Snot fucking fair - the sequel

If I ever had the inclination to do a Victor Meldrew impression, now would be the best time for it because I don't believe this, I'm ill again!

Nnnggg! I never usually get ill once, let alone twice! I've not long got shot of the last cold and I'm laid low by another one already! Aarrgghh! I hate being ill, it's just too fucking weak and I simply don't do weak, ever!! Sorry, I'll try and leave off the exclamation marks now but I really am quite very fucking damn well pissed off about this!!! (oops)

This particular episode of germ invasion appears to be confined to my upper respiratory tract so ok, maybe it isn't quite as bad as the chest infection but I still can't breathe through my nose and my brain is completely dead. (Insert major apologies *here* to all those that I've mailed, texted or im'd in error over the last 24 hours or so. I know you are legion and I'm really very sorry for listening to my blonde, snotty brain so please, stop. Fucking. Laughing. Now.)

Forget the skinny, happy women you see riding motorbikes in the nrt ads, since I packed up smoking I've just got fat and sick. Twice! Not to mention that getting laid is something that only happened when I was a heavy smoker but weighed lighter. Draw your own conclusions, beloved reader...

4 calls and an eavesdropper

It's not that I'm loud, it's just sometimes you can't help overhearing things. I was mid call when I joined the queue, as if hearing one side of a conversation isn't confusing enough the poor woman in front of me only heard the last knockings of that...

"No, you'll be fine as long as you really get the blood pumping and stretch the thighs and hips out first"

"Seriously babe, even I was nervous my first time. You'll feel great once you're into it, I promise.
You're plenty good enough, just let your personality out and no-one can fail to love you!"

"You won't! I tell you what; if things go badly then call me and I'll talk you through. It's more likely that you'll ring me after and tell me what fun you all had though. Ok now? Good - go get 'em! Bye, darlin' "


No sooner have I snapped the phone closed, it's ringing again. Our House by Madness tells me it's someone calling from home and I answer with

"Mummy has run off with the milkman. This is a recording"

'You never believe me! Try re-booting the box'

'Sweetheart, think about it. Why would Tony Blair block your MSN?'

"Tell him I said he's a poopoohead. I'll be home soon, stick the kettle on, eh? Love ya"


Two more people get served and the queue moves up as this plays to warn me that the ex husband wants to talk to me. My eyes roll but this one is short and sweet.

"Hi"

"Duke of Edinburgh"

"Sunday. As usual. Bye"


Two more people then it's my turn. I put the phone back in my bag and fiddle about retrieving the stuff I need when it starts singing at me again. A song that makes me smile even before I pick up this time

"Hello, you!"

"Mmm. Missing you but fine, you know me. Anyway sod all that, how's Hong Kong?"

"Er, yeah. I got confused looking at the time differences, I did email though"

"How much?! Who spends that much on champagne for Gods sake?! *laughing* Oh hell, it wasn't one of those bars that make you buy bottles -" (I was cut off fairly quickly by protestations of innocence at that point before continuing at my end)

"Well I have no sympathy but bloody well done for getting to work after all that. Chicago won't be as, er, social, will it? How long are you back for in between?"

"Damn, is that all? Never mind, we'll sort something out"

"Sainsburys. Yeah I know, it's just too glamorous being me! Bye, darling - thinking of you too"

The woman in front of me was called to a counter at last. She'd done well at being subtle up to that point but couldn't resist turning to get a proper look at me as she was served. When I thought about it afterI reckon I'd want to know who the hell talked such randomness in the Post Office at 4 in the afternoon too.

Mystical fuck

Yesterday I bought a fuck from a most lovely lady.

It was only a quid.

I appear to be too dim to put the picture in my sidebar and make that link to her so I shall do it here. Go spend a quid and buy her wares, she's utterly faberlicious.

Antiflora

Seems to me that more people are looking forward to Pancake day than St Valentines this month and this made me think... crikey, don't I know a lot of greedy old loners?!

Sad mates aside, it planted the seed of a business opportuity in my head, one to run alongside Fartsmelt Cards and further build my evil empire, muhaha etc.

It would be called Antiflora and the main business would consist of beautifully wrapped bunches of Japanese Knotweed and stinging nettles, prettily boxed helium balloons that, when released, burst and throw itching powder everywhere (because I'm having trouble sourcing balloons that can hold drawing pins and survive during transit) and fabulously packaged chocolates made entirely from laxative and sprinkled with crack for that 'more-ish' touch.

