK41c5IphjuOTPhicn5R1oSB0HnjOI/s1600/Angel+wings+ebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijG_ElH3pRCIal4y9lQTLU-HUCbftlPJcXlVdgCijCazKEKg1y8vLyU1pilW7AE3b9wZfI5Fm1oI_4S_r1Ab4cIlHGUVnY6olWjM2sqh8CzcDQqK41c5IphjuOTPhicn5R1oSB0HnjOI/s200/Angel+wings+ebook.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YA Urb 002</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKuFksKFXlJh4wwe07jx0zlraSul5GrEdqjNsjFhQMjsghxUz07rXYT3sfcMDUTtXbv4HyFyfCPVcRkBPFJDt9FoQLypun0LQq6hCECeuwTPW4YXypDBK0ON9ucK2pSBWI8mS4SIYzbE/s1600/ya+distopia+water+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKuFksKFXlJh4wwe07jx0zlraSul5GrEdqjNsjFhQMjsghxUz07rXYT3sfcMDUTtXbv4HyFyfCPVcRkBPFJDt9FoQLypun0LQq6hCECeuwTPW4YXypDBK0ON9ucK2pSBWI8mS4SIYzbE/s200/ya+distopia+water+003.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YA Urb Dyst 001</td></tr>
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Thriller & Mystery<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg45TDm9Cn0Gb_nE5RhoFEJJXFFWxb6z7TgCwX-IPqz60yK-ao-VSlZehy8A5Jl9JYL3OfMtBf0uIVISl7_4BnmGeFMS38oMMjFPkrgSVEUYQ0w67GKLVPCGEEkgI6PDTzHoQzEt1F-1M/s1600/thriller+murder+creepy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg45TDm9Cn0Gb_nE5RhoFEJJXFFWxb6z7TgCwX-IPqz60yK-ao-VSlZehy8A5Jl9JYL3OfMtBf0uIVISl7_4BnmGeFMS38oMMjFPkrgSVEUYQ0w67GKLVPCGEEkgI6PDTzHoQzEt1F-1M/s200/thriller+murder+creepy.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; text-align: center;">Mystery 001</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thriller 001</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bxHnjZdQ4dzyoygKOgXo4ndu8ljKFaPkfexgM4r-rCtyRC0t_XFH8xB-dTn8XyXzNAjLZyG5b7DUkQ4zgQ-Q716R_9-kE7xJFBWDgS0jpg2-CMsyG_0eXAaE85H6XzlW3o-rZm5x6D0/s1600/Stalkthrillerebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bxHnjZdQ4dzyoygKOgXo4ndu8ljKFaPkfexgM4r-rCtyRC0t_XFH8xB-dTn8XyXzNAjLZyG5b7DUkQ4zgQ-Q716R_9-kE7xJFBWDgS0jpg2-CMsyG_0eXAaE85H6XzlW3o-rZm5x6D0/s200/Stalkthrillerebook.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thriller 002</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipihvhr_RUATRf5YQfN8o60qfG42GVJgPcvTUZd6g5kt3blLjiioea_3oa91hUKSyYH0LQQECMUWkdnu5ptR5OhwDVgVmObt8kxNz2-QxKnkPvG3yRSPMnN6xN3pVfYWLheRyQfXlgbeo/s1600/myster+thriller+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipihvhr_RUATRf5YQfN8o60qfG42GVJgPcvTUZd6g5kt3blLjiioea_3oa91hUKSyYH0LQQECMUWkdnu5ptR5OhwDVgVmObt8kxNz2-QxKnkPvG3yRSPMnN6xN3pVfYWLheRyQfXlgbeo/s200/myster+thriller+1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Mystery 002</td></tr>
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Horror & Supernatural</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBKMI9CzfHTUeuEogNwjALYZnU7QVdEVEVAw1UohCgF3453DaJnKLSB_MADyc6ifK7RDeAXwLu29QHjyEjJ0JlsXZzWCHw_eYkyifuRbimHIUcL1yl1CckiWlVzpRQ0XzHJsRduhGG4A/s1600/creepy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBKMI9CzfHTUeuEogNwjALYZnU7QVdEVEVAw1UohCgF3453DaJnKLSB_MADyc6ifK7RDeAXwLu29QHjyEjJ0JlsXZzWCHw_eYkyifuRbimHIUcL1yl1CckiWlVzpRQ0XzHJsRduhGG4A/s200/creepy.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Ghost 001</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1T4JpAzShE45-TioA6N-r2N7kJV_qwnFjJ0DNezop3hazt1eUxpiSKXjjXHentNyy7mkEoZDeltZ90meNP3g8e6FfDv1cGzGxr_HEuV2vSDS161AZkndWMlrvP8fF2CPnCcxUs0o7OI/s1600/horror+angel+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1T4JpAzShE45-TioA6N-r2N7kJV_qwnFjJ0DNezop3hazt1eUxpiSKXjjXHentNyy7mkEoZDeltZ90meNP3g8e6FfDv1cGzGxr_HEuV2vSDS161AZkndWMlrvP8fF2CPnCcxUs0o7OI/s200/horror+angel+01.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Horror 002</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span><i style="font-size: medium;"><br /></i><i style="font-size: medium;"><br /></i><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-7697124157318692832015-07-17T18:46:00.000+01:002015-07-17T18:46:25.141+01:00Scotland, wahey!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We've been in Glasgow just over two weeks. So far, loving it - I'm surrounded by family, which is huge for me, and the neighbours are awesome.<br />
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The house is great. There's a standing joke that visitors from London will weep when they see the size of your place and hear the rent price. That's pretty spot on. I have a house with a garden for less than what I was paying for a dingy flat that had crumbling spots on the walls. Lumps would fall off whenever a bus idled outside.<br />
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The cats are having a blast. We've had to block off all the fireplaces (there are 4) because last week Hathor vanished. We could hear her crying, but the silly kit kept quiet whenever we were in the lounge.<br />
Whenever Bast or Sheba came into the room and we asked where Hathor was, they went over to the fireplace. We thought there was just no way; there is a metal cap over the chimney. It turns out that cap pushes inwards.<br />
We found her 3 days later, in the lounge chimney. I think she must have been licking condensation off of the bricks; 2 of those days were scorchers. To be honest, I was starting to think we were looking for a dead cat. She was hauled out, black from nose to tail, with Stace receiving a head full of soot herself.<br />
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Bast sat on the edge of the bath and watched her get thoroughly soaped and washed, right up until she tapped out with one little paw on Stace's arm. No claws, just three little taps asking for it to be done.<br />
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Then he climbed into the cupboard with her, held her down, and washed her all over again while giving her a thorough scolding. We've got her a collar with a bell; but catching her to get it on is a whole different story, since she has decided I'm the Spawn of Hell and am to be avoided unless she thinks I'm sleeping. I think she blames me for the bath.<br />
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The floors are mainly wood, and Bast has discovered that he can take a running start and skid through rooms on his bottom. This doesn't always work so well when he hits the carpeted stairs, and I'm waiting for him to get a splinter.<br />
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Sheba swops between my bedroom and the lounge, watching me work. Her greatest delight is staring sleepily out of the window, watching the neighbourhood trees move in the wind. At 3a.m. she joins in the nightly cat stampede up and down the stairs.<br />
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I'm sure winter is going to hurt, temperature wise. But the people are good, the prices are sooooo cheap - I can't remember the last time I spent £60 on groceries and staggered under the weight of what we bought - and we are happy.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-6439649435792990132015-05-30T15:42:00.000+01:002015-05-30T15:42:53.203+01:00Biblicalgenderroles.com, You're a Numpty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fair warning here -<a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/05/23/8-steps-to-confront-your-wifes-sexual-refusal" target="_blank"> this entire blogpost</a> made me feel stabby. Allow me to show you why.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The post is called <b>8 steps to confront your wife's sexual refusal</b>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah. Confronting someone because they don't want sexy times instead of asking them what's wrong will definitely get you nooky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's look at the first paragraph: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">How should you as a husband handle it when your wife directly refuses to have sex without a valid reason?"</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">Um. Dude, your wife doesn't need a valid reason. Nobody does. Let me repeat this<b>: NOBODY NEEDS TO GIVE YOU A REASON AS TO WHY THEY DON'T WANT SEX. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Is there anything a Christian husband can do about this?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. Leave her alone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><b>"This will be my last post specifically about sexuality in this series on “How to be godly husband”.</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"Christian Husbands – let me be crystal clear here. The situation I am addressing in this post is not your wife occasionally turning you down for sex (even with a bad attitude, as opposed to for health or other legitimate reasons). What I am addressing here is the wife who consistently and routinely denies her husband sexually simply because she does not need sex as much or she thinks she should not have to do it except when she is in the mood or she thinks her husband should have to earn sex with her by “putting her in the mood” by doing various things she expects or likes."</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow. Imagine a woman daring to only want sex when she's in the mood, or wants her husband to arouse her. Next thing you know she'll want to learn how to read.