» Essential Items

I always carry
the smell of gin and a slight feeling of regret
(Mon 31st Oct 2005, 11:51, More)

» Urban Legends

Rolfing
The urban legend that Rolf Harris drink his own wee meant he was frequently a topic of conversation chez bunnygirl. I managed to convince my housemate that Rolf had died and that the episode of Animal Hospital being shown was part of a tribute. After some time it was realised that I was lying but the act of convincing a person that a celebrity had died (and sometimes just general lying) has become known as 'Rolfing'. The rules are:

a)if you believe wholeheartedly and find out you are wrong and
b) if you check the paper, news, net, etc just in case,
you have been rolfed. (There is also the reverse rolf where in the event of a death of a celebrity, you tell others in an unconvincing fashion. They rejoice in their ability to spot a rolf only yo look foolish later!)

We rolfed an entire pub that Rolf had carked it and even got the band to do a tribute. We've rolfed on trains, buses and in shops. A friend of mine came up with a particularly convincing one about Trevor McDonald and a helicopter crash. However there is a serious side to rolfing (apart fromt he fact that we are probably going to hell).

A friend of my housemate goes to a pub where they run a dead pool (choose a celebrity and bet they will die next). Sickos. My Zsa Zsa Gabor rolf had gone down particularly well, but had repercussions as my housemate told her workmate who told the people in the pub and those with Zsa Zsa Gabor staked their claim!

Alas I had rolfed! And the grand laid down is now subject to legal proceedings!

Moral: Be careful who you rolf. I'm going to be called up as witness anytime now...
(Fri 6th Jan 2006, 15:32, More)

» My first love

Sigh
I fell for my first love at 16 and we have on and off for the last seven years. The relationship is one I could retell to Take a Break for a princely sum. He was older, had been to prison but used to call me petal, tell me he'd keep me and we'd have blissful hours in his house. He made me laugh, used to buy me little gifts, I used to leave silly notes, make him eat properly. I had a bit o' a bad time at home (father's evil new wife)I moved in with the ex and his mate to a house that was gorgeous but he decided it was a better idea to get a bit of a speed problem, get sacked and shag his mate's missus (who was supposedly my friend). She'd had previous too. She'd gone after an ex of mine but he turned her down(cheers Rich!). It all culminated in us having a scrap, which I instigated and came off worse in (I hasten to add he didn't actually hit me) and I moved out. Cue breakdown, me having to continue to pay rent on a house that I wasn't living in, dropping out of uni and all manner of fun like that.

Fast forward 8 months, me getting on with my life, a few disasterous, short-lived courtships (my 40 year old boss, a 17 year old with 'busy hands'), a new university course in the offing and a new pad I get messages from the ex and think it a marvellous idea to show him how well I'm doing. By the October I'm back with him.

I couldn't tell most off my family so I lived a strange half life with him and them. We would have days and weeks of loveliness but he would go through periods of wanting to settle down ('Why won't you move in with me? Why won't you have kids with me?') to him disappearing for days on end ('I feel trapped'). I've lost count of the number of times we've split up and got back. How many times I think he's cheated. How many nights he's gone missing. How many of my friends he has driven away. Yet there have been countless times when he's stuck up for me, protected me and made me feel like the only girl in the world. We split up again for six months and I moved in with a friend, then got back with him yadda yadda. Things have been getting worse for the last couple of months and we have been living increasingly separate lives (particularly cos he is spectacularly bad with money and has moved back home) but also cos he was arrested for certain 'dealings'. The climax was probably the night (and following day) where he threatened one of my male friends, followed me home shouted at another of my friends, railed from frantically apologising to smashing things and blaming me for everything. The next morning I reiterated that it was over and he proceeded to loc me in a room try and hurl furniture out of the window and attempt to set fire to a bed. What was weird though is that it just fizzled weeks later because he did another disappearing act. I recently wrote him a letter saying it was sad but over. This prompted lots of phonecalls, texts and one particularly unpleasnat late night visit.

Here's the rub though - I've been seeing someone from work and though he's lovely, sweet and besotted with me I still love my ex. But if he knew I was seeing someone else he wouldn't want to know anymore anyway. I think we'd be fine if there was only the two of us in the world. Turns out we are made for each other, but not very well. :(

Cheers b3ta. You've made my frickin' day.
(Mon 24th Oct 2005, 13:46, More)

» Fire!

Barbecue
The ex-Mr Bunnygirl's house saw many a small house fire. One twunt mate left a candle too close to a lighter and caused a 3 foot column of fire not far from where my feet were resting. We also set fire to a neighbours shed with hamfisted use of a Catherine Wheel.

Another time my ex held a barbecue for him and his eejit friends.

They bought lots of food, took the three piece suite outside for relaxing on and lots of weed. They tried lighting the charcoal using matches, lighters, wood and allsorts of other flammable items with little success so they decided that petrol was required.

After siphoning some fuel out of a car, it was decanted into a tin can and poured it over what little flames there were. Alas it was poured too slowly and the flames travelled up the stream of petrol into the can which exploded, showering the garden in liquid fire.

Cue most of the guests shielding themselves with the safety of the patio doors while my ex attempted to put out his burning settee, grass, self, neighbour's fence, neighbour's child with a cushion.

Moral of the story: don't let stoners mix with fire.
(Thu 3rd Nov 2005, 11:39, More)

» Scary Neighbours

Students...
I lived next door to some right twunts during uni. There was a scary English girl who was obssessed with being Welsh (some distant ancestors were of Taff origin) would only wash her clothes sporadically and very often built what looked like pizza box forts in her room despite kindly offers to dispose of them. I also lived with a load of foreign students most of whom were extemely ignorant, unhygienic and spoke no English and if female usually disappeared not long after arrival. The blokes used to insist on running to the shower room naked. They used to save porn on the network blissfully unaware that everyone could see it. Unaware til we told everyone!

Then were the Christian fundamentalists who would make misogynistic comments when they could get away with it. The one right next door used to play Christian rock at obscene hours. Twat.

Now I live in quite a pikey street. There's a blonde woman who has several delinquent kids and a different bloke staying every night. Her parenting skills are non-existent ("Brit-a-nee you little c*nt!!") and on the other side is a couple who are proud parents of a 3 month old baby. Well, the girl is the mother but the bloke kindly stepped in to act as daddy cos the biological dad is in prison, as the gran confides in us.
(Mon 29th Aug 2005, 18:25, More)