I've been known to say I want to meet a man 'who kisses me like the world is ending'. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that day has come. I won't say too much as I'm pretty sure he'd be dreadfully embarrassed were he to read this, but let's just say that he ticks a lot of boxes on my list, and some I never even knew I had. How could I not have known certain key factors were so relevant or important to me, i wonder.
This morning when I woke up I stumbled around feeling pretty bloody dreadful. Imagine a hangover and sleep deprivation, after being hit by a double-decker which was loaded with ice cream wielding screaming rabid children. That's sort of how I felt. And it was undeserved which is mildly irritating... Anyway, yknow how sometimes you don't notice stuff as you're so used to it? Well this morning I frightened the living bejeeesus out of my man. He's not seen me ill yet. This morning was a wee hint at it. He caught me at the top of the stairs and I could hear the terror in his voice as he asked me if I was ok and squeaked something along the lines of how I was attempting to go down the stairs with my eyes closed, clinging onto the walls. I don't think he thought this was particularly wise or safe. I got a bit exhaustedly hysterical and giggled (but nearly cried) as I told him not to worry... This was quite normal.
I hadn't even realised before that I do actually quite regularly traverse my house with my eyes closed/semi closed, holding onto walls and furniture and such, as I'm literally too exhausted and weak to open my eyes and due to stimulation sensitivity, (ie light and noise makes me feel violently ill.) It's strange that it took another person unused to the status quo to point this out to me as being a fairly worrying situation. It's strange, what you get used to. It's like when you're in a violent relationship and it becomes the norm to hear insults, or feel fear, or sleep in 'uncomfortable places' because you're not allowed in the bed...
I digress, but genuinely, it does make you think about what other things you are missing because you are just accustomed to it. I barely notice my daughters (reasonably prominent) birth mark, and had to make a conscious effort to look at it recently as, having been questioned on it, I really could not picture it or describe it clearly.
So in summary, today as I have been resting (a lot), I have been attempting to think outside the box about a few things. (I love how my new man makes me see things from a different perspective and consider things I previously hadn't.)
If you were to write a list of 'deal breakers' or 'requirements' or 'preferances' (in relevance to any situation; relationships, choosing a home, a job, etc) where do you start? How do you know you're not excluding key points simply because you're avoiding the obvious? Also, generally, how do we make the choices and decisions we do based on limited information?
If anything has become apparent to me recently, it's that it's all a bit of a learning curve, sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind, hold onto a semblance of common sense if possible, follow your instincts, and jump.
Just don't expect to always land softly I guess... We're going to batter into a few sky scrapers and double decker buses on the way.
Monday, 10 December 2012
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Good Day.
My health has been a little bit hit and miss lately, my energy levels have taken a nose dive, sleep patters disturbed and lots of niggling pains, lack of concentration etc. However, today I am happy for these reasons:
I am listening to my favourite Deftones album; I have a big cup of Earl Grey; I have new leopard print slippers; I am about to go volunteer in Kittens school shortly for the first time in weeks as my Labyrinthitis has subsided; and finally, a copy/paste of my Facebook status update -
Ok, so I'm not massively political (like I used to think I was in my youth), but I do have vague ideas and opinions which usually I refrain from airing on here as it invites debate and occasionally incites a verbal dispute and/or controversy which frankly I can't be arsed with. However, I do just wana say that I'm pleased Obama was re-elected. I understand it is widely believed that the Presidents, Prime Ministers and such, in this political climate, are little more than puppets, and that often it's a choice of 'The lesser of two evils'. Even if this is true, less evil is better than more evil, surely, if they are the primary options. Even if these people are simply a titular head, it is preferable to have a figure head - who will be influential to and inspiring for millions of people - who at least seems sane and has some basic sound morals. (Not saying I agree with all of his principles mind.) And let's not forget the rednecks and racists and the bible belt who largely voted against a man based on the fact that he's black, rather than any belief or sensibly firmed political opinion. Just sayin'. :)
So, short as this entry may be, now you know. I'm having a good day. Over and out.
I am listening to my favourite Deftones album; I have a big cup of Earl Grey; I have new leopard print slippers; I am about to go volunteer in Kittens school shortly for the first time in weeks as my Labyrinthitis has subsided; and finally, a copy/paste of my Facebook status update -
Ok, so I'm not massively political (like I used to think I was in my youth), but I do have vague ideas and opinions which usually I refrain from airing on here as it invites debate and occasionally incites a verbal dispute and/or controversy which frankly I can't be arsed with. However, I do just wana say that I'm pleased Obama was re-elected. I understand it is widely believed that the Presidents, Prime Ministers and such, in this political climate, are little more than puppets, and that often it's a choice of 'The lesser of two evils'. Even if this is true, less evil is better than more evil, surely, if they are the primary options. Even if these people are simply a titular head, it is preferable to have a figure head - who will be influential to and inspiring for millions of people - who at least seems sane and has some basic sound morals. (Not saying I agree with all of his principles mind.) And let's not forget the rednecks and racists and the bible belt who largely voted against a man based on the fact that he's black, rather than any belief or sensibly firmed political opinion. Just sayin'. :)
So, short as this entry may be, now you know. I'm having a good day. Over and out.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Avoid During Mealtimes.
Apparently, men can take more pain than women... Well, there's news eh?! Erm, there is a very good reason that terms such as 'man flu' exist. Boys, have you ever had a metal Easter Egg with teeth and handles shoved up your bum? For most of you, I would say the answer is probably no. (Excluding the perverts and masochists., many of whom I know.) Unfortunately ladies regularly endure this, and similar, in their nether regions. 'May I just scrape the walls of your vagina dear?', 'Push a little harder sweety, I can see a head poking from your private parts', 'Ankles together, knees apart', 'Oops, sorry, wrong hole...' All terms us girls are familiar with, some more welcome than others. We cheerfully smile and carry on whilst putting up with undignified and often uncomfortable experiences, partly because some of them are a means to an end.
Take childbirth for example. After 9 or 10 months (TEN months if you count the weeks!) of growing another human being inside our already compact little bodies, having all the good stuff sapped from us, our internal organs squished into unnatural disorder, having acid spewing forth from gut to nostril fairly regularly, breasts and stomach swollen to the point of tearing, and hips being softened and then pulled apart in readiness... THEN we are expected to force out the little human responsible for the destruction of our bodies. Through our vaginas. Tearing, aching, pulsing, messy, bloody and indeed blood curdling as this experience can be (not mine, mine were pretty easy as it goes. Sorry.) We continue this mission to procreate under the foolish assumption that we will be rewarded with a cooing ball of fluff and love. Ah, but we are nonsensical creatures. My most memorable line from labour, whilst sat on a toilet a mere hour or two from delivering my eldest, was a shrieked 'I AM LEAKING FROM EVERY ORRIFICE!!!' I repeated this days later when things got worse as my breast milk 'came in'. I sat, prone, naked but for a towel, on a disposable changing mat, literally leaking from every orrifice as I sobbed and snotted and vomited and bled and ached and leaked some more. Why does nobody warn you of all this?! I am warning all you innocent simpletons right now, child birth is indelicate, undignified, and pretty grim. Worth it, undoubtedly, and I certainly had a relatively easy time of it, but none the less, take heed. It is gruesome.