However, the most exciting aspect is looking for a delivery company for my extra special idea of T-hugs. These would look similar to the cute little teddies and rabbits you see but, rather than having words like 'hug' on their tummies, they'd be personally delivered with a smack in the gob and a card saying you'd been sent a T-hug on account of being a total fucktard!

This time next year I'll be a millionaire!


Anyone that would like to prove my personal cynicism wrong with gifts of flowers, chocolates or alcohol need only email for my address, obviously.

Lazy bitch

C&P from a mail I just sent

Just a quickie cos I'm exhausted tonight and plan to get to bed before
midnight. And I have nothing exciting to say, also :-) Roof man came
to fix my roof (from last weeks gales) just as I was about to get into
the shower, teaching tonight was tiring but fun, my tits ache like
hell cos I've not been taking my vitamins properly this month and I'm
having a haircut tomorrow but not sure what so I may well have a
drastic, spur of the moment change of image.

*deleted personal bit at the end*

I hope to resume normal service shortly.

Karma killer

You've been naughty. Very, very naughty.

I believe in karma insomuch as I try to 'do unto others as I would be done by' whilst not believing the source of that particular quote. I'm a basically nice person that doesn't do organised religion, I guess. I do have a sense of universal justice though, a deep seated feeling that everything balances out in the end; that things are, ultimately, fair. At least I do until I'm faced with scenarios such as this...

Innocent child born nearly three months prematurely and suffering traumatic physical effects including hip dislocation, brain bleeding and fitting which the med staff can't rule out being a life long condition. Parents, having 9 previous children between them and already estranged, unable to accept the responsibility and abandon said child in hospital at 6 weeks old, weighing 2lbs. Child farmed out to foster parents who then adopt her but find it hard to handle her learning disabilities/mental health issues as she grows into a young woman whose biological father insists on making himself and her, by now, 11 various flavours of sibling known to her.

Young woman becomes pregnant and has termination. Goes on to become pregnant again and has son who is then removed from her due to her inability to care for him. Goes on to marry and has a daughter who she's allowed to keep with extensive help from husband/in-laws. Husband leaves but returns for access to daughter and sex with young woman. Young woman becomes pregnant again. At 27 weeks, young woman is told her baby has died inside her and she'll have to go through labour and delivery. Appointment is made as soon as hospital can arrange it. The same day as her first sons birthday.

Some things just don't make sense.

ML, I owe you one

Two weeks,

424 cigarettes not smoked,

saving £87.60.

but eating way too many carbs.

424 thank you muchlies, my darling. If I've got the time difference right you ought to be reading this after dinner with the ex-pats so, bwahaha! Rather you than me! xx

Random thought...

...that hit me today (among other daft musings, obviously. I just felt this one merited outside input)

What's a womans equivalent of a cock-blocker?

Minge stinger?

Cunt stunter?

Fuck chucker?

Ladies, what do you call those people that keep you from shagging the bits off the current object of your lust? Guys, knowing your way with words I'm sure you can also contribute.

Rash behaviour

Day before Very Important Meeting:

Ensure all details have been emailed to the appropriate people.

Double check all travel arrangements.

Squeeze in a quick sunbed session in order not to look quite so deathly pale.

Spend enjoyable hour or so in bathroom with girly lotions and potions.

Retire to bed early(ish) instate of relaxed, refreshed anticipation.


Morning of Very Important Meeting:

Wake up early

Discover strange never-happened-before rash everywhere that de-fuzz cream has been.

Scream. Rant. Stamp feet.

Search for a fragrance that gives the right impression whilst covering smell of Efortyfuckingfive cream!

Say what?

I could say...

Tender breast of chicken, pan fried in selected herbs and served with a zucchini and pomodorino salad.

Or I could say...

That chicken that I defrosted yesterday, chucked on the hob with the least manky courgette and the three cherry tomatoes that haven't copped a mould yet. Oh, and some of them mixed herbs in a jar that No 1 Son laughs at me for using.

It's all in the words, you see?

That was me making lunch from my almost empty fridge. I really must do some food shopping.

(It was actually quite nice)

I'm a little manic today.

Well, it's difficult to be a big manic when you're only 5'2"

Cold Turkey

...it's not just for Boxing Day.

Today has been day 4 of my not ingesting nicotine in any form for the first time in 24 years. 24 out of 37 years. The vast majority of my life, ffs! That's simply crazy numbers, don't even start to think how much cash I've set light to.

I've quit before for varying lengths of time but always used nicotine replacement therapy and/or cheated and gone back to where I was. This time I simply decided I wasn't going to smoke the one cigarette I had in the house and, four full days later, I still haven't. It's up in the cupboard, along with one of my lighters. I haven't had any of the mood swings, the emotional aching, the chocolate obsessions, the mad cravings, the constant thoughts or the sheer hard work that my previous quits have brought me; in my mind I simply don't smoke anymore. Apparently, after 72 hours, my body is now free of nicotine so all I have to do is not put any more in it and restart the cycle.

