Tag Archives: rant



Nessie is over weight. Nessie thinks it’s time to see her feet again. Nessie realizes that the time old excuses of ‘my medication makes me fat’ and ‘the washing machine shrunk my jeans’ are just that, old. Nessie has joined Weight Watchers. Nessie will now pause for selected sniggers and judgement from the readers. Nessie is going to stop typing in third person now because Nessie is confusing herself.

Yes that’s right; I’ve joined that ever growing cult of Weight Watchers. I call it a cult for many reasons.

1. They use an inordinate amount of cult references. For example; it’s run by people who call themselves ‘leaders’ helping you to achieve your ‘goal’ by sticking to the ‘plan’

2. It relies on a tremendous amount of brain washing to keep its followers in line.

3. Their meetings are highly stressed and full of followers who, collectively, resemble peak hour at the unemployment office.

I was going to do this blog all about my first meeting, which was a barrel of laughs I can tell you, but I changed my mind when I made a rather startling (well, it is to me… I’m food deprived) discovery that I thought would appeal to a more general audience. So bare with me, this may take some time!

My leader is a particularly insipid and obsequious woman called Fiona, or FiFi as she asked us to call her. You know the type: too much make up, lots patronising disguised as support and the frightening belief that if you dare turn up to one of her meetings having gained weight, then that supercilious grin plastered to her face could very easily turn into a sneer before she publicly flays you alive in front of the other sheeple of her congregation.

Well, I signed up (having to hand over not just my email address but blood, urine, sperm and any alias’ I had ever gone by), weighed in at my expected inordinate amount, stayed for the patronising pep talk and left, my ears ringing with the thinly veiled threat

“Now remember, I’ll know if you cheat or not”


Now ordinarily I’m not a particularly paranoid person. Sure I believe everyone mocks my hair cut/weight/intelligence/motherhood skills/survival rate but no more than your average mentally unbalanced anti social reprobate. So imagine my surprise when I found myself with the sneaking suspicion that, at any given moment I was about to be (as you young, hip things call it) PUNKED!

Every time I reached for a piece of food I kept checking out the window to make sure there were no unmarked satellite vans packed with a Weight Watchers SWAT team prepared to rugby tackle me to the ground lest I actually consume more calories than a fruit fly’s fart.

I became convinced that Mr. Ness and Wee Ness were, in actual fact, double agents. Yeah sure, Wee Ness ‘claimed’ she was chatting to her invisible friend but you can never be too sure.

After adopting this new paranoid, jumpy and quiet frankly pathetic shadow of the fat bastard I’d formally been, I decided to give in to the mind games and just follow all the rules (sod anarchy, it doesn’t use up enough calories). I realized that if I was convinced I was going to be caught cheating it was only because I’d be cheating myself… or so they wanted me to believe.

When you join Weight Watchers they give you your own individual password so you can go to their online site and chat/cry/swap conspiracy theories with other fat people. I, like the blind fool that I am, joined immediately after the meeting. With the highly suspect promise that you’re 50% more likely to loose weight if you join the website as well as attend the meetings, how could I refuse?

I was on there the other night, feeling weak (and not just from lack of sustenance) and looking for support. When a familiar name popped up on my screen.

“Hiya Ness its Fifi. What are you doing up this late at night? You’re going to absolutely ruin your diet by not getting enough recommended sleep. Don’t you dare cheat. Of to bed with you. I’ll know if you stay online. See you at the Wednesday meeting. You WILL have lost weight.”

Bloody hell! I screamed out loud, pushed myself away from the computer instantly and scurried up to bed like a frightened animal.

So that’s how she would know if I’d cheated or not. Big Brother’s not just watching, he’s bloody stalking and in a ‘watch you as you sleep, brush the strands of hair from your face’ way… Big Brother is incestuous!

I’m going to my meeting tomorrow night as planned. If I don’t return home after that it means I gained weight. Please send the search party to Weight Watchers… armed!



Filed under RANTS



BIsexual, BIcurious, BIannual. Helping hints or just annoying ‘fashionable’ labels?










Women who make me wish I was gay: Eva Longoria Parker, Nelly  Furtado, Sharleen Spiteri, Cameron Diaz

Men who make me wish I was gay: Spencer Pratt, the entire male ensemble of every Big Brother programme ever made, Chris Evans, Enrique Englais.

I am an open minded sort (if I keep saying it, people are bound to believe me at some point!) but recently I’ve become disheartened by my liberal attitude. I’ve been a member on a forum for a wee while now and it’s inhabited by like minded people who have a lot more experience in the sex field. I’m not insinuating they’re all pimps and whores… Although wouldn’t it be great if there was a forum dedicated to these people? No, I mean not only do they type about it; they also do the very rare act these days of actually experiencing it too. I do sex toy reviews for this site and you need people reading to believe your an open minded sort who’s not some tight thighed WASP sitting at her computer tutting and tisking at the youth of today. With that in mind, under the heading sexual orientation I was happy to put ‘Married Bisexual’. I didn’t have a problem with it. Yes I married a man and no I have not ever done the dirty tango with a woman but I do find some of them, emphasis on some, sexually attractive. No, I’m not one of these closet bi’s that harbours deep seated sexual longings for her best female friend… So breathe woman, but I do get why some women like other women. I’m not above the odd two finger shuffle while thinking about an attractive woman. Admittedly they are almost always celebrities and always the finer specimen of the species. That said, I never fantasize about male celebrities. Don’t get me wrong, mention the likes of Liam Neeson or George Clooney and my mind will always go to a bad and x rated place but strangely enough they don’t have any staring roles in any of my fantasies. Is this because I’m already sexually fulfilled by my man? Probably, but the fact I’m not afraid to fantasize about women and indeed admit it to a bunch of strangers on here says to me. Nessie you ain’t straight as a dye.

Anyway, back to said forum. There I was patting myself on the back for being so goddamn open minded and sexually forward for admitting my indecisiveness online when someone comes straight out (if you’ll excuse the expression) and asks ‘why’ I’m bisexual. I reply that some women interest me and had I not met Mr. Nessie at the beginning of time I suspect I would not be above dating one. The damning reply of
“That means bicurious then NOT bi sexual. Stop confusing the two. You’re sending out the wrong message”
I was amused, bemused and frankly pissed of. I had no idea that any labels I attribute to myself could be called into question by someone who knew me from approximately 5 posts on the Internet. As for the wrong message… well, the mind baffles really.
I once asked a friend of mine what sexuality he was
“I’m an equal opportunities employer” He replied
“So you’re bi sexual then?” I asked
“Pfft, I’ll do a man or a woman depending on my mood. I’m not bi anything. Those labels are only employed now because people are anal about labeling themselves these days. You are what you are. Why pigeon hole yourself? I also love eating pizza, dancing to loud music in my flat alone and never do my own laundry. Should I find labels for all that and include it the next time I introduce myself?”
I still class this as one of the best answers I’ve ever had when it come to the time old question ‘What’s your sexual orientation?’
So come on people. Thoughts, theories, insults? Is it important to mark your wrapper clearly or are we a society gone label mad?



Filed under RANTS