Then there is the delight that is having a smear test. 'Ankles together, knees apart' could strike fear into the heart of many a great and strong woman. Imagine, if you will, being propped up half naked (how flattering) with legs akimbo and genitals on display, whilst a nurse/doctor/both (and invariably a room full of student observers) poke instruments into you and swirl 'em around. What could possibly be more fun?
I only mention this because one friend had to endure something similar this morning and I'm off to visit another friend with her new baby later, then on the telly some fool dared say 'Men can take more pain than women'. Pah! I dare any man to put rubber rollers in his hair. Or give birth. Or wax his bikini line. Or look after two children (one being a pre-teen) whilst full of flu, clean the house, cook a reasonable meal, and simultaneously cheer up 3 friends who are having a hard time (via facebook, face to face, and over the phone,) with a cat underfoot and the threat of rain while your washing is out, while you have your period.
Sorry, I'm honestly not a sexist. I love men. I just resent the implication that they handle pain better, when clearly often the opposite is true.
Think I'm hormonal...
Take childbirth for example. After 9 or 10 months (TEN months if you count the weeks!) of growing another human being inside our already compact little bodies, having all the good stuff sapped from us, our internal organs squished into unnatural disorder, having acid spewing forth from gut to nostril fairly regularly, breasts and stomach swollen to the point of tearing, and hips being softened and then pulled apart in readiness... THEN we are expected to force out the little human responsible for the destruction of our bodies. Through our vaginas. Tearing, aching, pulsing, messy, bloody and indeed blood curdling as this experience can be (not mine, mine were pretty easy as it goes. Sorry.) We continue this mission to procreate under the foolish assumption that we will be rewarded with a cooing ball of fluff and love. Ah, but we are nonsensical creatures. My most memorable line from labour, whilst sat on a toilet a mere hour or two from delivering my eldest, was a shrieked 'I AM LEAKING FROM EVERY ORRIFICE!!!' I repeated this days later when things got worse as my breast milk 'came in'. I sat, prone, naked but for a towel, on a disposable changing mat, literally leaking from every orrifice as I sobbed and snotted and vomited and bled and ached and leaked some more. Why does nobody warn you of all this?! I am warning all you innocent simpletons right now, child birth is indelicate, undignified, and pretty grim. Worth it, undoubtedly, and I certainly had a relatively easy time of it, but none the less, take heed. It is gruesome.
Then there is the delight that is having a smear test. 'Ankles together, knees apart' could strike fear into the heart of many a great and strong woman. Imagine, if you will, being propped up half naked (how flattering) with legs akimbo and genitals on display, whilst a nurse/doctor/both (and invariably a room full of student observers) poke instruments into you and swirl 'em around. What could possibly be more fun?
I only mention this because one friend had to endure something similar this morning and I'm off to visit another friend with her new baby later, then on the telly some fool dared say 'Men can take more pain than women'. Pah! I dare any man to put rubber rollers in his hair. Or give birth. Or wax his bikini line. Or look after two children (one being a pre-teen) whilst full of flu, clean the house, cook a reasonable meal, and simultaneously cheer up 3 friends who are having a hard time (via facebook, face to face, and over the phone,) with a cat underfoot and the threat of rain while your washing is out, while you have your period.
Sorry, I'm honestly not a sexist. I love men. I just resent the implication that they handle pain better, when clearly often the opposite is true.
Think I'm hormonal...
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Ludite.
Good lord, I am tired. But then, when am I not? The last few days I have been dreadfully busy doing things like window shopping for computers, hanging in the Jewish Ghetto, dressing up like a slut for Halloween (early, I know, but any chance to dress like a slut...) spending time with my sick Momma, and of course, napping. All-important napping.
Allow me to expand on a few things. Hanging in the Jewish Ghetto involved helping my friend move to her new abode (♫ In The Ghettooooo ♫) and cleaning the teeny tiny & slightly grubby kitchen she was hoping to use that day. Not such a pleasant task, but I do love her. I am also pretty good at unpacking and making an empty shell look like a cosy home. In the 40 minutes I was left alone on Saturday morning I had her living room in order and pretty cosied up. She pays me in food and wine so it's all good.
The Halloween bit was fun. I dressed as Miss Hannigan from 'Annie', dying my hair ginger and going out in lingerie and little more, with bad make up and messy hair. This made the preparation stupidly simple, thankfully, as I had my friends make-up to do as 'The Other Mother'. The worst part of the evening was putting bendy rubber roller things in my hair. They hurt like a bitch! Why do we women do this shit to ourselves?! Christ, with every turn, twist and tweak to get the damn things in place I was pulling faces like an anally abused badger being stabbed in the ear! Jeeeesus. I have said this before, and I reiterate. Never again. Those things are the devil! Give me tongs or a curling wand any day, even if I burn my fingertips every time without fail. I would rather have no fingertips than a patchy scalp...
To go off on a tangent a little, a friend and I were talking today about the vanities involved in illness. For example, were you to lose your hair, would you wear a wig, headscarf, or similar? My friend said she would go down the route of the most hilarious option possible and buy a serious of ludicrously ugly wigs, scarves and hats, but go about bald most of the time anyway just to f*ck people off. Personally I KNOW I would look terrible bald, I have a big fat round head which neither fits nor suits hats, so I would buy EVERY colour of wig available to me and revel in the knowledge that I was avoiding the faff and fuss of hairdye. Et voila! Silver lining found...
So anyway, back to my original point, which was telling you about the last few days I have spent entertaining myself Kitten free.
I've been window shopping for a Netbook, and my friend Simon took me (as he is a technology fiend and lives in a flat which resembles Darth Vaders toilet) to a local retail park for a look see. I learned these things:
* I am a ludite.
* Simon doesn't like being called a 'rapey b*astard', especially when in response to threatening me with confectionary.
* Attempting to understand technology makes me physically ill. I sh*t you not.
