Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Yesterday, Emily came home from preschool, singing "Have you seen the muffin man?"

Now, I always thought that the lyrics to that catchy song were, "Do you know the muffin man?"

But then a lot of nursery rhymes are different in California than back in Britain.

And then I started thinking, "Well, who the hell was the muffin man, anyway?"

So whilst the song went round and round in my head, I decided to take my own trip down memory lane and investigate this important matter. Instead of cleaning the house, or making a delicious dinner for Jimmy, who is returning from two nights away, I find myself taking a tour of history on my favourite web sites, which usually begin with wiki.

(Whenever Henry asks me a question about a sea lion with elephant sized testicles (oh, that would be the Elephant Seal) or whether birds fart, I refer to a wiki site. Apparently birds do fart but you can't hear it or smell it because the stuff they eat doesn't make smells and they don't have any bottom cheeks to fart out of. I am not sure I agree in the case of vultures - I am quite sure that if they farted, it would smell bad. I mean, they eat rotting carcasses, don't they? I am sure somebody could get a Ph.D. on the back of that one. I will have to look it up. But later.)

So the first verse of the nursery rhyme goes,

"Do you know the muffin man,
The muffin man, the muffin man,
Do you know the muffin man,
Who lives in Drury Lane?"

I discover that the concept of grocery delivery to your door is not a new one. So whilst I have blueberry and high fructose corn syrup muffins delivered to my door along with the rest of my food and wine, in the Victorian era, they had unsweetened muffins brought to the door by the muffin man.

The nursery rhyme appears to be about a specific muffin man, who lived in Drury Lane. Where or what is Drury Lane? It is a street in London, partly in Camden and partly in Westminster. It used to be where some posh bloke (man) called Sir William Drury lived.

Drury House got more interesting and became a pub, run by somebody's mistress, and by the 18th century, Drury Lane was one of the worst slums in London, full of whores and gin palaces. I like the sound of the pub and gin palaces.

So, by deduction, the muffin man on Drury Lane must have been delivering his wares to prostitutes and their customers. I wonder if the muffin man did a bit of muff-diving whilst completing his rounds.

Now, if the muffin man had been around a few centuries earlier, he may have been delivering to a street with a totally different name because it was normal for a medieval street name to reflect the activity taking place there.

The name Drury Lane may well have been Gropecunt Lane instead. This was a common street name in English towns during the Middle Ages, and was thought to refer to the loose-knickered (loose-pantied) activities in that area.

Luckily for us, the last recorded Gropecunt Lane was in 1561 and the name was usually changed to a less vulgar name such as Grape Lane.

Otherwise our kids may have come home singing,

"Do you know the muffin man,
The muffin man, the muffin man,
Do you know the muffin man,
Who lives in Gropecunt Lane?"

Thursday, February 3, 2011

The Mother of All Resumes

For some strange reason, my darling husband does not think that looking after kids and blogging constitutes a proper job.

"Why ever not darling?" I ask him (Actually I scream at him and swear and tell him that I am going to get an evening and weekend job in a bar so that he gets to put the kids to bed every night and have the entire weekend by himself in their company.) I, on the other hand, will be bought drinks by lots of men in the bar because my boobs are bigger than the other barmaids.

And so I am preparing my resume or curriculum vitae, which is Latin for "course of life". Isn't everybody's course of life the same?

Dribbling and crapping, bullshitting to get a job / wiping up dribble and crap, dribbling and crapping.

We just encounter different arseholes along the way who defecate on us from a great height or we become the arseholes who shit on others.

Years ago, my resume was foolproof in getting a job. I have a friend who used my entire CV and just changed the name at the top to hers and got the job (not that I am implying that she is a fool!)  But that was an office job and I don't want to be in a smelly, stuffy office being told what to do by wankers, who take the credit for my work. Nor do I want to manage an office full of idiots who think that they should be paid just for sitting on their sweaty arses, preening their bum fluff and doing jack shit else.

I do have a degree in Marketing and German, which is very useful if you can think of anything to sell to Germans. Now, they are not going to buy cars from us, are they? Theirs are the most superior in the world. I don't think they would want to purchase books from us because they would be in the wrong language and would not be serious enough.

We might be able to sell them some manners. Now, that is a brainwave. I will set up a course called," English and Manners for Rude Germans." Now, I am not saying that all Germans are rude. I once met one who verged on the polite. That is to say that after ramming me with a supermarket trolley three times in a queue, she did attempt to apologize. I had already completed my check out and left the shop because the German word got lost somewhere between the fifth and the tenth syllable.