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have not, nor would I EVER advocate for a husband to force himself physically upon his wife or to physically abuse her in any fashion. The issue being discussed is how a husband can confront a wife who chronically or willfully denies his sexual rights in marriage without just cause(be it legitimate health or mental conditions). He has the right, both under Biblical law, as well as under American law, to reason with his with his wife and try to convince her to willingly(even if grudgingly) yield herself to him, and thereby fulfilling one her most important duties in Christian marriage."</span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yield? Your wife is not bloody road traffic. Making someone have sex with you when they are unwilling and grudging about it is abuse. </span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">The phrase for what you're advocating is passive rape. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"In two previous posts in this series I addressed these key issues:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>In “<a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/04/28/christian-husbands-you-dont-pay-for-the-milk-when-you-own-the-cow/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Christian Husbands – You don’t pay for the milk when you own the cow!">Christian Husbands – You don’t pay for the milk when you own the cow!</a>” we established this Biblical principle:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Neither the husband, nor the wife have to earn sex in marriage.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>A wife cannot flatly refuse her husband, she may only ask for a delay (a raincheck) and then she needs to make good on that raincheck as soon as possible.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A husband has the right to confront his wife’s sexual refusal as a sin not only against him, but also against God.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In “<a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/05/16/is-a-husband-selfish-for-having-sex-with-his-wife-when-she-is-not-the-mood/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Is a husband selfish for having sex with his wife when she is not the mood?">Is a husband selfish for having sex with his wife when she is not the mood?</a>” I elaborated further on this subject of sexual refusal in marriage with these principles:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A husband ought not to feel guilty for having sex with his wife when she is not in the mood if she yields, even grudgingly.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A husband needs to use prayerful discernment to discover if her reasons for “not being in the mood” are for legitimate physical or mental health reasons or if the problem is wrong thinking and wrong attitude on the part of his wife. If her reasons are legitimate, then she needs to seek medical or psychological help as soon as possible.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now in this post we will talk about how to handle the sexual refusal of a wife when it is because she has a wrong attitude and wrong thinking about marriage and sex."</span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OMFG, dude. This is not how healthy relationships work. Also, you just made me throw up in my mouth a little.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, a woman can totally refuse sex. This is because she is a person, and not a blow-up sex toy, and has rights over her own body. Also, did you seriously just compare women to cows? What are you going to do when you get the munchies, butcher her? </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think you're overly concerned with the interest your God has in your sex life. You also appear to have an ego problem if you are putting yourself in the same role as a deity.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A husband that makes his wife have sex should feel guilty. He should also be in jail.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's an answer for the prayerful discernment: </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there's a bunch of stuff about husbands refusing their wives, which is being saved for another series (Oh, joy.) and lot of biblical quotations from Corinthians and Paul. I'm not pasting it because it will turn this post into something that takes two weeks to read. However:</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's not how it works.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"> "</span></span><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">Let me be clear on something, even if you do follow the steps below I give, this does not automatically mean you will get a change from your wife, or her repentance for her </span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">sexual immorality</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">." </span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's have a quick look at the steps he wants you to take. I'm just taking the headings, because the explanations he gives repeats them in a variety of annoying ways:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 1 – Rebuke her privately"</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure. Treat a grown-ass woman like she's 6. That's guaranteed to make her want sexy times.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 2 – Rebuke her before witnesses"</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"></span>Because it's always good to have someone else see what an ass you really are.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 3 – Bring her before the Church"</span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Note: He points out that you may have an angry wife after this stage. Ya think?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 4 – Stop taking her on dates or trips"</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This boils down to "No nooky, no fun." Because you should always punish someone for not having sex. It's guaranteed to get you lai- </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, wait.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 5 – No unnecessary household upgrades"</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also known to 10 year olds as cutting your nose off to spite your face. Have fun, guys.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 6 – Stop doing the little extra things"</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is so incredibly specific I'm guessing he's going by personal experience. Apparently he gives a great massage.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Step 7 – Remove her funding"</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What the absolute fuck?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good of you to note that this only works if she doesn't have her own income. Stop giving her pocket money??? </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>WHY ARE YOU TREATING YOUR WIFE LIKE SHE'S YOUR YOUR DAUGHTER?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What if none of these 7 steps work?</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>If your wife remains willfully defiant, yet she has not left you, it could be for a variety of reasons."</b></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah. She could've grown up in a cult that views abuse like this as normal. She could be terrified of you. She could be trapped with no money and no skills to make a new life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me be clear. This is not how Christians are supposed to behave. This is not how any decent human is supposed to behave. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 30.6000003814697px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You have the option to divorce her for her sexual immorality."</span></strong></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's sexual immorality here. Yours. Quite frankly if divorce gets your wife out of the living hell you've put her in, I'm all for it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"Why bother with the first 7 steps if divorce is an option for sexual denial?"</b></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blah blah blah duty blah blah blah Israel blah blah blah "we owe our wives and our marriages this fight."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Following the above steps will and should result in: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"But aren’t these steps a form of manipulation?"</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that's okay, because husbands need to discipline their wives :</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span><span style="font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">Discipline, on the other hand is very different from manipulation. Discipline is performed by one who is in authority over one who is under their authority. It is action taken by an authority to attempt to modify the bad behavior of the subject of that authority so that they will behave correctly in the future."