I'm actually serious as well. After a couple of hours shopping, and an hour in Simons flat trying to get my tiny little technophobe mind around his 'set up', I came home feeling weak, exhausted, sick and achey. I am forever being told 'When you have M.E. if you're mentally exhausted it makes you physically ill'. Well, now I have unmitigated proof that I should avoid technology at any costs. It maketh me sick. I do have a tiny bit of understanding, don't get me wrong. I once told my sister to set up her phone as a portable wifi hotspot and connect her laptop to that, then gave her step by step instructions on how to do so. However, I did not then, nor do I now, have any clue where this knowledge came from. Maybe aliens at some time took a liking to me, probed me, and in return ejaculated fountains of arbitrary information into my brain at such a level that I was oblivious to its existence until such a time as it was necessary. Who knows, but it's nice to know that I could tell the staff at Currys this little tale so they would not think me completely ridiculous. Because of course I did have to tell them. So they wouldn't think I'm completely ridiculous... Oh god just shoot me...
Allow me to expand on a few things. Hanging in the Jewish Ghetto involved helping my friend move to her new abode (♫ In The Ghettooooo ♫) and cleaning the teeny tiny & slightly grubby kitchen she was hoping to use that day. Not such a pleasant task, but I do love her. I am also pretty good at unpacking and making an empty shell look like a cosy home. In the 40 minutes I was left alone on Saturday morning I had her living room in order and pretty cosied up. She pays me in food and wine so it's all good.
The Halloween bit was fun. I dressed as Miss Hannigan from 'Annie', dying my hair ginger and going out in lingerie and little more, with bad make up and messy hair. This made the preparation stupidly simple, thankfully, as I had my friends make-up to do as 'The Other Mother'. The worst part of the evening was putting bendy rubber roller things in my hair. They hurt like a bitch! Why do we women do this shit to ourselves?! Christ, with every turn, twist and tweak to get the damn things in place I was pulling faces like an anally abused badger being stabbed in the ear! Jeeeesus. I have said this before, and I reiterate. Never again. Those things are the devil! Give me tongs or a curling wand any day, even if I burn my fingertips every time without fail. I would rather have no fingertips than a patchy scalp...
To go off on a tangent a little, a friend and I were talking today about the vanities involved in illness. For example, were you to lose your hair, would you wear a wig, headscarf, or similar? My friend said she would go down the route of the most hilarious option possible and buy a serious of ludicrously ugly wigs, scarves and hats, but go about bald most of the time anyway just to f*ck people off. Personally I KNOW I would look terrible bald, I have a big fat round head which neither fits nor suits hats, so I would buy EVERY colour of wig available to me and revel in the knowledge that I was avoiding the faff and fuss of hairdye. Et voila! Silver lining found...
So anyway, back to my original point, which was telling you about the last few days I have spent entertaining myself Kitten free.
I've been window shopping for a Netbook, and my friend Simon took me (as he is a technology fiend and lives in a flat which resembles Darth Vaders toilet) to a local retail park for a look see. I learned these things:
* I am a ludite.
* Simon doesn't like being called a 'rapey b*astard', especially when in response to threatening me with confectionary.
* Attempting to understand technology makes me physically ill. I sh*t you not.
I'm actually serious as well. After a couple of hours shopping, and an hour in Simons flat trying to get my tiny little technophobe mind around his 'set up', I came home feeling weak, exhausted, sick and achey. I am forever being told 'When you have M.E. if you're mentally exhausted it makes you physically ill'. Well, now I have unmitigated proof that I should avoid technology at any costs. It maketh me sick. I do have a tiny bit of understanding, don't get me wrong. I once told my sister to set up her phone as a portable wifi hotspot and connect her laptop to that, then gave her step by step instructions on how to do so. However, I did not then, nor do I now, have any clue where this knowledge came from. Maybe aliens at some time took a liking to me, probed me, and in return ejaculated fountains of arbitrary information into my brain at such a level that I was oblivious to its existence until such a time as it was necessary. Who knows, but it's nice to know that I could tell the staff at Currys this little tale so they would not think me completely ridiculous. Because of course I did have to tell them. So they wouldn't think I'm completely ridiculous... Oh god just shoot me...
Thursday, 25 October 2012
A-Z
Why in the movies do they kiss like they don't know where the other persons mouth is? They don't just go in for the kill like most often happens in 'real life'. They always seem to nose bang and fumble around each others countenance with a duckface to end all duckfaces, seemingly having never been in this situation before. I mean, come on, you could kiss a dog better than that! Monkeys make affection look easier than say, Reece Whitherspoon or Colin Firth. If it were 'real life' I'm pretty sure they would just dive in like a swooping eagle and ram the tongue down that throat! (In fact I know a bloke who did exactly this quite recently and my poor best friend was subsequently 'violated in the face'. Social drinking and misunderstandings lead to such things unfortunately.)
Last time I was kissed it was a drunk throwing himself at me in a startling manner. It was unexpected and unsolicited, which was unfortunate as I was sort of seeing him at the time...
Which leads my train of thought to this: How, when, and where would a girl (woman?!) find a decent bloke here about these parts? Seriously, you think you've found an alright one and he's either:
A) A fuckwit;
B) An alcoholic/ drug abuser/ wreck-head of some description;
C) Emotionally inept;
D) A muppet;
E) A nitwit;
F) Homosexual;
G) Spoken for;
H) Dull as dishwater;
I) Mean like The Hulk;
J) Socially deficient;
K) Socially infamous - in the bad way;
L) Dirty - not in the good way;
M) Judgemental/ bigoted/ small minded;
N) A redneck - not in the good way;
O) Ultra chic - not in the good way;
P) A member of NA;
Q) A member of AA;
R) A member of the IRA;
S) A member of the NRA;
T) Has anger management issues;
U) Has intimacy issues;
V) Has an Oedipus Complex;
W) Does not 'Do': single mothers/ people with any infirmity, frailty, disability, etc/ smokers/ drinkers/ Northeners/ larger ladies.
X) Has sexual inhibitions to such an extent it could potentially lead to you developing narcolepsy;
Y) Has narcolepsy;
Z) Is not interested in anyone who is interested in them. (ie me. I frequently go for blokes who fit into one, some or all of the above categories.)
So. As a single mum, with an illness/disability which leaves me currently unable to work, two children to two different fathers, little in the way of material possessions, and generally living the 'Jeremy Kyle Lifestyle', is there hope for me amongst the madness and mayhem, the judgements and preconceived ideas, the dramas and daydreams and dilly dallying of the dating world? Is there a bloke out there who only ticks a few of the boxes above and is wonderful enough for me to see past these and for him to see past my Jeremy Kyle lifestyle?
I still have hope...
Last time I was kissed it was a drunk throwing himself at me in a startling manner. It was unexpected and unsolicited, which was unfortunate as I was sort of seeing him at the time...
