Sunday, July 13

*insert punny post title here*

Much as I love them, I just don't have the mental energy to think of a punny or alliterative title. I have also lost the ability to edit so I apologise for the nonsense that is this random, interrupted* stream of consciousness.

I often refer to my mother as an emotional vampire but I've come to realise that it's not just her, it's everyone that isn't me. My second most often thought phrase is 'for fucks sake, no matter how fat I get there's still not enough of me to go round!'. **

Babygirl has always been one of those 'look at me, mum!' kids. Despite, or maybe because of, being hailed a clever, beautiful princess at every given self esteem boosting chance she insists on having full attention whenever she feels the need. She will talk at me for hours on end, the only thing that stops her is my disagreeing with something important like a choice of shoes, or pointing out that her newest best friend is in fact a bit of a lowlife/chav/liar etc. This stops the talking but, as a downside, is guaranteed to bring on the 'oh my God how could you even say that, I'm so offended!' look, closely followed by the storming off and door slamming routine. We have good moments though; shopping for bras, my joy at her pride in becoming a woman, discussing suitable methods of depilation then sharing a tube of Veet for the first time, both of us giggling over how handsome we find David Tennant.

Babyboy is still on school report and, six weeks in to this latest episode, not improving his behaviour one little bit. Once again he was banned from the theme park trip with the rest of the school which kind of backfired as, in his own words, 'what do I have to lose?'. Eye-q came up during a dinner discussion and he mentioned that he'd take it properly this time as he now realised that it was expensive stuff to throw away whilst pretending to take it. We bought a bottle together.

It took four days for him to remember it was in the house and two reminders for him to take the second dose. I could ask him three times a day for twelve weeks whether he's taken it but I know from experience that this only creates conflict. You can't win with aspie types, they need the reminders but resent the provider.

It's not all bad though, when he comes to sit by me on the sofa and asks me to run my nails up and down his arm or through his lovely long, soft hair as we watch something that makes us both laugh out loud I forget that he has so many issues and just relish that, when he does occasionally choose to have physical contact of any sort, it's with me. Part of that me thinks he's just not cut out for formal learning settings. The more pragmatic part of me thinks the world won't change for him and he needs to learn coping strategies, fast. These parts of me bicker in between our golden moments of communication.

No 1 Son has completed his exams, attended his prom and continues to believe his destiny is to have the position of world dictator handed to him on a silver platter even though they don't provide that course at college. I've had to have a word with ex-husband and put a stop to the constant stream of money he provides, gently explaining that this tactic ultimately disempowers young people rather than ensures that they love you the most. Still, No 1 Son is finding his massive man-feet more than ever. Testosterone and know-it-all hormones are positively overflowing from his pores and he's morphed into what I can only term as a bone idle gobshite. One that wants to cycle to Wales and back, live nocturnally, be left alone when he feels like it but have full attention the instant he doesn't. Hard bloody work but again, there are beautiful, uplifting moments of privately shared jokes and reminders of myself and flashes of the boy that still needs his mum to be a mum no matter how bigger or stronger than her he grows to be.

I'm very aware that moments like these need to be relished, stored away in memory and relived during the more common, more testing times. Mostly because I'm convinced these moments are all that stop us being like animals and eating our young at the first opportunity.




* It's currently 1.12am. No 1 Son has just called me from his room, on his mobile, to ask me about a problem with his laptop. There really isn't a single minute of the day I'm not on duty.

** The first is 'leave me alone!'

Wednesday, July 9

Procrastinating pain?

No 1 Son has gone to bed.

Bing has gone to bed.

I'm two hours into a dose of paracetomol plus and a good way down a bottle of brandy.

The instruction leaflet didn't have proper, tested timing for my 800w microwave so I did some quick mental arithmetic and watched closely for signs of explosion.

I carefully carried the pot to where I had laid out a newspaper (bought specially as I read all my news online these days, darling)

Stirring the heated wax carefully with the special spatula that is not only ergonomical but has a section that says No! if the wax is too hot, I take a deep breath, embrace the task in hand (well, in leg actually, but you know what I mean), pull a cigarette from my pack and light it...

at the wrong end.


Is this a sign that I should go back to shaving?

Tuesday, July 8

Lady with a baby!

No, not me. Sudders.

Clare. Lovely, massively pregnant Clare Sudbery, who has a birthday tomorrow.

A birthday that will be overshadowed by her huuuge bump.

If you're feeling lovely please pop over to her and say something birthdayish. She'll love it.

I'm now about to wax my legs for the first time.

I apologise if my screams disturb readers in the north.

Dirty dog

I could start this two ways, so I will.

1 - I really do love my dog, but...

2 - Could've been worse; what if your dog...

I can only finish in one way, however. This being, the way of truth.

Dog saunters through the french doors as No 1 Son and I are watching a skyplussed Last King of Scotland and bickering over who is the true pack leader. Dog walks directly to me and licks my hand. I guffaw towards No 1 Son, relishing my imminent victory.

Dog turns around and arranges all 6 stones of herself to flomp at my feet. I loudly claim myself as pack leader and obvious canine favourite, my proclamations only interrupted as I realise...