I did try to sell air cleaners to a Kraut in a shop in Garmisch Partenkirchen in the Alps. Having driven nearly 500 miles to get there, he explained in German, "Are you crazy, woman? Why in God's name would I be stupid enough to buy one of your little shitty machines when we have the cleanest air in the whole world?" I thought about telling him that actually he was wrong and that Hawaii has that claim to fame but restrained for three reasons:

1.) I did not want to start World War 3 and have the SS putting their drab, brown towels down by the swimming pool and on the beaches of Maui.

2.) I was bloody knackered from chasing him round the electrical shop 16 times before he went and hid in the back room and locked the door.

3.) I shared his opinion that what I was trying to sell was a pile of crap and decided against trying to peddle any more that week. I booked into a hotel overlooking the Alps and spent the rest of my week skiing and wining and dining at my company's expense. Admittedly I did not get paid much that month but I had a mighty fine holiday, enjoying the beautiful, clean mountain air and poking the locals with my ski sticks.

"HR people Google you when they are looking at your resume so you must not have anything on the Internet which will deter anybody from employing you," my lovely Jimmy said, reading a particularly rude comment that I had written on "WankedIn".

And so I think I may start my CV with a false name. It would be nice to have a fresh start. I try to think of names that will stand out in my precious resume. I remember coming across the name, "Nunfucker" when I was working on databases in my research analyst job. (That one is quite appealing, although none of my lesbian fantasies have ever really extended to under the habit activity.) We even got the secretary to call the number listed and ask if there was a "Nunfucker" living there. She was bright red in the face and did not look very content with her course of life at that time.

Power verbs are an essential part of any resume and indeed they have got me jobs in the past.

Bullet points are also important, but I have not quite mastered those on my new computer (which my husband bought me seven years ago).

My key achievements to date:

*Managed to get stuck in a lift (elevator) for two hours during a fire drill.

Proved my team playing skills by writing a bogus report for the director to present to our sister company in Hamburg. The rest of the sales team was coerced into collaboration. The director, who did not speak much German, read our report, word for word, to our German colleagues and managed to call the manager there a garden gnome and a dysfunctional cocksucker. Apparently, German factory workers did have a great sense of humour that day.

Minimized postage costs for the department by losing all of the names and addresses on the database.
# Liquidated my computer by throwing a cup of coffee at the keyboard when it lost my entire research project.

; Disproved the theory that German cars are superior by winning an off-roading race in my company car in Germany.

@ Restructured that Ford Fiesta so that it was unrecognizable.

+ Administered a very painful blow to the groin of the taxi driver who tried to grope me when he finally found me sitting by the smouldering remains of my company Fiesta.

? Fabricated a great story about what happened and why I needed to fly back from Germany and abandon the company car.

" Distinguished myself as the most reckless worker that the company had ever had the misfortune to employ.

007 Investigated the affair of my boss and the director and bridged the gap between being fired and getting a brand spanking new Mercedes for my next trip to Germany.

I am currently studying for a Ph.D.
"What will you be a doctor of?" you may ask.
Why, Bullshit of course - what other kind is there?

Now what sort of job would I like to apply for?
Nothing to do with kids or animals.

I am fed up with telling Henry to get his hands out of his pants when he is doing homework. "We don't want any more poo on the pencils, now do we?"

Cleaning up mouse and rat guts has become monotonous too. Marbles, who we were told was an indoor cat when we rescued him from the shelter, is a killer extraordinaire. The remains of a huge rodent are pinned to the deck like a biology lab rat dissection. It is decapitated and swarming with blue bottles (blow flies) and ants. Its guts are revolting and black and congealed. It lies next to the corpse of a shrew and some other unclassified innards. They will need to be scraped off with a high powered sander.

 I just opened the sliding door to take a photo for my resume and a swarm of blue bottles tried to enter the house and one succeeded. So now I am chasing it around with Henry's homework folder, which looks like it has already been responsible for housing a whole family of roadkill.

Actually, when I wanted to blag my way into the United States, I was considering becoming a minister as there is a special visa for clergy. I did not have the required number of years of work experience (none to be precise) in my country of origin so that kind of scuppered these plans. My early years of convent life did not seem to count towards the prerequisite.

However, I have taken a keen interest in theology ever since and you may wish to view my prestigious spiritual publications. If you are a publisher of quality religion and would like to take a look at them, they may be found here.


Sunday Morning Worship - primarily investigates theories of getting rid of unwanted religious zealots.

Praise the Lard - discusses humility in the face of trying to disperse an almighty hangover.

The Mother's Morning Prayer - an analysis of how to cope with the heavenly joy of raising two monsters and preventing the removal of teeth and eyeballs.

Like the course of life, my resume remains a work in progress.