Which leads my train of thought to this: How, when, and where would a girl (woman?!) find a decent bloke here about these parts? Seriously, you think you've found an alright one and he's either:
A) A fuckwit;
B) An alcoholic/ drug abuser/ wreck-head of some description;
C) Emotionally inept;
D) A muppet;
E) A nitwit;
F) Homosexual;
G) Spoken for;
H) Dull as dishwater;
I) Mean like The Hulk;
J) Socially deficient;
K) Socially infamous - in the bad way;
L) Dirty - not in the good way;
M) Judgemental/ bigoted/ small minded;
N) A redneck - not in the good way;
O) Ultra chic - not in the good way;
P) A member of NA;
Q) A member of AA;
R) A member of the IRA;
S) A member of the NRA;
T) Has anger management issues;
U) Has intimacy issues;
V) Has an Oedipus Complex;
W) Does not 'Do': single mothers/ people with any infirmity, frailty, disability, etc/ smokers/ drinkers/ Northeners/ larger ladies.
X) Has sexual inhibitions to such an extent it could potentially lead to you developing narcolepsy;
Y) Has narcolepsy;
Z) Is not interested in anyone who is interested in them. (ie me. I frequently go for blokes who fit into one, some or all of the above categories.)
So. As a single mum, with an illness/disability which leaves me currently unable to work, two children to two different fathers, little in the way of material possessions, and generally living the 'Jeremy Kyle Lifestyle', is there hope for me amongst the madness and mayhem, the judgements and preconceived ideas, the dramas and daydreams and dilly dallying of the dating world? Is there a bloke out there who only ticks a few of the boxes above and is wonderful enough for me to see past these and for him to see past my Jeremy Kyle lifestyle?
I still have hope...
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Hellish.
My eldest kitten started 'Big School' (or 'Ginormous Girl School' according to little kitten and our friend Bella who recently joined reception, as they are at 'big school'.) This is terribly exciting, and she's suddenly very grown up and life is marvellously dramatic every day.
For me, this means she needs more support with homework - fine, more daily spending money - fine. She is much more independent and sociable - scary but fine.
However, as a single parent struggling financially, this is not fine:
P.E. Kit: One each of tracksuit bottoms, hoody, t-shirt, shorts, socks, all mandatory, about £50
Locker £20
Blazer, £22
Shirts (x 4) £16
Jumpers (x 2) £12
Tie and school badge £8
Skirts (x 3) £22
Shoes £25
Stationary inc mandatory items £26
Coat £28
Underwear inc bras, tights, etc £36
Trainers for P.E. £13, Dad paid.
Football boots (mandatory) Free. The 'Wife' sorted it.
Bag, free, she pinched the one I got for Christmas last year, which is a f*ucking awesome messenger bag covered in retro cartoons. Good job I love her.
Total it has cost me personally to kit out my eldest kitten for secondary school - £265
And one term in, her new shoes have bloody fallen apart from all the walking...
Hellish.
For me, this means she needs more support with homework - fine, more daily spending money - fine. She is much more independent and sociable - scary but fine.
However, as a single parent struggling financially, this is not fine:
P.E. Kit: One each of tracksuit bottoms, hoody, t-shirt, shorts, socks, all mandatory, about £50
Locker £20
Blazer, £22
Shirts (x 4) £16
Jumpers (x 2) £12
Tie and school badge £8
Skirts (x 3) £22
Shoes £25
Stationary inc mandatory items £26
Coat £28
Underwear inc bras, tights, etc £36
Trainers for P.E. £13, Dad paid.
Football boots (mandatory) Free. The 'Wife' sorted it.
Bag, free, she pinched the one I got for Christmas last year, which is a f*ucking awesome messenger bag covered in retro cartoons. Good job I love her.
Total it has cost me personally to kit out my eldest kitten for secondary school - £265
And one term in, her new shoes have bloody fallen apart from all the walking...
Hellish.
Monday, 22 October 2012
Mingin' Motel.
Why can't I f*cking sleep? Seriously, I need sleep. We all need sleep - I especially need quite a lot of sleep, due to having M.E. which annoyingly enough causes sleep impairment. When you suffer with M.E. you need more sleep than most, yet regardless of how much sleep you have you rarely seem to feel refreshed or rested, as it also affects the quality of your sleep! I really need sleep!
And yet here I am, watching some tripe on the telly about twats being murdered in hotel rooms. Kate Beckinsale and What's His Name Wilson are quite hot leads, admittedly, but eye candy can't save this, not least 'cos they're crawling around sweaty, muddy and angry, with the threat of rape and/or murder around every rat infested corner. Also, everything is filthy, and I don't mean in the good way. If I went to a hotel like that, or rather a 'Motel', I'd just f*ck it all off and sleep in me car at the first sight of the bathroom and whiff of the crusty sheets. In real life, who stays in these places?! Even in movies, you know that if your 'Motel' has orange stripey curtains, threadbare brown rugs, mouldy towels and crunchy bedding, along with a sinister looking moustachioed night porter, with a maniacal grin and murderous glint in his eye, then it is probably because, first and foremost, the night porter is indeed maniacal and murderous. Also, the place mings. Leave. Now. You. Crazy. Muppets.
Anyway, just thought I'd share, seeing as how I can't sleep.
And yet here I am, watching some tripe on the telly about twats being murdered in hotel rooms. Kate Beckinsale and What's His Name Wilson are quite hot leads, admittedly, but eye candy can't save this, not least 'cos they're crawling around sweaty, muddy and angry, with the threat of rape and/or murder around every rat infested corner. Also, everything is filthy, and I don't mean in the good way. If I went to a hotel like that, or rather a 'Motel', I'd just f*ck it all off and sleep in me car at the first sight of the bathroom and whiff of the crusty sheets. In real life, who stays in these places?! Even in movies, you know that if your 'Motel' has orange stripey curtains, threadbare brown rugs, mouldy towels and crunchy bedding, along with a sinister looking moustachioed night porter, with a maniacal grin and murderous glint in his eye, then it is probably because, first and foremost, the night porter is indeed maniacal and murderous. Also, the place mings. Leave. Now. You. Crazy. Muppets.
Anyway, just thought I'd share, seeing as how I can't sleep.
Sunday, 21 October 2012
Twat.
In terms of weather, age, and common sense, exactly how appropriate is it to dress like an oblivious teenager today?? As in, I'm wearing sandals for starters. Then a She-Ra t shirt I've had about 8 years and may be a bit tiny. Big red cardy. Peachy/tangerine sort of coloured leopard print jeans. Cherry earrings. Messy bun. Granny geggs. Oh god, I just realised I look like a twat don't I?
Saturday, 20 October 2012
Crazy Internet Stalker girl rides again.
I just stalked him a bit more, on Twitter, as he'd sent me a link to his website which connects to his Twitter. (I have no excuse.) Well, turns out the muppet does indeed have a Missus. I feel vindicated in my stalky ways! Huzzah!
Obviously.
Do you want to hear a dead funny story? Honestly, it's hilarious. I am genuinely mortified with myself, so will publicly shame myself for your amusement...