Given this result, I'm going to try a similar tactic with another situation I have. A situation that would be ok - extremely beneficial, in fact - in moderation but, much like an alcoholic can't just have one drink, moderation appears to be impossible in this case and complete abstinence the only way forward for all concerned. No answering of any texts, mails or calls. No meeting for chats or drinks or dinners. Complete and utter cessation of communication until such time as... well, I don't know when, actually. Maybe forever. I know I'll never be able to be a 'social smoker' so maybe I ought to face up to the fact that I can't be 'just good friends' in this case.

Snot fair!

I have a stinking, rotten cold which has gone straight to my chest. Believe me, with a chest like this, infections are no laughing matter.

To keep you busy while I drown myself in warm fluids and eat little and often between pitiful sniffs, here's something I pinched from GSE.

Go stick your site in it and giggle. Now. Before I sneeze on you!

My aphrodisiac is you

Oysters are a standard aphrodisiac, maybe that's why London Transport thought everyone would get turned on to the card they want us to use instead of cash. I reckon more people would use it if they made sure there were people at their stations to fucking sell the thing! Three stations I drove round yesterday, just to find a shop opposite the last one that explained I had to give a £3 deposit for my own pay-as-you-go card. Eh? I wasn't planning on giving it back and going through this rigmarole again next time I need to go to London and have posh drinks so effectively TfL have charged me for using a system that they want me to use and where payg actually means topping up in advance so they have my money much longer in exchange for paying a semi-reasonable fare instead of the disgustingly high cash price. PigFuckingBastards, they know I'm broke!

And, breathe...

Luckily, the evening turned out to be well worth the hassle of the oyster card. And of getting lost in Covent Garden and hearing 'you have dialled an incorrect number' when I first tried calling to say I was lost and please rescue me then hearing 'you are through to ML's voicemail' the second time, stamping my foot like a petulant child and twisting my ankle a bit on the cobbles. I finally saw someone with a day-glo vest on which was written 'Lost? Ask me for help!' so I did and he was perfectly lovely and gave me a map and explained twice, v e r y s l o w l y for the dippy blonde how to get where I wanted and I gave him a few quid cos he was homeless and this was how he made his money and I thought that was a fabulous idea cos I never get time to read the Big Issue when I buy it.

So I got to the place and walk past it twice to find the door, stand in the foyer trying to figure out where to go and my phone rings and I can hear ML's voice in stereo cos he's calling from the bottom of the staircase directly in front of me so his first impression of me is me being a lost bint. Nice one, Ange. And him looking that damn gorgeous in a suit, too. He found us a table and got us a glass of wine and I did polite chit chat while he did his nervous Hugh Grant thing (so cute!) till I said 'do you mind if I smoke? He replied 'not at all, actually, can I pinch one? I don't smoke anymore but...' and that was it, I was creasing with laughter cos all ex smokers do that and, ice firmly broken we proceeded to smoke like chimneys, drink four bottles of wine between us and not bother with dinner cos we were comfy talking and laughing where we were before having the nicest goodnight snog I've had in many a year, texting all the way home and missing my station and having to get a cab back home.

I woke up today with the biggest hangover of all time and the distinct feeling that a camel had shit in my mouth which has led to me spontaneously deciding to quit smoking, cold turkey, which is making me slightly manic and restless and prone to run-on sentences as you may have noticed.

ML, you are a great big lump of funny, clever gorgeousness and we must do it again (without the fags)

Brown stuff and air circulatory machines

This afternoon I get a call that starts 'Hello Mrs Marshall, this is Mrs Blah from...' and immediately I launch into my guess which of three schools are phoning me game. I was wrong, it wasn't No 1 Son wanting to be brought home and nursed for his sore throat having soldiered through his exam by the power of paracetomol and strepsils, it was Babygirls teacher.

This confused me (not difficult, I know), Babygirl injures herself fairly regularly and I always get a call from the office lady, never the teacher herself. She's never naughty cos she loves school so wtf is going on? Teacher tells me that Babygirl is upset, she's found something very sensitive and didn't talk to me about it in case I got upset but talked to her friend about it, got overheard and is now sobbing cos the whole class know. I tell her I'm on my way and wonder what the hell is going on? Has she found the blog too? Part of me is livid, wondering if I have any fucking privacy at all and part is sick with worry cos I'd heard her crying in the background and she was obviously distressed. I don't know what went faster, my mind or my car.