</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">Dude, I can't even.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>"Conclusion</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Christian husband, you are not powerless to act against your wife’s sexual refusal. But you must realize that this may be a long and costly battle. Your confrontation of your wife’s willful, sinful behavior may result in your marriage ending."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">But wait: there's more!</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">"That is why we will talk about “</span><a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/05/30/10-ways-to-know-your-wife/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #8b681c; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" title="10 Ways to know your wife">10 Ways to know your wife</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">” and then “</span><a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/05/30/12-ways-to-honor-your-wife/" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #8b681c; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;" title="12 Ways to Honor your wife">12 Ways to honor your wife</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;">” now that we have concluded our discussion of sexuality as it relates to being a godly husband."</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><b>Make.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><b>It.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 30.6000003814697px;"><b>Stop.</b></span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-27878601808456235402015-05-28T14:13:00.000+01:002015-05-28T14:13:02.692+01:00What To Teach Your Daughters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>1) Nobody else has jurisdiction over her body </b><br />
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She decides when or if she can have sex. The thing here is to educate her properly, and not the equivalent of what I received, which could be condensed down to "OMFG if you have sex with a boy you will like, explode. Or die. Or something. It's bad. Don't do it." Kids aren't stupid. Teenagers have a lock-in on anything adults try to prevent them from doing, especially when said adults are doing the same damn thing on a regular basis.<br />
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Rampaging hormones and abstinence are not a good mix. The result of the sex education we got in school was three pregnancies <i>in the same year</i>, thanks to myths like "you can't get pregnant if you're standing up," and the inability to understand how condoms work. <br />
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Teach her about the possible repercussions, tell her about birth control, and most importantly, <b>teach her that she can say no. </b>If you've never taught your child that she has that option, what do you think happens when the boy she loves tells her she has to do it?<br />
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<b>2) Nobody else has jurisdiction over her body (this includes you)</b><br />
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The whole issue of virginity pledging is so creepy I don't really want to touch it, but here goes: you are dressing a girl up in something that looks like a wedding dress and pledging her to <i>her father</i>. This is the guy who probably changed her diapers and watched her learn how to walk, and now you are making her promise him that she won't have sex because he's the most important man in her life.<br />
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She decides whether she likes boys or girls, both or none. It is none of your business who she bumps uglies with as an adult, or whether she does this at all. It isn't your vagina.<br />
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Later on, she decides whether or not to have kids. This is not a parental decision, because she is not a stuffed toy with no autonomy. If you want to decide on whether something breeds or not, get some pet fish. I understand the yearning for grandkids; I've watched in my own folks. But it's her choice, and again - it isn't your vagina involved.<br />
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The interest some parents seem to have in what their grown or over-age teenage children do with their genitalia is fucking disturbing. Stop it.<br />
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<b>3) Nobody else has jurisdiction over her body and nobody has the right to shame her for it</b><br />
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Females come in all shapes and sizes. Some of us are tall, some of us need to stand on a stool to reach the kitchen cupboard. Skinny, average, plump, fat. Drop-dead gorgeous, kinda plain, somewhere in the middle. Sporty, geeky, ripped - just like guys.<br />
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You know what we don't have in common with guys? We usually don't like our bodies that much. We are taught, constantly, that we are not enough. No pretty enough, no submissive enough, not smart enough, not good enough. Not skinny enough. Too damn skinny. Too fat. Too plump. Too tall, too short, too blonde, too dark, too pale. Too old.<br />
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I have female family members ranging in age from 6 months to over 80 years, and apart from the 6 month old, they all criticise their bodies. They've been taught to, and I would like to drop-kick society out of a window when I hear my mom say her thighs are too big. It makes me want to cry, because my mom is beautiful, but she doesn't realise it.<br />
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Teach your daughter to like herself, all of herself. Don't buy into the myth that she isn't enough. And teach her to tell anyone who has issues with her body that they don't deserve her time or company. Most of all, teach her that she is enough.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-52032966581751651532015-05-05T17:05:00.001+01:002015-05-05T17:05:32.223+01:00Election Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Most people are well aware I distrust (and in some cases severely dislike) politicians, especially the current batch dismantling the country.<br />
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I'm not sure most people are aware that I vote, and I do so in every election.<br />
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I grew up in a country where the majority of the population did not have the right to vote until I was out of high school. People marched, protested, bled and died for the right to scratch a cross against a name on a piece of paper.<br />
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When those people were finally given the right to vote, to step behind a curtain and clutch a pencil for the first time, the ink stamp that declared them voters still smudged and sticky on their flesh, they changed the face of a country.<br />
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As a female, I am very aware of the fact that women had to fight long and hard to get the right to vote. South Africa gave that right for the first time in 1933. The UK allowed us to vote in general elections in 1913, providing we were over 30 and meant property requirements. We got full voting rights here in 1928. Once again, people died for that right.<br />
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Voting seems to be considered a pain in the fundamental. It's inconvenient. It means lining up in queues in draughty church halls and smelly, underused buildings. It means selecting the best of a bad bunch who might not make the changes they promise anyway (looking at you, David Cameron) and who might make the whole damn mess slightly worse.<br />
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The people who were disenfranchised only a century ago would have some trouble understanding this.<br />
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Politics haven't changed much. Politicians have always been corrupt, have always abused their offices, and have always ignored the social classes they don't want to know about. There are a few, battling against the cesspool of hand-outs and back-scratching, but they aren't the ones who get soundbites and their names in the papers.<br />
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The thing is, the people in parliament know about complacency, and voter apathy, and the feeling that one is pretty much the same as the other. They know that despite the rage seen everyday on the street, the average person doesn't feel they can make a difference. They encourage this. It is a lie.<br />
<br />