You know that girl who stalks people online, being all bothersome and a teeny bit scary. This girl is insecure, neurotic, ceaseless, insistent, and potentially unhinged. She makes you wana run and hide behind your mothers legs, or go to the pub (in some distant unknown town) and get so pissed you forget you're alive, with your phone off and your laptop wrapped in bags, blankets, and a suitcase, in the attic. With email notifications turned off.
I have become that girl. I shit you not.
I just spent an hour on the phone to my friend talking about her robot class - she is an electrical engineer - and normal life mostly, but we did venture onto the topic of my recent crazy. She wants me to shoot myself. I insisted she come do it for me ASAP 'cos I don't have any weapons in the house. (And knowing her, she probably has something illegal or at least potentially very dangerous stashed under her bed. Or even just on the kitchen table.)
Anyway, I digress. Allow me to tell you a tale, but please bear in mind that this is not my usual pattern of behaviour. I am aware that this is like when you say to somebody that you're worried about their drink problem, then no matter what they say about their drink problem or lack thereof they will sound like they have a drink problem. No matter how much I now insist that I am not a crazy internet stalker girl I will sound like a crazy internet stalker girl. Just the fact that I am writing this, insisting that I am not usually a crazy internet stalker girl makes me sound like that is exactly what I am.
So, for a week or so I had been consistently chatting to this guy online. Let us call him 'Bob'. Bob is smart, fun, hilarious, chatty, sweet, seemed normal enough, and pretty cute. All good. And we got on so well... So obviously I ruined this potential romance or whatever, almost immediately, without even meeting the guy. Makes sense right? Here is the jist: We're getting along splendidly, then Thursday night I decide to type his name into Facebook (as you do.) A profile pops up and immediately obvious on his friends box, before you even click on a friends list or anything, is a picture of a girl with what appears to be Bob. Ok, I think, that's interesting, just click... on... the... FATAL mistake. My mind was screaming 'DON'T DO IT KAT. STEP AWAY FROM THE LAPTOP, TAKE YOUR FINGER OFF THE BUTTON. DO NOT CLICK ON THE GIRLS PROFILE!' And yet of course I do. Now, I know this guy to be fairly recently single. So this girl has him on her profile pic, maybe she still loves him, maybe she just hasn't changed her profile pic, maybe they're still best friends, I don't know.
So the next morning, after a sleepless night of being poorly, worrying about my dear old Ma, sitting up with my kittens at least 5 times as they were both nervous wrecks for various reasons, and generally being dead on my feet and emotionally drained and agitated, obviously I decided it was sensible to message him and tell him of my findings. ARGH! WTF is wrong with me?!
Now, with hindsight, the message does not read as I intended it to. I wanted to admit to my 'Facebook Investigation' and clarify that I didn't want to step on any toes, cause, or be involved in, any drama. But obviously I made it sound like I was accusing him of being a lieing cheat. (God, he could be, who knows really. We find these things out after the event. For now I was trying to work out whether it was worth continuing this flirtation without potentially becoming a home wrecker.)
He was actually quite hurt and disappointed, obviously, and I was annoyed at myself for my poor communication skills and such.
This is all pretty upsetting and horrible. Bad enough that I have Facebook stalked him, then admitted to it, then freaked the poor guy right out, I now continue my crazed mission by sending him another message trying to clarify my original point. He does not read the messages (I know 'cos they say 'D' for 'delivered' and 'R' for 'read'. These only said 'D'. Clever me.) So I send him a message on the dating site we had 'met' on, saying 'Please check your inbox, I sent you a big long message'!!!! ARGH. I need help. But it doesn't stop here... oh no.
Last night, evening time, tired and upset I f*cking email him saying 'please check your messages on those other 2 things, I wanted to explain. This is a summary of my message trying to explain...'
SHOOT ME NOW.
OBVIOUSLY at this point I know I am turning into crazy internet stalker girl. So I go spend the evening with the girls and explain my crazy stalker girl shenanigans. They berate me and tell me to let it drop. I intend to. Then at silly o'clock this morning he replies with a succinct message about how this had made him feel, which was not good basically.
So at 4am, after one and a half bottles of wine and 2 whiskeys, I bloody well emailed him back! OBVIOUSLY.
Not happy with freaking him out and scaring him off I then tell him I really like him, and just to read his emails and listen to my explanation.
Haven't heard back like.
You know that girl who stalks people online, being all bothersome and a teeny bit scary. This girl is insecure, neurotic, ceaseless, insistent, and potentially unhinged. She makes you wana run and hide behind your mothers legs, or go to the pub (in some distant unknown town) and get so pissed you forget you're alive, with your phone off and your laptop wrapped in bags, blankets, and a suitcase, in the attic. With email notifications turned off.
I have become that girl. I shit you not.
I just spent an hour on the phone to my friend talking about her robot class - she is an electrical engineer - and normal life mostly, but we did venture onto the topic of my recent crazy. She wants me to shoot myself. I insisted she come do it for me ASAP 'cos I don't have any weapons in the house. (And knowing her, she probably has something illegal or at least potentially very dangerous stashed under her bed. Or even just on the kitchen table.)
Anyway, I digress. Allow me to tell you a tale, but please bear in mind that this is not my usual pattern of behaviour. I am aware that this is like when you say to somebody that you're worried about their drink problem, then no matter what they say about their drink problem or lack thereof they will sound like they have a drink problem. No matter how much I now insist that I am not a crazy internet stalker girl I will sound like a crazy internet stalker girl. Just the fact that I am writing this, insisting that I am not usually a crazy internet stalker girl makes me sound like that is exactly what I am.
So, for a week or so I had been consistently chatting to this guy online. Let us call him 'Bob'. Bob is smart, fun, hilarious, chatty, sweet, seemed normal enough, and pretty cute. All good. And we got on so well... So obviously I ruined this potential romance or whatever, almost immediately, without even meeting the guy. Makes sense right? Here is the jist: We're getting along splendidly, then Thursday night I decide to type his name into Facebook (as you do.) A profile pops up and immediately obvious on his friends box, before you even click on a friends list or anything, is a picture of a girl with what appears to be Bob. Ok, I think, that's interesting, just click... on... the... FATAL mistake. My mind was screaming 'DON'T DO IT KAT. STEP AWAY FROM THE LAPTOP, TAKE YOUR FINGER OFF THE BUTTON. DO NOT CLICK ON THE GIRLS PROFILE!' And yet of course I do. Now, I know this guy to be fairly recently single. So this girl has him on her profile pic, maybe she still loves him, maybe she just hasn't changed her profile pic, maybe they're still best friends, I don't know.
So the next morning, after a sleepless night of being poorly, worrying about my dear old Ma, sitting up with my kittens at least 5 times as they were both nervous wrecks for various reasons, and generally being dead on my feet and emotionally drained and agitated, obviously I decided it was sensible to message him and tell him of my findings. ARGH! WTF is wrong with me?!