I got her home and snuggled her up while she cried it all out. She hadn't found the blog, she'd found the newspaper clipping of step-fathers court appearance. I had to keep it to show my nice policelady (so she could kick someone's arse for not ticking a 'no newspaper reporting' box) but tucking it away in a 2004 diary obviously wasn't as foolproof as I thought it was because, apparently, it fell off the shelf as she was looking for a cd-rom. She'd read the name and was sure it was her grandad but she'd also read the rape charge and was understandably shocked and upset. She then told me that she'd showed Babyboy this morning to try and get confirmation that it was 'grandad' but he'd fobbed her off and that's why she talked to her friend and it all got out of hand.

I didn't think I could hate him more than I already did. I didn't think I had any more rage and hate in me. Not till I had to sit my 10 and 12 year old children down and talk to them about things that no kids of that age should have to think about did I discover that my capacity for hate is limitless and dangerous.

They went to bed tonight much more settled after our talk which, if nothing else (fucking hell, must I always find a silver bloody lining?!) allowed me to explain why I'm overprotective sometimes and why I argue with Babygirl about her clothing requests. And ended with them giggling when I said that if I so much as thought anyone was going to do anything similar to them I'd cut their bollocks off and make them eat them in meatball sauce.

There's always room for a little humour, little did they know that beneath the smile I was deadly fucking serious.

I need more men!

Well, Staffy does, anyway. He's organising a bloggers night on the tiles and so far the poor man will be all alone amongst a bunch of women!

C'mon boys, stand up and be counted. Us blogladies don't bite, you know. (Well, not unless you ask really nicely...)

Details are here

Mr Motivator

Boots say 'change one thing'

I say 'freshly shaved bollocks to that!'

This is a gift to single women everywhere (and single men, I couldn't possibly leave my Gay Best Friend or db out of the loop! Not that GBF is up-to-date on my life lately or even knows this is me cos the lovely great fairy (that runs the best abuse survivors website in the world) and his BF are giving me space to deal with the trials of the trial, bless their hearts)

*ahem* Anyway...

Do you need the ultimate, absolute, can't possibly fail way to stick to your diet and exercise plan this January? Of course you do, we all do! G'wan, g'wan, g'wan - stick your hand up there and be proud, we don't do shame on this blog!

Fret ye not dear, lucky people for, not only are you are not alone but, even better than that, I have the answer! The excesses of christmas will soon be banished (yes, even if your christmas celebratory intake of bloat-inducing carbohydrates and extra booze stretched from December 1st to 12th night like mine did!) and the jeans you were wearing last November will no longer mock you silently from the corner of the room cos they'll be too busy hugging your sexy ass!

This is the plan that works! Follow it correctly and you will see those 14-pounds-from-not-perfect-but-okay-about-myself magically drop from your tummy/hips/bingo wings and down the toilet. Girls, the bonus is that your boobs, if anything like mine, will stay the same! Mail me for my paypal addy if you feel the need to thank me (or comment, it's hardly a secret that I'm a word whore)


This, my single friends, is the only plan to follow. Believe me on this, Slimfast can kiss my rapidly shrinking arse.

1 - Start talking to a single of your preferred sex, preferably someone you already like as a person but, failing that? Any port is good enough in a storm. Chat by email only for best results. No live visuals are allowed under any circumstances. You may as well inhale Tate and Lyles. Smash up your webcam if needs be. You and your waistline are worth it.

2 - Wait till the general chat turns to sex (this really shouldn't take long unless you're hetero and have chosen to talk to someone gay or vice versa. If this is the case then return to step 1, quickly! Stop reading ffs, you're wasting precious time! Oh, and put that bloody pie down!)

3 - Realise that the only thing stopping you and your potential Best. Lover. Evah! making your joint fantasies real is your own shitty body image.

4 - Think of a not too distant but achievable date to have lost your preferred amount of weight.

5 - Arrange a date with email lover for that day and watch the pounds melt as you go crazy with anticipation (ably assisted by continued, regular non-live-visual contact).

See? Easy! Cock beats cake any day of the week! (In fact if you're really good you could reward yourself with some cake on his cock...)

Distractions

I've just discovered that the sink in my 'still new enough to make me smile as I clean it' kitchen doesn't have an overflow outlet. I discovered this because I got distracted by the contents of my freezer after I'd taken out what I wanted and felt the need to have an impromptu tidy up since my hands were already cold from finding tonights dinner.

