Think You’re Having A Bad Day – Read this!

Think You’re Having A Bad Day – Read this!

I woke up with an excitement to a day full of promise. I had a blind date after work, The Daily Mail were due to feature one of my articles, and the guy I worked for part time in publishing was going to let me know whether he’d give me pay rise.

I wore my favourite suit, cream suede high heels but left the house without my keys.  It started to rain, so I stood under a doorway waiting for my cousin jaylengrace_MG_4412to turn up with a spare set because it wasn’t just the keys I’d forgotten but my travel card.  My hair was soaked, so I grabbed an umbrella and ran for the train. When I opened my shoulder bag, the cherry yoghurt pot had exploded so I spent the journey cleaning out the bag, and arrived at my destination covered in sticky goo.

To cheer myself up, I decided I’d have a caramel macciatto. I was already late but thought what was another five minutes?

A man in front of me was ordering at constipated snail pace, as though he was dragging each word up from his bowels‘- and – a skinny latte – decaff – low fat caramel – extra cream – and..’he searched the board looking for what else to add. By the time he’d decided on chocolate sprinkles, I wanted to kick him up the butt. I was still thinking about him when I got on the bus and leaned over to pick up a Metro someone had left behind.

The top of my coffee carton flipped off, at the precise moment the bus jolted, splurting the coffee into the lap of the woman opposite. Everyone’s shoes were splattered in froth. All I could do was apologise and offer to pay everyone’s dry cleaning bills.

‘My day seems to have got off on the wrong foot’ I said

‘Should be more careful’ the woman with coffee in her lap snapped.

‘Could at least have aimed it where it would do no damage’ the man next to me said.

‘I’m really, really sorry’ I babbled.

Everyone had their legs in the air because the coffee was running down the middle of the bus. I got off feeling like a leper – And left my mushroom quiche and umbrella on the seat.

‘What a morning it’s been’ I said to my boss gesturing to my ruined outfit.

‘And unfortunately I’ve got bad news’ he said

‘I’m not getting a pay rise?’

‘I have to let you go’

I felt a mess and looked it, I’d lost my job and the idea of going on a blind date didn’t thrill, but he was apparently good looking, and had a great sense of humour so I decided to go ahead to cheer myself up. Then Sue (the woman who set up the date) called.

‘He’s cancelled’

‘Why?’

‘He decided you’re too old’

I bought a copy of the Mail hoping that would lighten my mood. The headline was ’67 year old Tantra love guru recommends love potions for great sex’ I should have known they’d twist my words and make me look like an idiot!

I threw the paper in a bin, headed for the nearest pub and ordered a double whisky.

‘You look like you’ve been fighting in the wars, love’ the barman smiled.

‘Don’t ask! I said downing my drink in one.

 

Jaylen Grace also writes under her real name for adult content books.  She is the author of lovemaking manual Three Faces of Sex   www.stellaralfini.com  and can be found on Facebook and Twitter @stellaralfini.

 

 

BEAT THIS EMBARRASSING FARTING STORY IF YOU CAN!!

 

 

Last week, on a Comedy Writing Course at City Lit in London, we were asked to share an embarrassing moment. I have so many I could write a book, but the memory that came back was an incident that took place at a Buddhist retreat many years ago. A boyfriend had just dumped me and I was feeling bruised, so a seven day haven which included writing workshops struck me as the ideal place to lick my wounds.

 

I didn’t know what to expect but felt elated when the mini cab dropped me off at an old beamed house surrounded by woodland.  I was late and all the students were already in the dining room, deep in porridge, muesli and live yoghurt.  They were sitting squashed together on benches trying to maneuver their spoons and forks. The only vacant spot was next to a girl called Kate who was sobbing because her boyfriend had just dumped her!  Not my ideal breakfast partner, but, when she held out her arms for a hug I obliged, hoping I wouldn’t cross her path too often.

‘Om shanti, I hope you enjoy your time with us,’ a teacher said, slipping a sheet of paper into my hand.

When I read it I nearly fainted. It was a long list of my household duties. I hadn’t been expecting that as part of my recovery therapy; nor the fact we’d be woken every morning at 5a.m.! The next jolt was the sleeping arrangements. I was sharing a dormitory with nine other women. And guess who had the bed next to mine – KATE!

I didn’t know about ‘crying therapy’ at the time but three days into the retreat I could have happily suffocated Kate with a pillow.  She wailed with the owls at night and woke up wailing with the morning birds. I was dog tired from the minute I got out of bed to the minute my head hit the pillow.

The writing workshops consisted mainly of poetry. My mind was so weary the only thing I could come up with was an ode about a lazy, fat cat whose days were spent being shoved off peoples’ laps. I joined a screaming therapy session to appease my urge to ram a boot down Kate’s throat but my deepest source of misery stemmed from the fact my bowels hadn’t ejected the mountain of chickpeas and lentils that were served up at every meal, and I’d started to inelegantly break wind.

The good news was that I was able to share my woes with my new mate Keith. He was a Buddhist retreat virgin like myself and had attended the screaming session to get rid of the stress he’d accumulated since his arrival.

On our last evening, the meditation in the shrine room was to be a special one that included a ceremony of forgiveness, gratitude and thanksgiving.  Whilst Keith and I had no idea what it entailed, we were looking forward to it – apart from my reservation that my gut felt ready to give birth to a donkey because I was so constipated.

