b3ta.com user Roota
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Profile for Roota:
Profile Info:

Scouse bird. Likes the 80s. Likes trivia. Likes the fluff and le bureaudelolage. I'm very good at whistling. My favourite celebrity is St Jude Thaddeus, and I dress as him for fancy dress parties. No profile pic because I don't want magenta cocks drawn on my face.
I'm plotting to steal hubcaps from
the registered carer of
engaged to djtrialprice, who is not that ugly.

Labia Majora comes up with the goods yet again.

Thanks, Lab.

Being an older woman with an ever so slightly younger man, my status is confirmed:

Thanks Applebite!

Bert thinks I'm irrelevant.

Ta Noel!

I'm not massive, but they are.
BGB did this.

(Cheers Penguin Of Death)

Bartleby made this for me.

Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» The most childish thing you've done as an adult

For some strange reason I'm popular with the children of my friends. For some even stranger reason, my friends are cool with this. They ask me to babysit, they invite me to sleepovers, they don't complain when I teach their children swear-words or fall asleep on the floor with my head on the dog while I'm supposed to be supervising.
This is not without benefits, such as access to Sky and free takeaway when I babysit, an excuse to go and see Coraline or Bolt 3-D without looking like a prat, and so on.

Anyway, one day, we'd all been to a pantomime, and I decided to descend the stairs by sliding down the banister ('Vicar in a Tutu' playing in my head as I did so). Not a big deal, not particularly adventurous, I just felt like it. The kids, however, were hysterical. They thought it was hilarious. One of them, Lily, has a particular fear of authority and of rule-breaking, so she was amused, but also a bit nervous. I said, "Oh Lil, it's fine. What are they gonna do? Shout at me? Look, I'll do it again. I don't care." (I was a nerd in school, so it is with these 8-11 year olds that I am finally able to appear cool and rebellious, for once in my life.)

So off I went again, sliding down the bannister and shouting "Wheeee!" as I went. The kids were off, "Again Roota, again!" "This is simple", I thought, "Simple and a lot of fun..." so I kept on doing it. So fast at one point that I scorched my Mackintosh. Oh yes. (The mark is still there on my cheap polyester primark mack.) Eventually I grew tired of this and told them that was enough.

Suddenly, Lily, (the one who is always good, and has such a fear of getting into trouble that she even checks for double-yellows when her mother has parked the car) thought it would be funny to PRETEND that she too was about to slide down the bannisters. She clearly had no intentions of actually letting go and descending the stairs in such a break with convention and flagrant disrespect for general order. No. She merely sat on the bannister, took ONE foot off the floor and said "Wheeeee!" She then promptly put her foot back down and began to walk away.

At this very moment, a theatre employee came along. A very officious woman with an A-line skirt and cankles that demanded our deference.She sees little Lily, just leaving her 'slide-down-the-bannisters' pose. "What do you think you're doing, young lady? I hope you're not going to slide down that. You might injure yourself or somebody else on the stairs!" Lily is crest-fallen. How could somebody accuse her of such a thing? She'd never do anything like that. In fact the only person who'd do something like that is her deranged Aunty Roota, who is surely going to bail her out, and maybe even confess, in order to divert this negative attention from this uber-usherette. Surely?

Nope. I gave a calm smile, patted Lily's head, looked at Cankles and said (not very convincingly) "I'm sure she wouldn't reeeeallly have done that..."
Lily did not grass me up, and got a telling off in the bargain. I felt terrible. "What if she burst out crying?? What if she cries all the way to her mum and tells her what a complete piglet I've been? What if I get my arse kicked by all of the parents??" It was my turn to panic.

Until I looked down at Lily, who gave me a big, beaming grin and proudly declared "She thinks I'm naughty!" I returned the grin and said "Yeah, and she thinks I'M a responsible adult!"
Lily's 11 now, and she's brilliant. I hope we stay mates and that one day when she's a grown-up we can go out, get drunk and slide down bannisters together.