...she's left a great big skidmark of shit down my right shin.

Gross - dog
Grosser - dog shit
Grossest - dog shit on human leg

Sunday, July 6

*screeeeeam*

That is all.

Wednesday, July 2

World, shut yer mouth



If you're a reader rather than a watcher (and I can so very understand that) the lyrics are:

Well you know I said I'd love you for all time.
Well sometimes I just can't believe you're mine.
But every now and then
I'm ready to say when
Oh, baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone.

Well in your arms is where I'll always stay
But something deep inside says not today
Well I'll be sitting here
working on this beer
Oh baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone.

I try so hard each day
to make things go away
there's nothing left to say for tonight

For a couple of days I won't be coming round
I'm going to go get lost, I think I might skip town
Now I don't mean to pout
but you plain wore me out
Oh baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone.

Oh, baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone
I tried dancing, I just want to go home
I know your cooking's great
But dinner will have to wait
Oh, baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone

Well I'm in a frazzled state
the party will have to wait
Oh, baby I love you, just leave me the fuck alone

Saturday, June 21

Reality TV

More4 - No child of mine

Film Four
- Girl, Interrupted

After viewing the safely vacant fluff that is Sex and the City, what the fuck possesses me to watch things that touch much closer to home?

I can't help but wonder...

when faced with happiness, do I covet the familiarity of my nightmares?

Tuesday, June 17

Come in number 39, your time is up

The day before I turned 9 - I realised the man my mother married wasn't the saviour he was made out to be.

The day before I turned 19 -
I met the man I would marry and have three children with in order to escape the man that was a monster.

The day before I turned 29 - I met the man I would leave my marriage for and, from then on, was made out to be a monster.

The day before I turned 39 - I'd had twelve hours solid sleep, safe in the knowledge that, finally, I had found the man I could trust not to be a monster, nor to make me one whenever I express an opinion.

The day before I turned 39 - I was a truly happy little fat florist.

The day before I turn 49 - Who knows? In the near four decades I've been around I've at least learned that nothing is impossible given enough wish and and a bit of will.

Well, apart from quitting fags and booze.

Bodgrum


Bing is taking me on holiday.

A million websites and discussions later we find somewhere that neither of us has been to*

A thousand review sites later we select a lovely 4 star, adults only hotel**

A hundred comparisons later we find a company that offers the combination of flight time/price/transfer we (or rather, I) want***

A minute later he declares an important meeting and leaves me his card to finalise the booking.

And I book the wrong date.





* No mean feat, he's done the bloody world thanks to the RAF.

** No kids, woot!

*** I know, he's paying to take me away and I'm being fussy. I didn't just dream this name up, ya know.

Monday, June 16

Nonsense and sensitivity

Thoughts and feelings fight through fingers to make sense and no-one wins. Non-sense is all there is...

How can those that I love most drive me so crazy with constant verbal input yet make me feel so desperately alone at the same time? Why can't everyone that I love just love each other and be nice?

39 is scarier than 40 because now it's approaching I realise I have to fit a shitload of stuff into a year in order to do/achieve/taste/find it before middle age becomes official.

Completing a 1.5 hour exam in 20 mins with a distinction means nothing when the woman that dropped out halfway through already has a job in the business and the one that's still there but already failed the course has three wedding bookings.

How dare a school make my children feel bad that I haven't sent in a "voluntary contribution" for the annual week of arts activities? One of those days is sports day for fucks sake! Even worse, they've disallowed Babyboy going on the trip to the theme park due to misbehaviour yet they still want £50 per child. They'll get a stiff letter containing thirty notes when I have it and every day they mention it to my kids that money goes down by a fiver.

Me at college and me at home are so different I'm really scared that my mind has finally split into two.

I miss karate. Not the obligations but the feelings and the physicality.

The thrill of shopping for holiday clothes is marred when you search eBay for tops that fit your bust size and find them advertised as suitable for TV's and cross-dressers.

Upstairs, right now, is a man and a dog that I love. They are both snoring enough to wake the dead. I'm looking out the window for zombies.

My dog attention seeks by stealing things that she knows she shouldn't have. Laundry, pens, electrical items, tea-towels, anything she can pick up with her teeth beneath your nose she gets, even though her sad eyes tell you she knows she'll be told off for it.

The humans around me attention seek by having ailments. Every day there is something else hurting, aching or sore and I have to hear about all of them. Fuck knows why, I'm the least sympathetic person in the world. I hear ailment and think weakness, the alarms go off and mentally I sprint far away from the wounded before I'm tainted with the germs of neediness. I already know it's contagious cos every fucker round me has it.

Those three little words...

Leave. Me. Alone.

Sunday, June 8

Blooky wook

Peach and the team have done it! You're not the only one is available now! Buy it!


(I'm in it but don't let that put you off cos so are a lot of really fabulous people like... well, just buy it will ya! Why are you still here anyway? Get thee to lulu bearing card details! Jeez!)

Sunday, June 1

Diying a death

My children laugh when I attempt to pass on DIY skills. They tell me they'll earn enough money to pay someone else to it rather than get dirty themselves.