Now, with hindsight, the message does not read as I intended it to. I wanted to admit to my 'Facebook Investigation' and clarify that I didn't want to step on any toes, cause, or be involved in, any drama. But obviously I made it sound like I was accusing him of being a lieing cheat. (God, he could be, who knows really. We find these things out after the event. For now I was trying to work out whether it was worth continuing this flirtation without potentially becoming a home wrecker.)
He was actually quite hurt and disappointed, obviously, and I was annoyed at myself for my poor communication skills and such.
This is all pretty upsetting and horrible. Bad enough that I have Facebook stalked him, then admitted to it, then freaked the poor guy right out, I now continue my crazed mission by sending him another message trying to clarify my original point. He does not read the messages (I know 'cos they say 'D' for 'delivered' and 'R' for 'read'. These only said 'D'. Clever me.) So I send him a message on the dating site we had 'met' on, saying 'Please check your inbox, I sent you a big long message'!!!! ARGH. I need help. But it doesn't stop here... oh no.
Last night, evening time, tired and upset I f*cking email him saying 'please check your messages on those other 2 things, I wanted to explain. This is a summary of my message trying to explain...'
SHOOT ME NOW.
OBVIOUSLY at this point I know I am turning into crazy internet stalker girl. So I go spend the evening with the girls and explain my crazy stalker girl shenanigans. They berate me and tell me to let it drop. I intend to. Then at silly o'clock this morning he replies with a succinct message about how this had made him feel, which was not good basically.
So at 4am, after one and a half bottles of wine and 2 whiskeys, I bloody well emailed him back! OBVIOUSLY.
Not happy with freaking him out and scaring him off I then tell him I really like him, and just to read his emails and listen to my explanation.
Haven't heard back like.
Friday, 19 October 2012
A bottle and a half of wine... and some whiskey.
Tonight was a much needed girly night. We drank wine, talked about boys, discussed the pitfalls of facebook stalking...
So, firstly, may I just say, we have decide that 'One for All, and All for One'. Women stand together. We decided tonight, T. S. and I that we are possibly, sadly, destined to be together forever.
T. is 'too perfect' (Read: Laid back) as a girlfriend.
S. is probably looking at the wrong people. (Aren't we all, at some time?!)
I am perhaps both... When I get to that point! (Which is rare nowadays.)
So if you're a drama queen, high maintenance, mean, angry or horrible, you're knackered. Obviously.
If you're forgiving, understanding, relaxed and kind, you're dull.
And of course, any neurosis is bad.
Any combination of the above is particularly unpreferable. (Is that a real word?!)
Marvellous.
So, amongst our male friends we have discovered that of the nicer ones (who clearly we aren't attracted to or we'd have gone for it by now) some are f*ckwits, dimwits, alcoholics, losers and muppets. Also, some of them apparently look too tanned and want to be members of JLS. Some sound to us like monkeys banging cymbals. Some are a four letter word beginning with C which I shall refrain from! So if we don't look further afield, we're buggered.
(But let's be fair, I'm not just going to be a bitch, mocking the boys. Us girls aren't perfect either. I myself have freaked out and frightened off a perfectly lovely guy as I was convinced he must be 'too good to be true'. An hour of insecurity was all it took. I facebook stalked him, did the 2+2=5, and decided to be overly cautious, eliminating any chance of us 'going for it'.)
Why is it so bloody complicated eh?! Why can't boy meet girl, girl likes boy, boy likes girl, they kiss, fight a bit, (but not too much), get on, settle down, snog and snuggle forever?! The reality is, we are all far too focused on our insecurities, life, worries, mis-haps, problems, headf*cks and past misdemeanors, and at some point this will creep in... hopefully at a point when it can be discussed, neutralised and forgotten.
In actuality, what will probably happen is that in the first 2 weeks, years, whatever, we go 'Argh! This is mental this is! I'm not sure I can wrap my tiny little brain around liking this person/this person liking me so much! F****ck!'
Aaaand then it all implodes. Sometimes 'cos one person can't be arsed to make the effort, sometimes 'cos both can't, sometimes 'cos one person is crazy, maybe one of 'em is doin' too much internet stalking...
There are many reasons.
So, it would seem that we are happier in our own little worlds, miles apart, listening to 'Take That And Party' (or Abba, or Kings Of Leon, or The Beatles, you get the point) talking about the opposite sex, waiting on emails/texts/calls from our respective interest.
Why on EARTH don't we just communicate?! Say 'Oy! You! I like you! Wana get together?!' Or 'Oy! You! Wana stay together?!' or 'Oy! You?! Do you even like me?!' instead of worrying, thinking, talking, over analysing...? Which is exactamundo what I have just done.
Learn from me kids. Stop talking. Start listening. Bon nuit.
So, firstly, may I just say, we have decide that 'One for All, and All for One'. Women stand together. We decided tonight, T. S. and I that we are possibly, sadly, destined to be together forever.
T. is 'too perfect' (Read: Laid back) as a girlfriend.
S. is probably looking at the wrong people. (Aren't we all, at some time?!)
I am perhaps both... When I get to that point! (Which is rare nowadays.)
So if you're a drama queen, high maintenance, mean, angry or horrible, you're knackered. Obviously.
If you're forgiving, understanding, relaxed and kind, you're dull.
And of course, any neurosis is bad.
Any combination of the above is particularly unpreferable. (Is that a real word?!)
Marvellous.
So, amongst our male friends we have discovered that of the nicer ones (who clearly we aren't attracted to or we'd have gone for it by now) some are f*ckwits, dimwits, alcoholics, losers and muppets. Also, some of them apparently look too tanned and want to be members of JLS. Some sound to us like monkeys banging cymbals. Some are a four letter word beginning with C which I shall refrain from! So if we don't look further afield, we're buggered.
(But let's be fair, I'm not just going to be a bitch, mocking the boys. Us girls aren't perfect either. I myself have freaked out and frightened off a perfectly lovely guy as I was convinced he must be 'too good to be true'. An hour of insecurity was all it took. I facebook stalked him, did the 2+2=5, and decided to be overly cautious, eliminating any chance of us 'going for it'.)
Why is it so bloody complicated eh?! Why can't boy meet girl, girl likes boy, boy likes girl, they kiss, fight a bit, (but not too much), get on, settle down, snog and snuggle forever?! The reality is, we are all far too focused on our insecurities, life, worries, mis-haps, problems, headf*cks and past misdemeanors, and at some point this will creep in... hopefully at a point when it can be discussed, neutralised and forgotten.
In actuality, what will probably happen is that in the first 2 weeks, years, whatever, we go 'Argh! This is mental this is! I'm not sure I can wrap my tiny little brain around liking this person/this person liking me so much! F****ck!'