Length? Long, and made of polished brass.
(Thu 17th Sep 2009, 17:19, More)

» B3ta Person of the Year 2010

My fiancé, djtrialprice.
For picking me up on B3ta, for giving me the best year evah, for proposing to me in the middle of Kings Cross Station, and for being one step away from making an honest woman of me.
(Fri 17th Dec 2010, 12:00, More)

» Lies that got out of control

Back in the 80s,
when I was about three or four years old, we lived on a tenement estate.
Everybody knew each other, and I was only a toddler, so the local kids hadn't had time to realise they hated me and wanted to bash me up.
My best friend Daniel lived next door, and our mums would lift us over the yard walls and let us play together. We weren't always supervised, but paedos hadn't been invented and kids could smoke and drink in those days, so it was totally fine.

One day, Daniel decided he was going indoors for something, and told me to wait. I sat on his tricycle and waited.

But I needed a wee.

I didn't want to just go into their house, because that would have been rude, and besides, my mum had said that other people's toilets were dirty and I was to always ask her or my dad to hold me above the seat while I peed. This was a rule that, when verbalised very loudly by me, once caused deep offence when I needed to 'go' at my paternal grandmother's house. So, that was not going to happen.

I really needed to wee.

I didn't want to just leave and go for a wee, because I was supposed to always tell Daniel's mum when I wanted to go, so that she could lift me over the yard walls for my mum to take me in.
What should I do? I should take charge, leave by the gate, walk along the street and go to my own toilet, that's what I should do.

By now, I was desperate for a wee.

So, I lifted up my leg to get off the tricycle.
And pissed all over Daniel's seat.
I ran out of the gate, around the yard, through our gate, into the bathroom, hid my drawers in the washing basket (which, incidentally, looked exactly like a snake-charmer's basket) and sat in the living room.

"How did you get home?"
"Climbed over the wall."
"You can't reach."
"Daniel helped me"
"What about the other wall?" (there was a gap between the two yards)
"Well for that bit, I walked around and came through the gate."
"But you know you should always get Sandra to pass you over to me, or to call me. You can't go outside the yards."
"Sorry, but I needed to wee."
She was not convinced, but it was left. Phew. We watched Where There's Life or something else with a good theme tune, and my mum went about her business. I heard talking. "Alright, thanks Sandra. T'rah!"
Shit! Ok, now is when I have to come clean. I've lied enough.

"Roota. Did you wee on Daniel's bike?"
"Why is there wee on Daniel's bike? And why are your wet knicks in the washing basket?" (I thought of snake charmers again.)
"Well, I pushed a button in the wall, and all water game down from the first landing, and it went on Daniel's bike, and then I sat on it and my knicks..."
"Roota, stop telling lies. You know that lies are naughty. Weeing on Daniel's bike was not naughty, but all of those lies were very very naughty. Next time, try owning up, and not trying to lie your way out of it. Ok?"

the moral of the story?
Two weeks later I did NOT let Daniel push me around in the doll's pram, fall out and get a lump on my head. I actually pushed ANOTHER button in the wall, and the brick came out and hit me. Truth.
I have never learnt.
(Fri 13th Aug 2010, 11:17, More)

» Good Advice

My father gave me some advice when I was 17.
It was not the best advice, but it was the funniest.
So funny that he woke up sober and apologised.

Dad: "Do you look up to them, those girls in your sixth form, running around going to nightclubs with footballers?"
Roota: "No, Dad, they're slags."
Dad: "Good. Keep away from them. Girls like that get pissed on in parties, do you hear me?"
Roota: "Hahahahahahahahaahaaaaaaaaa!"
(Fri 21st May 2010, 11:59, More)

» Pubs

When working as a barmaid...
I was being hassled by a drunken moron of a scally. He was becoming increasingly aggressive (I even had to close the hatch - we never closed the hatch) and I was starting to worry.
Then he started his rant. There were no gaps between his words, so it was a bit like that Pepsi advert, you know the one: "lipsmackinthirstquenchin" etc etc.
"Eh you ye bitch I know it was you who refused me that drink I saw ye go up ter the manager before pretendin you wuzn't talkin bout me but ye was I should jump over that baaaar and do you in ye know ye fucking bitch you look like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction THAT'S A COMPLIMENT BY THE WAY ye snotty fuckin who d'ye think yer aaaare"
and then he left.
I didn't thank him for the compliment. I was too stunned.

Have you noticed that 'barmaid' comes up as 'carnage' on predictive text.

That was my first post. Go easy on me. Or don't. That might be fun too...
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 10:31, More)
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