If every person enraged by the callousness of the current system voted for someone else, the government would change; the people in their towers would fall. If every person dreading the thought of the Tories coming back in voted for Labour, the ruling party becomes Labour. If every woman condescended to by Cameron and co voted Green... Well, that's pretty much every female in the country. Bye, Dave!<br />
<br />
And if you don't like what the new people do, <i>you vote them out again</i>. Make them realise that if what they do is unacceptable, there are repercussions, and we are the ones that bring those repercussions home. With a bit of pencil and a sheet of paper.<br />
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I watched a country changed by the voters, by the people who never believed they'd have a voice. It has happened in so many places, so many times.<br />
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Not voting is not an option. Humanity bled too hard to get us here.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-37963593174567719902015-04-27T11:50:00.000+01:002015-04-27T11:50:48.087+01:00Ch-ch-changes!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Things have been a little bit hectic, and I've had some massive personal changes. Most of them I couldn't mention until they were official, so I've made myself scarce on the blog; the temptation to go "Oooh! Guess what happened!" is just too much.<br />
<br />
I went through redundancy for the third time in about four years. This time I took the payout. When the universe thumps you on the head this pointedly, it's time to listen.<br />
<br />
The migraines reduced almost immediately. I've suspected the combination of fluorescent lighting and computer screens for a while now, topped up with a fairly unhealthy dose of work-stress. I've been almost completely migraine free since I was informed I was up for redundancy and escorted from the office carrying whatever I could grab from my desk in five minutes.<br />
<br />
The problem is that almost every office (at least in the UK) has fluorescent lights. I have no intention of losing a job because my body hates me, and migraines three or more times a week guarantees that. I also really, really like being pain-free. It's a novelty that I appreciate.<br />
The solution for me is to work from home and take regular breaks from the computer. Freelancing, whahey! Part of me wishes I'd done it years ago; the other part knows without this push and the migraines I would never have done so. I'm also web-site testing and doing transcriptions (better money, slightly harder than pounding out 500 words for an article) and I've recently rediscovered how much fun I have repainting gates. Not a joke, I really do enjoy it.<br />
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The problem with freelancing is that money can be sporadic and London is expensive. Food alone seems to have tripled in the last few years; rent is no longer even remotely funny. Spending 70%-80% of my new income on rent does not appeal, and since I was doing that on a regular salary, I could end up in trouble.<br />
So I'm moving to Scotland. Good people, cheaper prices, I'm trying not to think about winter. I've been there in winter. It hurts. The Scots do, however, believe in central heating and double-glazing, two things which have been sorely lacking in every rental property I've been in during my time in London. I'm looking forward to not getting frostbite in the bathroom. I'll have a garden for the first time in over ten years. I can hang my washing outside, and trust me, that's huge. Ten years of indoor laundry. *shudder*<br />
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The logistics of getting two people (Stace decided the move would be good for her too), three cats and a house full of stuff to a different country is slightly mind-boggling. When I moved to the UK I had a suitcase with a few clothes in. Now I have books and art stuff and computers and furniture, and my subconscious keeps sitting up, blinking stupidly, and wondering when the hell I got all this stuff.<br />
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On kitty news, Sheba is bouncing around quite happily. She has also managed to FaceTime my mom and take a selfie, which means my cat is more technologically advance than I am. I had no clue how to reverse the camera until she did that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"So you tap <i>here,</i> see? And <i>then</i> you take the picture."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Bast and Hathor just keep growing. They've turned into well-adjusted, happy cats and are thinking about writing a book called How to Train your Human, and will include chapters on "How to get More Treats without Trying", "How to Throw up on Their Favourite Slippers" and "How to Clear a Mantlepiece".<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-89885596348309225562015-03-12T22:25:00.003+00:002015-03-12T22:25:47.894+00:00Kitty Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So. It's been awhile, but since the last kitten post, Bast turned out to be a boy. We ended up with a calico male, which is very, very rare. In everyone's defence (including the vet), the area under his tail is pitch black, and so were the pertinent bits.<br />
<br />
Hathor went into heat 2 weeks before Bast was due to get the snip. It took us a while to figure it out because she's still quite young and doesn't actually miaow. She chirrups, chirps, and squeaks, but there isn't a miaow in sight. Bast is the same.<br />
It took three days of noises like a demented canary before I clicked, and that was only because I caught them trying (and yes, I mean trying. Let's just say Bast has no clue which end to aim at.) to have sex on the stairs. I also caught them in the missionary position a day later, which is disturbing on so many levels.<br />
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We appear to be pregnancy free, mainly because Bast often dealt with the increasing demands by biting Hathor on neck while leaning against the wall, and looking at us as if wondering what the hell was supposed to happen next. He'd escape by climbing into the bath and hiding away from her.<br />
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Bast got snipped last week; Hathor is due the end of the month. He still limps as soon as he sees the treat packet.<br />
<br />
Two weeks ago I saw a message from a friend about a cat that desperately needed a home. You can guess the rest. Part of me was thinking WHAT ARE YOU DOING. It was drowned out by the part that went KITTY!!!<br />
<br />
So Sheba is currently living under my bed. She is black shot with slivers of copper and gold, and slow-blinking yellow eyes.<br />
She's eight, and she's lost her human and her home and the poor old girl is heart-broken. She loves being stroked, hates the vet with an almighty passion, and has Bast infatuated.<br />
<br />
He keeps offering her his favourite toys. Then he climbs under the bed and chirps at her. As soon as my light goes off for the night, she wiggles out and romps through the house with the other two. I think she'll be just fine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hathor, playing with her mouse.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bast - King of the Cupboards</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji503b7We7G9fk3zr5u7bn1DETJMC77gDPlynb29tpXQdYbyFiVy7JTgf8BIPB0MeskTqHB4Esn6AoBlYpnp45L0LLkXgEyZdIfi5UVa4GBAVETeIBVyG-hNaZLHyuCXa9luriFNSXWL0/s1600/new+cupboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji503b7We7G9fk3zr5u7bn1DETJMC77gDPlynb29tpXQdYbyFiVy7JTgf8BIPB0MeskTqHB4Esn6AoBlYpnp45L0LLkXgEyZdIfi5UVa4GBAVETeIBVyG-hNaZLHyuCXa9luriFNSXWL0/s1600/new+cupboard.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buy a new cupboard, make your cat happy...</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-19469296786141928682015-02-15T14:25:00.001+00:002015-02-15T14:25:06.153+00:00An Open Letter To David Cameron<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Mr. Cameron<br />
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Your recent announcement about obese people, drug addicts, and alcoholics losing benefits didn't really come as a shock to me. There was more a sense of resignation and futility, because you haven't got a clue about what real people are like, or the issues they face.<br />
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Addiction has long been recognised as a medical condition. If you could cure it, I'd be the first to hold your coat. However, since medical science hasn't achieved it yet. I have my doubts. Cut the benefits, put desperate people into an even more desperate situation, and watch both the death toll and the crime rate rise. Is that really what you have in mind? Don't you think enough people have died through the new benefits system already? I won't go into the idiocy of the current drugs policy, except to say that no sane dealer wants it legalised, because you'd remove their customer base.<br />