Aaaand then it all implodes. Sometimes 'cos one person can't be arsed to make the effort, sometimes 'cos both can't, sometimes 'cos one person is crazy, maybe one of 'em is doin' too much internet stalking...
There are many reasons.
So, it would seem that we are happier in our own little worlds, miles apart, listening to 'Take That And Party' (or Abba, or Kings Of Leon, or The Beatles, you get the point) talking about the opposite sex, waiting on emails/texts/calls from our respective interest.
Why on EARTH don't we just communicate?! Say 'Oy! You! I like you! Wana get together?!' Or 'Oy! You! Wana stay together?!' or 'Oy! You?! Do you even like me?!' instead of worrying, thinking, talking, over analysing...? Which is exactamundo what I have just done.
Learn from me kids. Stop talking. Start listening. Bon nuit.
Pie.
'Crying along to sad songs on the radio. Think I'm emotional, exhausted and overwrought.'
That was my status update on facebook just now. This week has been just a tad too much for my mangled little brain to handle. My mam has had cancer removed (hopefully), along with half her lung. My eldest was threatened with being raped by some juvenile reprobates, and consequently there have been many phone calls and emails and such back and forth to her school, Dad, etc. My youngest is stressed as her little sister is poorly in hospital, so she's spent the week being tearful moany and needy. I have Labyrinthitis so pretty much constantly feel sick, dizzy and drunk - not in the good way. I can't sleep for more than 4 hours in 24 and so look like a cross between Emperor Palpatine (if he was on a come down with a hangover) and a Fraggle who was just abused (and not in a good way.) And I've probably frightened off a very lovely boy by trying to over analyse a situation. I want to take my daughters place and be tearful moany and needy, demanding cuddles and wailing at the radio.... oh, I just did that! Seriously, actually crying into my hands listening to 'Hey There Delilah'... What the hell has become of me?! I need sleep, a new brain, a new body, possibly some wine, and a cuddle would be lovely.
My friend just told me she's making steak pie tomorrow and then going to see 'Taken 2', and I'm invited. That may make me feel a tiny bit better.
*Apologies for the pitiful self obsessed whine. Usual service will now resume.*
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
Jeremy Kyle Nation.
So, I was gona ramble about school parents evenings, but that can wait. First I want to talk about the fact that children nowadays, some of them, are horrible, vile little critters. This morning I have been on the phone to Eldest Kittens school, as 2 or 3 boys from school followed her and her friend last night threatening to rape her. These boys are 11, maybe 12 years old. They threatened to rape a young girl and said she 'owed them a blow job at least'. (They then described this in detail, but thankfully - small mercies - they actually didn't know what this was, contrary to their beliefs. They, hilariously, told her that if she wouldn't give them a blowjob then they would do it to her. Wow.)
These little terrors also said they had condoms in their pockets ready (and as Kitten pointed out to me, at least if they really were going to do something, they were going to do so safely.) They threatened to pull her into the nearby bushes or into a field. Worst of all, they knew where she and her accompanying friend live as another friend had (unmaliciously) told these boys where her friends houses were, and so they told the 2 girls their home addresses and threatened to find them at home and rape them there. Understandably, my poor daughter and her friend were horrified, scared and upset.
Thankfully, Kitten smacked 'em round the heed with her P.E bag and told 'em to 'Fuck Off'! (She tearfully admitted this while making salad with me last night. I told her that while swearing was nothing to be proud of I didn't blame her at all, and would have done the same in this position. In fact i would probably have used an even larger repertoire of four letter words.)
Her school are taking this seriously and are taking measures. Kittens Dad is understandably furious. I am mostly gobsmacked and worried about Kitten.
God, seriously, what the fuck is happening to the world when 11 year old kids are threatening or being threatened with rape?! When I were a kid of that age I was galloping around on my imaginary pony, boys might chuck 'itchy backs' down your top if you annoyed them, and at school discos the thought of slow dancing with a boy was enough to cause apoplexy. (I'm pretty sure boys felt this same fear. I can be no judge of this because I'm not a boy, and the first boy I slow danced with was the first in a succession of gay boyfriends so he was probably terrified for very different reasons.)
Seriously though, it is bad enough when a man threatens a woman (joking or otherwise, though I really think the threat of rape can never actually be a light hearted mockery.) But when children are threatening children with the most violant and controlling thing you can do to a woman, and using explicit sexual language (even if the terminology is slightly incorrect) then the world is a very sad place. Children in my youngest Kittens primary school aged about 10/11, joke about teabagging. I am pretty sure they are unaware of it's meaning but it's still a little disturbing. And you know, these are the NICE schools. Not like the rough, shoddy council estate schools I went to where fights broke out on the football pitch between the 5th years and the local estate hooligans with planks of wood decorated with 9 inch nails. (Not the band. And most of these were my childhood pals.) These are nice schools in nice areas, particularly the secondary school where this abominable incident took place.
So you gota wonder. if this is happening at a decent school, to 11 year olds, what more will the next generation have to face? It's a Jeremy Kyle Nation.
These little terrors also said they had condoms in their pockets ready (and as Kitten pointed out to me, at least if they really were going to do something, they were going to do so safely.) They threatened to pull her into the nearby bushes or into a field. Worst of all, they knew where she and her accompanying friend live as another friend had (unmaliciously) told these boys where her friends houses were, and so they told the 2 girls their home addresses and threatened to find them at home and rape them there. Understandably, my poor daughter and her friend were horrified, scared and upset.
Thankfully, Kitten smacked 'em round the heed with her P.E bag and told 'em to 'Fuck Off'! (She tearfully admitted this while making salad with me last night. I told her that while swearing was nothing to be proud of I didn't blame her at all, and would have done the same in this position. In fact i would probably have used an even larger repertoire of four letter words.)
Her school are taking this seriously and are taking measures. Kittens Dad is understandably furious. I am mostly gobsmacked and worried about Kitten.
God, seriously, what the fuck is happening to the world when 11 year old kids are threatening or being threatened with rape?! When I were a kid of that age I was galloping around on my imaginary pony, boys might chuck 'itchy backs' down your top if you annoyed them, and at school discos the thought of slow dancing with a boy was enough to cause apoplexy. (I'm pretty sure boys felt this same fear. I can be no judge of this because I'm not a boy, and the first boy I slow danced with was the first in a succession of gay boyfriends so he was probably terrified for very different reasons.)
Seriously though, it is bad enough when a man threatens a woman (joking or otherwise, though I really think the threat of rape can never actually be a light hearted mockery.) But when children are threatening children with the most violant and controlling thing you can do to a woman, and using explicit sexual language (even if the terminology is slightly incorrect) then the world is a very sad place. Children in my youngest Kittens primary school aged about 10/11, joke about teabagging. I am pretty sure they are unaware of it's meaning but it's still a little disturbing. And you know, these are the NICE schools. Not like the rough, shoddy council estate schools I went to where fights broke out on the football pitch between the 5th years and the local estate hooligans with planks of wood decorated with 9 inch nails. (Not the band. And most of these were my childhood pals.) These are nice schools in nice areas, particularly the secondary school where this abominable incident took place.
