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.
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