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So onto the obesity issue. I have a few problems with this. Obesity isn't simply a matter of eating too much, Mr. Cameron. There are a number of factors involved, including, but not limited to:<br />
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1) <a href="http://chealth.canoe.ca/channel_condition_info_details.asp?disease_id=166&channel_id=2053&relation_id=107989" target="_blank">Thyroid problems</a><br />
2) Medication (known as <a href="http://www.drsharma.ca/obesity-treatment-hurdle-iatrogenic-contributions.html" target="_blank">iatrogenic obesity</a>)<br />
3) <a href="http://hmg.oxfordjournals.org/content/15/suppl_2/R124.full" target="_blank">Genetic disposition</a><br />
4) Psychological pain<br />
5) Not being able to afford decent food. This one's a doozy, isn't it? Because the average person <a href="http://www.turn2us.org.uk/information__resources/benefits/illness,_injury_and_disability/personal_independence_payment.aspx#much" target="_blank">living on these benefits</a> simply can't afford to live healthily and pay their bills. If you think this is sufficient, I challenge you to live like this for 3 months. No extras. No help from friends or family. Live on this, and see how you feel afterwards.<br />
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Perhaps the biggest issue I have is that once again, this is a huge personal intrusion to people with these conditions. You do not have the right to dictate how somebody deals with their body, because we are not supposed to be slaves.<br />
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I realise that this puts pressure on the NHS. (So does underpaying the staff to the point that doctors and nurses are emigrating to greener pastures with better pay and living conditions.) But, Mr. Cameron, the NHS was designed to help <b>everybody</b> who needed it. Either the system works, or you start excluding on the basis of colour, gender, religion, body shape etc. You can't have it both ways.<br />
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One of the arguments is that people die from these conditions. Yes, they do. People die every day. They also die in car accidents, house fires, from homicide and sheer bad luck. So far your government has attempted to press ahead with raising the speed limit for HGV's despite the warning that it will increase deadly accidents, destroyed fire-fighters pensioners, and released long-term tariff convicted murderers early, only to have them kill again. If you were willing to run the risk of harm to people by doing all of these things, please explain why you are so hell-bent on controlling our lives and bodies? Will the next step be making anything over a size twelve illegal?<br />
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Do you know what happens in a country where the leadership shows it's okay to be prejudiced, Mr. Cameron? That it's fine to hate and despise anyone who is other, who doesn't march in line to the official drum? You get <a href="http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2013/05/12/russia-tortured-and-killed-gay-man-was-raped-with-beer-bottles/" target="_blank">this</a>. And <a href="http://wildhunt.org/2013/03/the-fall-of-a-syrian-pagan.html" target="_blank">this</a>. And <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-politics/10804880/Islamophobia-People-grab-our-veils-call-us-terrorists-and-want-us-dead-What-its-really-like-to-be-a-Muslim-woman-in-Britain.html" target="_blank">this</a>. And directly to the point, <a href="http://metro.co.uk/2009/10/19/passenger-marsha-coupe-beaten-up-on-train-for-being-fat-3421149/" target="_blank">this</a>. People die or are attacked, harassed or mutilated because you thought it was cool to get some extra attention. You should be protecting people, not encouraging prejudice.<br />
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What's truly heartbreaking, Mr. Cameron, is that you and your government could have made some truly effective and good social and economic changes in this country. Instead you have reduced us to xenophobic paranoids, willing to point the finger at everything except ourselves. We dance to the tune of the red top tabloids, because our leader panders to the worst of them. Instead of investing in the country and creating a workforce, you pushed people into starvation and told us it was for our own good. By pushing education out of reach of all but the elite few, you have created a nation of frustrated, under-educated people who are drowning while you stand on the shores and watch. And you just don't stop.<br />
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<br />
I truly hope that this was yet another misguided attempt to get your name in the headlines because of the upcoming elections. Unfortunately, it has once again revealed you to be a man who does not do his research, does not think about the repercussions of his proposals, and does not give a damn about anyone who is not on the same economic level as yourself.<br />
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What a waste of an otherwise intelligent man.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-62828618420477266882015-01-25T15:56:00.002+00:002015-01-25T16:03:35.845+00:00Francis Fahrenheit - Rock n Roll Clown Review <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the best parts of living in London is the musical talent. I love music. Can't play much (started drum lessons years ago, but stuff happened) and I sing like a dead frog, which just makes me appreciate the people that can do this well even more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Original music is still my favourite. Covers are great and all, but I like finding the guys that put their hearts and souls out for the rest of us. It takes a strange degree of courage to stand up in front of a live audience and give them a view into how your mind works; compared to that, writing is easy. You aren't there to see the reactions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moxy Ru was one of the best indie bands to hit the scene in years, and when they split it was a sad moment, so having Francis Fahrenheit carry on the music as a solo artist was great.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got my paws on a copy of Rock 'n Roll Clown a while ago and I've pretty much played it to death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The use of
synthesizers throughout this album break out memories for me of early Depeche
Mode, particularly in 'You Can Change The World But You Can’t Change Me'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Building Up Your Wall' is the perfect “We
Need To Split” song. There’s pleading and sneering and despair in a toxic,
unstoppable mix I replayed over and over. The vocals here have an edginess that
I’d like to hear more of; just a slight rasp in places, but enough to shoot
this song out of okay territory into something really good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Rock & Roll
Clown' is a gorgeous mix of percussion and strings and Francis uses his voice
to great effect in harrowing lyrics. The video up on YouTube is powerful and
perfect for the song, do yourself a favour and check it out. I've tried to imbed the video below; but you guys know me and tech.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The lyrics of
'Glass Spiders' are frankly creepy as hell, but it makes you want to move to
it; the beat pounds through you remorselessly. It’s one of my favourite tracks<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6961646669143666701" name="_GoBack"></a> on this album, currently fighting with 'Building Up Your
Wall' and the title track for personal best of. I could see this one crowding
the dance floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Beauty Hides'
is another track with strong percussion and an eerie use of synthesizers
through the song. The hook line is hypnotic, but I admit to preferring Francis
using his vocals to the chanting bits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'I Am Stardust'
brings to mind The Killers song Human; it just has that feel, although the two
songs are nothing alike. This is the most optimistic song on the album, and you