‘Mind over matter,’ Keith said, dragging me in.’You’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’

Everyone was sitting on cushions facing each other on either side of an aisle. We grabbed the two remaining cushions and joined in with the meditation. The fermented beans in my stomach did a somersault. A crude sound left my behind. I coughed into my hand to cover it up but farted even louder.  The woman next to me giggled. My brow breaking out in a sweat, I squeezed my buttocks together hard.

At the sound of a gong, the couple nearest the front, bowed to a statue of Buddha. Swaying and dancing they lit incense sticks and circled them over their heads. When they fell to their knees and brought their foreheads to the ground, Keith and I stared at each other. I knew his look of horror was because he was afraid of making a fool of himself. My concern was that kneeling on the floor with my butt in the air spelled DANGER!

I thought about making a run for it but by the time our turn came, I was back in control. All went well until I circled the incense stick –when I could feel a giant fart trying to get out. I crossed my legs to stop it coming and when Keith dropped to his knees, tensely followed, praying the vision in my mind wouldn’t become physical reality. Too late!!!!!With the speed of a rocket, the wind trapped in my stomach, blasted out of the now, open back door and the reverent silence was shattered by disgusting mega-tone farts.

My cheeks the colour of plums, I peeked at Keith. ‘Don’t try to blame me,’ he spluttered.

My acute embarrassment IMG-20130714-01471made me laugh with hysteria, which resulted in another flurry of farts. When I stood up, everyone was howling with mirth and rolling about the aisles.  Laughing, crying and farting, I scurried into the garden and hugged a tree for solace, wondering where I’d ever find the courage to face the others again.

Later in the kitchen, full of love and goodwill, everyone came together to give me group hug. ‘I’m sure Buddha’s still laughing his head off,’ one of our teachers grinned. ‘Thanks for making his celebration so memorable.’

 

www.jaylengrace.com

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www.facebook.com/omzaks

Porridge The Two Faced Parrot in the Press!

Porridge The Two Faced Parrot in the Press!

jaylen grace

Jaylen Grace talks about new book Porridge the Two Faced Parrot…Read the full article from The Guardian here

Jaylen’s convinced I’m highly strung…A Post by Sophia Loren

Jaylen’s convinced I’m highly strung…A Post by Sophia Loren

038Jaylen’s convinced I’m highly strung because she rescued me from a woman with psychological problems – but I’ll have you know that when left in peace, I’m the most balanced cat you could meet. So, let me tell you what happened and let you be the judge of whether Jaylen could have shown more understanding

As you know, we recently moved to a house which has a garden. I had never been outside, nor ever wanted to, but little by little Jaylen wheedled me out, and yesterday I forgot myself and stayed there. The reason I stayed there was because of a crocodile. Well actually it was a lizard but my mind had convinced me otherwise. I was frozen with fright to the spot when I felt something brushing my tail. When I turned, an enormous ginger cat was sniffing my behind.

‘You filthy beast,’ I hissed with outrage, boxing him around the ears.

He pounced.

I fled for my life.

Jaylen said she was standing in the kitchen when I flew through the door like a torpedo, crashed on my butt in the hall and tumbled into the living room. When I opened my eyes, I saw TWO orange cats running towards me.  Convinced they were relatives of filthy beast, I lashed out at one, whilst ripping the other to shreds with my back claws.

I was so busy biting and fighting I wasn’t aware of anything else but I could hear Jaylen scream ‘STOP YOU LUNATIC! Arrgghhhhhhh.’ I assumed the relatives had brought a friend and Jaylen was dealing with him.

My teeth were stuck into one of the cat’s heads. It felt like I was fighting mid air and a violent force was shaking me.  Next second, I’d lost my grip, hit the floor and hit my head.

When I came out of my daze, I saw Jaylen hopping about on one foot. ‘I don’t know what goes on in your crazy head,’ she screamed. ‘Can’t you tell the difference between real cats and socks with cat’s faces on them! She waved a foot in my face. Look! That’s my blood dripping on the carpet.’ She limped off. ‘And don’t think you’ll be getting any cat treats.

As you know, I taught myself to write to clear up misunderstandings that can arise between pawrent and pet. Later that night, after she’d bandaged her wound and was resting her leg because she’d sprained her ankle in the tussle, I left her a note.

A REEL orang cat made me do it. Sory.         PS can I hav one cat treet?

The embarrassment of wanton farts

The embarrassment of wanton farts

Last week at a Comedy writing workshop at the City Lit in London, we were asked to share an embarrassing moment. I have so many I could write a book, but the memory that came back was an incident that took place at a Buddhist retreat many years ago. A boyfriend had just dumped me and I was feeling bruised, so a seven day haven which included writing workshops struck me as the ideal place to lick my wounds.

 

I didn’t know what to expect but felt elated when the mini cab dropped me off at an old beamed house surrounded by woodland.  I was late and all the students were already in the dining room, deep in porridge, muesli and live yoghurt.  They were sitting squashed together on benches trying to maneuver their spoons and forks. The only vacant spot was next to a girl called Kate who was sobbing because her boyfriend had just dumped her!  Not my ideal breakfast partner, but, when she held out her arms for a hug I obliged, hoping I wouldn’t cross her path too often.

 

‘Om shanti, I hope you enjoy your time with us,’ a teacher said, slipping a sheet of paper into my hand.

 

When I read it I nearly fainted. [Read more…]