I'm easily distracted at the best of times, my mind is always going a million miles an hour and looking for new things to think about. Lately tho it's worse than ever and causing me to become so ditzy that, when babygirl mentioned that she was going to ask me to settle a discussion last night, No 1 Son said 'don't bother, Mum's mental'.

I spent yesterday typing up a mates coursework. He sat next to me verbalising pages and pages of case studies and theoretical essays, I ran my fingers over the keyboard imagining them running over a nice pair of thighs, typed 'clit' instead of 'client', paused to look at the first three letters of 'cumulative' and 'dichotomy' before tearing myself away from the k key and generally squirmed in my chair. A lot. And that was before receiving an extremely hot text which made me blush and mate smile knowingly before continuing to talk about shifting perceptions. Or shifting positions, as I initially typed it.

Even this, relatively short, post has taken me an age; being distracted by an email in the midst of it. I should mop up the kitchen really, seeing as I'm wet in all senses of the word. I did start to but got distracted.

It may be slightly inconvenient in a practical sense but by gods thong it's good!

Cock a doodle don't

Dinner tonight, the usual conversation; how was everyone's day, how rubbish my cooking is, that sort of thing.

Me - Right, the next one that ribs me gets the washing up
No 1 Son - Oh yeah, mum. Can I borrow your rubber gloves?
Me - Blimey, are you washing up?
No 1 Son - No, I need them for the head of my cock
Babyboy/Babygirl - Spray, giggle, splutter
Me - For WHAT?!
No 1 Son - You know! [fans fingers on top of head] Oh, and something a giant would wear too. I've got two parts in that play.

The ex files

Behold, the men that made me the fussy bitch I am today!














Not really, I'm just more about pictures than words today.

Right, you orrible lot

NYE post is up but hiding behind David Ten-inch cos it took me so long to do (much like he would, gimme half a chance and a rohypnol supply)

Quick update cos no other bugger is blogging and I'm all out of interesting archives to read.

Can't remember if I told you P texted to say his mum was ill and he'd not be back till NYD at least? Whatever, I have now. I dropped a birthday card in his box (complete with suitably good wishes to his mother) so I could go to the party with a clear conscience about not texting back anything more than 'not to worry, hope you packed extra undies'.

Predicktably, (god, I'm so childish!) he's not been in touch since and I can't be arsed with trying to find out if his mother popped her aged clogs (thus gaining sympathy points as per FB's ABC) or if he's just gone off on a mental again. His conversation really isn't as good as his sexual technique or cooking and he did insist on bloody talking to me when we weren't shagging or eating or drunk. Which is great if you're funny or clever, or both. He's neither, really. I can't even use him for sex when he keeps disappearing. Honestly, the man is totally useless to me.

A had been on radio silence other than a generic reply to my generic christmas day text. The bastard! Generic texts are my thing! He did ask me on the 2nd when classes started again then called the next day because, shit-shock-horror, he needed me to cover his early class. I whinged and bitched about him only speaking to me when he wanted something which I don't class as good mate behaviour then agreed to do it. Stop shouting at me, joie! I know, I'm soft in the head. But I'm also going physically soft from minus exercising and plus stuffing my face for a fortnight so I needed the kick to get my fat arse moving again, see? I only did it cos the size 12 jeans are mocking me.

It did feel good to be teaching again, even tho I had to wear my 'fat' gi pants, and it felt even better that I stuck to my guns and came home without staying to help out with the late class. Extra assertiveness points for still leaving when the high grades turned up and asked what I'd be teaching them. Hah!

What else... no more pigs heads so we'll put that down to random bonkersness rather than a vendetta. Kids back at school and No 1 Son has a million exams between now and July so will have to fly to the south coast to join the ex-husband/my sis/her in-laws so he doesn't miss out on surfing (and I don't miss out on a few nights of no children in the house). I'm a bit nervous at trusting Ryanair with my firstborn but not nervous enough to drive 7 hours each way to get him there. Er, what else? Oh! I've been ill. Like, it's all I can do to lie on the sofa (with no music on!) and doze, ill. Like, man ill! Obviously, my having boobs meant I got over it as soon as the kids got home from school and needed someone to pick up the chinese for dinner. What a trooper I am.

Slight quandary ongoing - do I pay to rejoin a dating site that I complained viciously to and swore to bring down with the power of the internet (oh yeah, I never did do that did I?) just cos I've had a message from a nice, normal looking fella that put more than 'hi' in the title and seems lovely? I'm tempted to swallow my principles here, the only response I've had recently on the one I'm still a member of was from a slimy casino manager that I've dated once already! Add forgetful to his list of faults. Ick!

Anyway, answers in the comments (those of you not too busy having a life to blog for my amusement, that is.)