can’t help tapping your feet as this one plays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Links to buy the album are here: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">iTunes: <a class="" href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/rock-n-roll-clown/id946864657" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer;" target="">https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/rock-n-roll-clown/id946864657</a>Google Play: <a class="" href="https://play.google.com/store/music/album/Francis_Fahrenheit_Rock_n_Roll_Clown?id=B7wro5mzjacvs75cl7l4rtpscam" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer;" target="">https://play.google.com/store/music/album/Francis_Fahrenheit_Rock_n_Roll_Clown?id=B7wro5mzjacvs75cl7l4rtpscam</a>Amazon: <a class="" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QLWTGOC/ref=dm_ws_sp_ps_dp?ie=UTF8&qid=1417775030&sr=8-3" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer;" target="">http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QLWTGOC/ref=dm_ws_sp_ps_dp?ie=UTF8&qid=1417775030&sr=8-3</a>CD Baby: <a class="" href="http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/francisfahrenheit4" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer;" target="">http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/francisfahrenheit4</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And check out the official site:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Official Site: <a class="" href="http://www.francisfahrenheit.com/" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer;" target="">http://www.francisfahrenheit.com</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-2810845118650324222015-01-04T13:18:00.000+00:002015-01-04T13:19:00.589+00:00Website now live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yeehaw! Go here to check it out:<a href="http://janetsked.wix.com/jhsked" target="_blank"> http://janetsked.wix.com/jhsked</a><br />
<br />
In kitty news, both Hathor and Bast have decided the water fountain makes a great splash pool. I've now caught both of them scooping water onto the carpet and chirping happily at the results.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-33843793369846710012015-01-03T20:41:00.002+00:002015-01-03T20:44:32.417+00:00New year, new books<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been burrowed under trying to build a website for the past few weeks. For anyone who knows me, or reads this blog on a regular basis, the fact that I haven't inadvertently blown up the internet is a surprise. Ahem.<br />
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<br />
Anyway, it's almost ready to go live. *squeak* After fighting with it for some time, I've decided to keep this blog separate. I like it here. If I get brave enough, I'll do a couple of video blogs for the site.<br />
<br />
To add to the fun, there are two new books out. Shine is a short story collection, and includes a brand new Blue Moon Detectives story. Fur Thing is the latest full length Blue Moon book, so Billy fans should be quite happy.<br />
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Speaking of Billy - I'm coming to the inescapable conclusion that Bast is somehow channeling my favourite character. I've met accident-prone cats before, but this one takes the biscuit. In addition to bitch-slapping the water fountain because it wasn't full enough, he has managed to get blue dye on his paws (no clue), fallen off the bookcase, and spent a good two hours wandering around with a large blue sequin stuck to his furry butt. Hathor tends to eye-roll him a lot, which I can understand; grace and dignity do not apply. Can't imagine where he gets it from.<br />
Hathor, on the other hand, has a fetish about drinking glasses and mugs. Anything put within reach gets investigated, sniffed, and drunk if you aren't fast enough. So far I've had to rescue several cups of coffee, wine, eggnog, and water. She doesn't seem to like whiskey, though. I'm taking this as a good thing.<br />
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Until next time - have a fantastic year, everyone!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-64488060644458666342014-11-02T18:54:00.001+00:002014-11-02T18:55:20.759+00:00Dangerous Times<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These are dangerous times for a lot of people.<br />
<br />
This is not a good time to be a Muslim. I'm watching my Facebook feed blow up on a regular basis with people who've drunk the poison fed to them by the media, and call it good, and I feel my stomach turn every time I read the crap they spout.<br />
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I don't think it's ever been a good time to be a Jew; as a race they've been subjected to every atrocity imaginable, and the number of morons who think every Jew believes Israel is righteously bombing the hell out of Palestine is face-palm worthy.<br />
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It's a very bad time to be black, especially in the USA, where it seems someone called open season on young black males and didn't send the memo to the rest of us. I'm pretty sure other minorities are getting the pointy end of the stick as well, but it hasn't blown up on any sites. Yet.<br />
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It's a horrible time to be female and active on social media. If you don't deal with asshats who think you're a lower species because you don't possess a penis, you're incredibly lucky.<br />
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It is dangerous to be gay, bi or trans in a world where people who take way too much interest in what you do in bed have power over you.<br />
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It is a lethal time to be poor. If you are poor and disabled, you are clinically and categorically fucked. If a society is judged by how it treats its most vulnerable members, ours would get a failing grade. When you have politicians who reckon that MS suffers and people with permanent disabilities can get better in the next six months, you move into the realm of a Monty Python skit.<br />
<br />
What the mainstream and tabloid media are doing isn't anything new. In today's world, where one criminally ambitious reporter can publish something and have it accessible to everyone with internet access, it's more dangerous than ever. Whipping up a mob is never something to be proud of. Whipping up a mob based on hate can result in people dying.<br />
<br />
Thankfully more and more people are questioning this stuff, and finding the holes in reports. More and more people are aware that a difference in skin colour, gender, or sexuality is something to be celebrated, not disparaged. People are using the same social media that pushes the hate agenda to raise awareness of injustice, and to fight back for their right to be. To be human, to be loved, to be allowed to live.<br />
<br />
As for the politicians… Ugh. Look, my solution would be (a) vote the idiots out of power and (b) charge them with murder for every death caused on their watch. For every suicide committed by someone ground into blood and tears by inhumane policies. For every person who freezes or starves to death over winter. For every terminal patient forced back into work that dies at their desk. Because what they are doing is pretty close to state sanctioned murder.<br />
<br />
Confiscate the money they make out of their connections and their buddy-laws, and redistribute it. Start a hot-house garden in every city where people can come and collect food in exchange for an hour of their time - do some weeding, do some watering, plant some seeds. Direct people on where to go to find the tomatoes if you can't do physical work.<br />
Something has to happen. In the year 2014, people shouldn't be on starvation levels in a developed country, because they are too sick to work - or simply can't find a job.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-73763299389527253732014-10-26T20:26:00.000+00:002014-11-02T18:55:38.978+00:00Kitty update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bast seems to be a bit of a talker. Hathor still hides under my bed, and comes out to stare at me when she thinks I'm sleeping, and makes little chirping noises like a hairy four-legged canary. She also hides food, which I'll get to in a bit.<br />
<br />
They got taken for their shots last week. Bast dealt okay.<br />
Hathor went bat-shit insane when the vet took her out of the cage and drew blood from the poor man. As he pointed out, it was an OhgodsIneedtogetaway moment, rather than I'mgoingtoclawyourfaceoffbecauseIcan. It was some small consolation with the vet dripping blood on the floor, but this is also what happens when you have traumatised kittens. It's what happened next that really stunned me.<br />
After getting her shots and weighed, Hathor got put back in the cage. She scooted to the back and Bast stood in front of her, making sure nobody was going to touch her again. She'd been watching the whole process anxiously. I've seen the protective instinct in mother cats and dogs, yes. I've never seen anything like this in litter-mates.<br />
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Bast is about three pounds heavier (because she eats every bit of food she can find, including Hathor's) and a bit longer in the legs. When I come in from work she waits in the doorway of my room. She only watched me getting ready for work once; there is something incredibly disconcerting about a kitten looking horrified when you put on make-up. And she likes to talk. Usually this is to tell the world that nobody is paying attention; unfortunately she's not at ease with being touched yet. So at two in the morning, you get this:<br />
<br />
Bast, on the staircase: OOOOH, NOOOBODY LOVES ME!!!<br />
Me, stumbling out of my room: WTF?<br />
Bast: YOU LEFT ME ALOOOOONE!<br />