The past three days have been spent drowning in Solvite whilst trying not to disturb the male members of my family during important TV programmes. I've been re-decorating my living room (lounge-diner, in estate agent speak). Throughout this period of indulging my artistic side I have been in a cycle of prossie washing before donning the same scruffy, paste and paint stained clothes for 18 hours then collapsing into fitful sleep filled with dreams of steaming off 40 years of wallcovering (including my layer of emulsion that freshened everything quickly upon moving in), awkwardly sited radiator pipes and prepping woodwork.

More than half an hour after 2am tonight I matched the last pattern round yet another non-true corner and trimmed the last edges against the freshly whitened ceiling and newly glossed skirting board. Then, finally, I looked at it as a whole and actually stopped being anal about the few little imperfections; I even allowed myself some pride in the result before having the very best and most earned shower of my entire life. And I had to wonder whether my children are right.

Next on la-la lounges - building my own fire surround because I want one that no-one else has got.

Thursday, May 29

Grown-up gripe

No, not the moan you'd expect from the title, just a quick question from a nearly 39yo woman with hideous hiccups...

Why isn't there gripe water for grown ups?

Wednesday, May 28

Another ad post

Not a chocolate penis to be seen today, just something that reinforced how badly ad-(wo)men can get it wrong sometimes.

No 1 Son is a typical hollow-legged teen and will eat anything - including your dinner if you don't lick it before he can nick it - so when I noticed the Shreddies box was still full on shopping day I was curious.

His answer to why he'd stopped inhaling his previous favourite between-meal food? When he'd stopped gagging...

"How can I enjoy something that makes me think of old ladies stinking of lavender and piss touching it!!"

Own goal, Nestle.

Tuesday, May 27

Bing-day

It's Bing's birthday. The gift I ordered for him didn't turn up on time due to my not factoring in bank holiday postal delays. I didn't buy a card in advance due to bank holiday lethargy. My first words to him this morning were 'move over before I elbow you in the face'.

I am a bad girlfriend.

I did, however, have babygirl put the Happy Birthday banners over the various samples of wallpaper stuck up with brown tape so I can test the shade against the varying light of the day. And I did take him out to a lovely resturant for pan-asian food tonight. And I did drive so he could drink. And I am letting him watch Battlestar Gallactica without so much as a teeny tiny piss-take.

Ok, maybe I'm not that bad a girlfriend. And he's certainly had worse wives...

Monday, May 26

Twisted ad men

Yeah, I missed posting yesterday. May I have a day off of May I? Of course I may, it was my stupid idea in the first place! (Personally I think this entry is definitely two, even three days worth of blogging being that it encompasses sex, satire and pop culture all in one post. Read three blogs in the tea-break? Not me, I use fussybitch!)

Anyway, on to the post...

Is it just me that thinks this looks like a chocolate penis?


Even viewed in context it's still extremely phallic (and circumsised so the merkins will love it as much as the brits), is it not?


Given that, does the fact that it then does this...


strike you as a bit, well, 'money shot'?

Ooh! Some more thoughts for you, in case you don't have your own...

Does it not make you curious as to why Cadbury's appear to have had ChiChi Larue direct adverts for their saleable-all-year-long variation on the Creme Egg?

And then, does it not make you wonder just who the ad creators were aiming at?

See the whole thing here. Hit pause at 00.25 and then at 00.26 to prove that I didn't photoshop the previous pictures. Or that I was sad/obsessed enough to not only notice this shit but blog it...

Saturday, May 24

The depps of politics

The pirates were robbed!

I truly believe that Russia split into 89 different separate countries simply to win Eurovision.

Our dustman's song sounded quite good. Till the other 23 were shown.

Still, I say again...

The pirates were robbed! He had a plastic sword and girls with their boobs hanging out and everything!

*sings*

Hii hii heee, hii hii hooo, we are the wolves of the sea! (translation courtesy of BBCi subtitles)

Friday, May 23

Oops

I was planning to post a review of Dazza's cd

but I eated it.

So bite me.

Thursday, May 22

Ken Dodd's dad's dogs died

I never realised how close I'd allowed myself to get to the mate that sits next to me at college till she texted to say she'd be coming in late due to her kids being upset over their dog being put to sleep the day before.

As we've had two intense days of written tests and assessments, in silence and at different to normal stations, I've hardly spoken to her.

I mailed her tonight to finally express my condolences. And tell her that I miss her.

I like my mate, a lot. I like more that I can finally give a shit about someone without feeling that I've sacrificed myself to do so.

RIP, Tazzy

Wednesday, May 21

Suggestion box

Continuing my fluttering of de-cluttering, I finally finished sorting through every piece of music I own. Anything I still wish to own has been ripped to the family server. If that hdd ever dies, I'm screwed. Anyway...

All the original cds are going to my favourite charity shop. The cases from the, er, non-original cds are going to be freecycled. One man's rubbish and all that.

So, given my penchant for keeping any reusable items out of landfill thus saving the earth in my own little way; what the fuck can I do with a 100 strong pile of shiny discs with pirated material on them?

I'm thinking something artistic and creative.

Suggestions?