So you gota wonder. if this is happening at a decent school, to 11 year olds, what more will the next generation have to face? It's a Jeremy Kyle Nation.
Monday, 15 October 2012
Having ignored this blog for a while (ok, about a year and a half, slightly more than 'a while', I admit) I have today been inspired to regenerate my once beloved online diary. Having read back a few of my older posts, I clearly need to update a bit, in case one person out in the universe is remotely interested in my less than spectacular life.
Right, healthwise I'm not so good, (again). M.E. is kicking my arse daily, but I'm merrily battling on and trying my best to 'rest' and look after myself. But can I just say, I'm a single Mam, I do kinda HAVE to clean and stuff, at least sometimes! Otherwise I'd be living in a filthy mire and my children would be eating hot dogs every day, 'Shameless' style. Today, I write this from my sofa, wrapped in my pink snuggle blanket, eating a cup of pasta/soupy stuff (which was all I could make in this state), wearing delightful stripey socks that make me look somewhat like The Wicked Witch of the West. I have tidied and hoovered my living room, and started on the kitchen but came over a bit funny and didn't want to collapse (again) so returned to my little cocoon. My, I am hot, to, trot.
Notably in my older posts my kittens were younger, 4 and 10, to be precise. They are now 11 (eep!) and almost 6. Little kitten is having a Star Wars party next month for her birthday, I have never been so proud. Eldest kitten is growing to be a lovely wee minx, but since starting Secondary school she is WORRYINGLY grown up and hideously embarrassed by me quite often. Ah well, such is the way of the world. Also different to my last blog, I am now single. The boy in question really couldn't handle my being ill, (which I understood), and when the stress of it broke us up I figured it was sad but ultimately forgivable and hoped to stay friends. Unfortunately I then found out he'd cheated on me with a homeless girl and had told some dreadful lies about me, which I was less understanding and forgiving about.
Another big change is that I did eventually have to leave my Art and Design course, which pretty much broke my heart, but I was so ill it became impossible. Anyhoo, my health did perk up a lot earlier this year, I began looking for part time work, then I broke my coccyx roller skating... Aaaand a few months of broken bum/stressful events/general busyness seem to have set me back a bit. I shall not be overcome though, I'm gona rest up, take my meds and vitamins, and damn well get better again! But I might as well use this time to catch up on my blog eh?
Some points of note: My daughter is no longer grounded after a week of it. She still bloody well better clean her room before buggering off with her friends later or it'll be the cage in the kitchen for her...
(I jest, obviously.)
My youngest has tried and failed to sound out the 'igh' in words, 'bright', 'light' etc. To my great horror and amusement she spells out 'night' thus: 'Nuh. i. Guh. Huh. Tuh. Erm, Niguh?!' No darling, not that word, it says 'night'...
My cat hates me. She comes for a cuddle (or this is strongly implied) then bites me and saunters off. Mean.
Gladstone street is still smeared with dog shit from end to end. Kinda makes me glad I'm partially housebound.
My pretty but flimsy leopard print shoes died a death, were replaced, and are about to die again, horribly.
I would like a pet Lizard. My brothers' just died. This makes me sad.
My life is so dreadfully unglamorous at the minute that I'm actually looking forward to the social highlight, visiting my Mother in James Cook after her op this week.
Did you know Greggs sausage rolls are made of reconstituted powdered meat? Really.
This blog has been a bit dull, but let's call it our catch up. Next time I shall tell you all about the joys of parents evening... and let's hope that at the next one my daughter does not try, again, to fix me up with her friends Dad...
Right, healthwise I'm not so good, (again). M.E. is kicking my arse daily, but I'm merrily battling on and trying my best to 'rest' and look after myself. But can I just say, I'm a single Mam, I do kinda HAVE to clean and stuff, at least sometimes! Otherwise I'd be living in a filthy mire and my children would be eating hot dogs every day, 'Shameless' style. Today, I write this from my sofa, wrapped in my pink snuggle blanket, eating a cup of pasta/soupy stuff (which was all I could make in this state), wearing delightful stripey socks that make me look somewhat like The Wicked Witch of the West. I have tidied and hoovered my living room, and started on the kitchen but came over a bit funny and didn't want to collapse (again) so returned to my little cocoon. My, I am hot, to, trot.
Notably in my older posts my kittens were younger, 4 and 10, to be precise. They are now 11 (eep!) and almost 6. Little kitten is having a Star Wars party next month for her birthday, I have never been so proud. Eldest kitten is growing to be a lovely wee minx, but since starting Secondary school she is WORRYINGLY grown up and hideously embarrassed by me quite often. Ah well, such is the way of the world. Also different to my last blog, I am now single. The boy in question really couldn't handle my being ill, (which I understood), and when the stress of it broke us up I figured it was sad but ultimately forgivable and hoped to stay friends. Unfortunately I then found out he'd cheated on me with a homeless girl and had told some dreadful lies about me, which I was less understanding and forgiving about.
Another big change is that I did eventually have to leave my Art and Design course, which pretty much broke my heart, but I was so ill it became impossible. Anyhoo, my health did perk up a lot earlier this year, I began looking for part time work, then I broke my coccyx roller skating... Aaaand a few months of broken bum/stressful events/general busyness seem to have set me back a bit. I shall not be overcome though, I'm gona rest up, take my meds and vitamins, and damn well get better again! But I might as well use this time to catch up on my blog eh?
Some points of note: My daughter is no longer grounded after a week of it. She still bloody well better clean her room before buggering off with her friends later or it'll be the cage in the kitchen for her...
(I jest, obviously.)
My youngest has tried and failed to sound out the 'igh' in words, 'bright', 'light' etc. To my great horror and amusement she spells out 'night' thus: 'Nuh. i. Guh. Huh. Tuh. Erm, Niguh?!' No darling, not that word, it says 'night'...
My cat hates me. She comes for a cuddle (or this is strongly implied) then bites me and saunters off. Mean.
Gladstone street is still smeared with dog shit from end to end. Kinda makes me glad I'm partially housebound.
My pretty but flimsy leopard print shoes died a death, were replaced, and are about to die again, horribly.
I would like a pet Lizard. My brothers' just died. This makes me sad.
My life is so dreadfully unglamorous at the minute that I'm actually looking forward to the social highlight, visiting my Mother in James Cook after her op this week.
Did you know Greggs sausage rolls are made of reconstituted powdered meat? Really.
This blog has been a bit dull, but let's call it our catch up. Next time I shall tell you all about the joys of parents evening... and let's hope that at the next one my daughter does not try, again, to fix me up with her friends Dad...
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