Me, standing on mouse toy and hopping to stair case: Oh, kitty. Hush. (Put hand out to kitten.)<br />
Bast: UNCLEAN!! UNCLEEEAAAN!!! (rockets back up the stairs.)<br />
At this point I remove the mouse toy from between my toes and lurch back to bed.<br />
Some twenty minutes later, the delicate thunder of Bast attempting a landing on the hall cupboard and missing completely will fill the house, and I'll pull the duvet over my head and pretend I didn't hear it.<br />
<br />
Hathor, on the other hand, appears to hide her food as well as herself, probably because Bast has the table manners of a starving piranha and will take her food if she isn't fast enough.<br />
Heading off to the shop today, I realised halfway down the road that there was something cold and sticky wedged under my toe. When I sat down on a bench and upended my Ugg, a small piece of chicken fell out. I did the rest of my shop with my toe stuck to my boot from kitty spit.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-27266794588309582582014-10-19T02:14:00.000+01:002014-10-19T02:14:09.065+01:00Bruises and Emergency Room Visits and Kitties - weekly roundup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Monday I got off the tube, and some little man rammed me on his way past. I didn't think much of it apart from saying a rude word; in London, the Good Manners Fairy got gagged and duct-taped and thrown to the Gods of Public Transport some time ago, and I've been knocked harder than that. But by the time I got to the office my ribs on the left side where he'd knocked me were throbbing and tender, and it got worse as the day went on.<br />
Just after lunch I checked my side in the bathroom mirror. What I saw was a tracery of broken blood vessels extending from just below my armpit to just above my navel, and a raised lump of tender flesh over a couple of ribs.<br />
I left work late to avoid rush hour. By this time I was sore enough that anyone shoving me would have been punched and I'd like to avoid an assault charge. Since I couldn't face the stairs at the tube I got the bus to the main train terminal, and by the time I home I was struggling to walk and not cry from pain.<br />
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Tuesday I worked from home, hoping things would improve. By Wednesday morning it hurt to breath, speak or move at all, so I headed off to the emergency centre. I was anticipating a diagnosis of bruised ribs, but wanted to make sure nothing was fractured. Instead, I had a doctor telling me I might have a ruptured spleen and bruised kidney. This was not a fun moment.<br />
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On to the first scan, which was ultrasound, followed by oral morphine (gag) and a CT scan, which was strangely pleasant apart from the 10 seconds where I thought my toes were going to catch fire and a taste in my mouth like I'd just downed a very strong shooter. The final diagnosis came back as massive bruising around the liver, kidney and ribs. Sheer relief, and the immediate desire to go home, right up until they took my blood pressure and all that jazz and discovered my temperature was high and my heartbeat was 118. It didn't help that when they told me I had to stay over night the damn heart rate shot up to 122. I've never seen an emergency doc look so horrified while trying not to laugh.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I learnt that the emergency room has their own overnight ward for cases like me (apparently sending you home to have a possible heart attack is considered bad) and I was promptly deposited into it, given food that looked horrifying on every possible level, and dosed up with both codeine and oral morphine again, which tasted worse the second time around. As a result, by the time Stace got there with my p.j.'s, I was cataclysmically stoned. Morphine has a time distorting effect on me, and I tend to hallucinate on it. I also don't remember much of what happens, but apparently having a conversation with me is interesting.<br />
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Breakfast was edible - cornflakes and coffee. They offered me more morphine (no thanks. If I'm in excruciating pain I'll take it, but given a choice, I'll take anything else rather than that stuff.) Several hours later, I was allowed to leave, on condition that I take it easy for a few days and come back if the pain gets worse. Since I really, really don't want to go back, taking it easy is the way to go.<br />
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My cousin came and met me to make sure I got home alright. We were on the bus when we saw the sign outside a charity shop advertising abandoned kittens for adoption. I've wanted a cat again for a long time; I've missed having an animal in my life, and so has Stace. She looked at the sign and said wistfully, "Oh! I want a kitty."<br />
And I thought 'Life is short.' and I told her to push the buzzer to stop the bus. We both needed to eat, anyway, and there was a coffee shop right next to the charity place.<br />
<br />
So we met Maria, who runs Little Darlings and rescues animals and places them, and she showed us a picture of two starving kittens that had been stuffed into a filthy carrier, tied up in a black plastic bag, and dumped outside her shop. I would give a great deal to have 5 minutes alone with the person who did this to them, I truly would.<br />
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That night, Maria brought them over, and my life is now filled with miaows and chirps and the delicate thunder of kitten paws stampeding across the floor at 2 a.m.<br />
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We have Hathor Freya, who seems to be training to be a ninja and hides in the most amazing places, and Bast Sekhmet, who likes to be able to see at least one human and know where her sister is, and will now eat out of my hand. They're still twitchy, and a bit nervous, but they're playing and eating and getting used to the fact that they are now in a safe place.<br />
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So yeah, although I'd prefer a non-painful way off the universe giving me directions, if I hadn't spent the night in the hospital I wouldn't have these cats in my life, and I'd be the poorer for it. But I'd really like a hospital-free life from now onwards; this is getting a bit annoying.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-56894355185376438892014-10-12T12:08:00.001+01:002014-10-12T12:08:39.152+01:00Body Parts (minor rant alert)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Something that confuses me a bit - okay, a LOT, is why women seem hell-bent on letting other people decide things about their bodies for them. As females, it's become completely acceptable to have Fat Days, Bad Hair Days, Dull Skin Days, and every single one of those can result in depression, irritability, and a feeling of worthlessness. We panic over wrinkles. We freak out over grey hair. An extra five pounds can lead to sobbing under the duvet. (Yes, there may be a male out there that does this, but I haven't met one yet.)<br />
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Then you get the random bitchiness of strangers. There's a certain person out there who thinks they are completely justified in commenting on your appearance, food, and hair colour. These are people who've drunk the kool-aid of advertising to the point that looking like a normal human is beyond their comprehension. Or maybe they're just sad, angry little balls of misery that need to share that with the world. Hell, some of them have made a career out of appearing on t.v. to make nasty remarks to an audience of millions.<br />
There are websites dedicated to body shaming, and nobody seems to find the idea behind them repulsive. Let's put it this way: unless you're not quite human, you are just as flawed as the people you are giggling over. You have no damn room to point.<br />
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Some of them go into politics, and this is where it gets scary. These people think that women shouldn't decide what happens to their bodies. They'd rather let you die than make that choice. Or end up in jail. They don't have that right, because slavery has been illegal for centuries, and deciding you own somebody else's body is pretty much the definition of slavery.<br />
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See, here's the thing. My body. I live in it, not anyone else. I dress it the way I choose. I decorate it the way I want, because <i>I have to live in it</i>. If I feel a bit overweight, I can choose to go on diet. Or not. Nobody has the right to tell me otherwise. If I am underweight, the same goes. My. Body.<br />
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I change my hair colour a lot, because (a) I can, and (b) I like it. Sometimes I don't like the colour, and it gets changed fast. But it's my choice.<br />
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I have tattoos. I like my tattoos. If you have a problem with them, don't look at the bloody things. They have nothing to do with my sexual inclinations, promiscuity or whether I like swinging from chandeliers on a Saturday night. I have yet to see someone walk up to a large, muscular tattooed man and accuse him of having a tramp stamp.<br />
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As for sex… It's really nobody else's business who you sleep with, as long as it's consenting and there are no kids or small furry animals involved. Or large furry animals. No animals, okay? It's something that's as fundamental to the human experience as eating and sleeping, and nobody has the right to tell me whether or not I should be doing it. I don't particularly care whether various religious figures approve or not, because they have no business in my bed.<br />
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Advertising tells me I should do everything in my power to stop ageing. You know what stops you ageing? Death. That's pretty much it. I don't really want to shuffle off this mortal coil just yet, and when I do I sure as hell have no intention of clutching a tube of anti-wrinkle cream in one clawed hand.<br />
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I have a number of scars, and the ones on my leg are pretty big. Society and advertising tells me I should cover them up. Never wear dresses or shorts, camouflage them so other people don't have to see them and flinch. Well, that's not going to happen. My scars show the world I survived something pretty damn painful, and if you have an issue with that, don't look at them.<br />
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Then you get "age-appropriate" clothes. You know what's age-appropriate? Not wearing diapers past the potty-training stage. If you like it, wear it. This life is too short to listen to some idiot tell you that you shouldn't enjoy it.<br />
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My body. I choose what I do with it. I choose whether or not to have kids, to carry a pregnancy to term or not, to paint it, pierce it, decorate it in any way I want. It does not belong to society, advertising, my family or my friends. It never belonged to past or future lovers, because I'm not a piece of meat. It doesn't belong to any government, either. It doesn't belong to hackers, or advertising, or society as a whole, and I am unbelievably tired of all of these entities trying to tell me it does.<br />
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Do me favour, will you? If you are female, the next time someone tries to make a bitchy comment on your appearance, tell them it's none of their business. If you're male and you witness it, tell the commentator it's none of their business.<br />
And if you are the commentator, think about why you are doing this. Why you find women so horrifying (even if you are one) that you have to make them feel just a little bit worse, a little bit smaller. And stop drinking the bloody kool-aid.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-44177061823164512852014-09-13T23:20:00.000+01:002014-09-13T23:20:08.738+01:00Blood on the ground: Why the Pistorius verdict is terrifying<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So this week I got to watch a travesty of justice. Fun!<br />
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After months of watching Oscar Pistorius revert to the age of about 6 in the courtroom - the puking, wailing, and sticking his fingers in his ears was particularly telling - the judge did the equivalent of giving him a time-out while patting him on the head. Kootchey kootchey koo, sweetums.<br />
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His behaviour in court annoyed me. This is what happens when you shoot a living, breathing human being, you ass. They bleed and die, and it's not pretty.<br />
Stuffing your fingers in your ears doesn't change what you did. Puking sure as hell doesn't bring a dead girl back. Let's not even talk about the made for t.v. movie acting abilities. Crying and snivelling made it seem he was a hell of a lot more sorry about being in court - why didn't the cops just accept his story that night?<br />
But hey - you can say you were terrified! You can say you thought it was intruder! (One that stopped for a potty break before charging into your room to slaughter you? Really? I'm not an expert, but that doesn't seem like normal procedure for a home invasion.)<br />
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Only an idiot fires repeatedly through a door when they can't see the target. An idiot, or a man raging about something who thought he'd teach his girlfriend a lesson. Maybe the intention was to frighten. Maybe the man should never have been given a gun license. We simply don't know.<br />
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You have to wonder what the current girlfriend thought of all of this. 18 is pretty impressionable, so the odds are he was given a soothing back-rub and a cold beer to soothe his nerves afterwards.<br />
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There's a chance he'll get a custodial sentence, but I'm not holding my breath on this one. The Telegraph headline on Friday read in part: "Shattered Oscar leaves court." What it should have read was "Destroyed Steenkamp family loses hope in justice."<br />
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In a country where it seems killing women is becoming a national fucking sport, this sentence is terrifying. Wife burnt the roast? Shoot her, and tell the world you thought it was a burglar. Girlfriend talks back? Shoot her. Tell the cops you thought someone was breaking in. Hell, if you set it up right, (i.e: not in a frigging toilet without the space to swing a cat) you'll probably get away with it. <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/sep/13/oscar-pistorius-reeva-steenkamp-book" target="_blank">You might even get a bloody book deal.</a><br />
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This case made headlines because both Reeva Steenkamp and Oscar Pistorious were national figures. But look: a woman in South Africa is murdered by her partner on average every 8 hours. That's a slight improvement; t<a href="http://www.iol.co.za/news/crime-courts/shocking-female-murder-statistics-1.1150205#.VBS9CChVdvA" target="_blank">his link </a>cites a study that shows in 2004 it was every 6 hours. Sexual offence cases in 2012/2013 sit at 66 387. <a href="https://africacheck.org/factsheets/factsheet-south-africas-official-crime-statistics-for-201213/" target="_blank">That's not a typo</a>. Now think about the fact that less than half of sexual attacks are reported.<br />
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In this respect at least, South Africa is a microcosm of a much larger global disease, one that declares females as inferior, incompetent, and terrifying to certain males. We need to teach our kids that it is unacceptable to be a punching bag, and completely repulsive to use your partner as one. We need to teach them that using a weapon against another living being results in horror.<br />
Until education eliminates that view point, until judgements are made that slaughtering your girlfriend in a toilet is murder, that raping a woman is abominable, that beating the ever loving crap out of a woman because you can is assault, there will be more death.<br />
More blood on the ground. More families weeping over raw earth as coffins are lowered.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11416411083174375873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961646669143666701.post-23765531768599652302014-08-30T19:50:00.002+01:002014-08-30T19:50:31.877+01:00What not to do to coffee : Moments of Aargh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I discovered how to make a migraine (yep, it came back. Week 3 and counting, though not the same levels as hell week) back off temporarily. Unfortunately it involves destroying a perfectly good cup of coffee and a certain degree of pain all by its little self.<br />
<br />
Step 1: Do the zombie shuffle to the kitchen and make your black coffee as per usual.<br />
Step 2: Place the coffee beside your bed the way you've done every morning for several years.<br />
Step 3: Put your foot down and place it in the mug. (I have small feet. Some of you may need bigger mugs.)<br />
Step 4: Make a noise like a cross between a wounded buffalo and a whistling kettle.<br />
Step 5: Remove foot and hop to freezer. Swearing is optional, but highly recommended. Realise coffee is now undrinkable, because feet.<br />
Step 6: Stick foot in freezer. Drop lid on ankle.<br />
Step 7: Sit on floor with bag of peas on foot. Text boss to explain what happened. (He may need valium by the end of this year.)<br />
Step 8: Lurch around on very tender toes for rest of day.<br />
<br />
Bonus points if you:<br />
<br />
1) Get your hair caught on the bathroom stall coat hook at work. Emerge looking like a deranged troll doll. With a limp.<br />
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