Domestic Goddess

My new windows look so nice I decided I couldn't possibly put my voiles back up without ironing them.

I've just ironed net fucking curtains. I am my mother.

Shoot. Me. Now.

Rat pack, Robbie, ranting and Riding Harleys...

Well, wasn't that a busy Saturday. I didn't even watch Casualty! (To put that into context, Casualty is the one time a week I get to sit on the sofa snuggling with Babyboy. He has a touch of autism/aspergers (I can't say for sure cos my local health bods refuse to officially diagnose this stuff being that it costs the education bods more money in school assistance and all the local authority bods are in bed together blah bastards blah) so Casualty is the one time he will actually enjoy me touching/cuddling him, albeit conditional upon my tracing my fingers along his arm or face or wherever he currently chooses to be reminded of the way I used to put him to sleep as a baby. Plus, we compete to diagnose the diseases people are admitted with and I always win and then we laugh and say 'I should be a bloody doctor, me'.

Anyway, daytime was spent with two gorgeous young men in my bedroom. Of course, once they'd replaced the window in there they moved on to the other rooms upstairs but damn, it was good while it lasted! T and A (bwahaha! I just realised T and A are their actual initials, I'm so going to rib them about that!) are lovely, mid-twenties guys who work for my landlord and I know them from having my kitchen refitted so it was good to have them back doing my new windows. If I went for younger guys I'd flirt like mad but as it is we just have a giggle together playing 'name that tune' and the nicest hugs as they come and go. Babygirl was put in charge of making tea for the workers as I ran in and out of the house doing errands and stuff between oohing and ahhing at the new windows and praising the skills involved in fitting them. Harley had called a few times too, he was working and calling between jobs then texting from the pub when he'd finished to tell me how gutted he was that I was busy that evening.

Earlier in the week when he was texting and calling all the time, Harley had mentioned that his laptop was falling over a lot and I'd said I could fix that easy cos that's the sort of thing I do for my mates. Somehow, I wound up saying that I'd pick it up after I'd been out with sis for her birthday celebration so I could sort it out on Sunday while he was driving halfway up the country to see his daughter and have it dealt with by the time he got back. We exchanged a few texts, mostly him lamenting that I couldn't join him in the pub during the early evening or before I left for my night out and left it that I'd call him if I got lost.

Went off to the school thing and got moderately pissed off once more at sis telling me the event started much earlier than it actually did so that I didn't turn up late. Now, I freely admit that I was guilty of being late for a while but actually, her sis-in-laws are the ones most likely to keep everyone waiting nowadays and have been for at least three fucking years but no-one treats them like unreliable imbeciles and lies to them about starting times, do they? It really fucking winds me up, even more so on the evenings when I'm the cunt doing the driving cos I have the seven seater or I'm too broke to piss it up. Nnnggg! Fuckshitbollockywankers!

Anyway, guy on stage does a reasonable show with an hour of singlalongaratpack numbers then a change of clothes while the PTA bod drew the raffle so he could come out singing Robbie Williams sings and pretend the pissed up mums were lusting after him rather than his carefully aped moves and outfit. It was a bring your own drinks and nibbles type night so there were a lot of 'Oh look, I've had two plastic wine glasses of fizz and I'm sooooo drunk!' Essex mums about to fuel his fantasies.

That done, I leave to collect Harley's laptop. I even manage not to get lost on the way and only have to call him when I'm in his road but can't find his door. I'm not as dim as that made me sound, his door is on the side of his house! We laugh cos he can see me but I can't see him then he tells me he's feeling nervous now so may not be brave enough to answer the door. I remind him we've been talking all week and I'm here to collect a sick laptop with no intention of jumping him and we're still giggling as he opens the door and I put my phone in my bag. I have my boots on but he's still head and shoulders above me so I stand on the first step and we kiss hello.

He points out some things he'd told me about during the week then goes to get some drinks as I assess what crap he has on his hdd and start running some anti-lurgy stuff. He sits next to me, we're bantering and I playfully tell him off for the problems I'm already finding so he kisses me to shut me up, his massive hands start wandering and... well, I still have the bruises, let's put it that way. God, I love the experience that older men have! And he was a talker too, a lovely mix of filth and compliments at just the right moments. Pretty damn perfect for me.

I didn't take the laptop home, he said he wanted me to keep making home visits and string it out as long as possible. Thinking about it now he'd have to be a bit dim to let a strange woman go off with a £1500 piece of kit considering he doesn't even know for sure where I live!

Contact has been decidedly less frequent since he texted me on Sunday evening, not sure if that's cos I told him Monday and Tuesday are my manic teaching/training days or he's done that aquarian thing of just not talking anymore. I'm not chasing him, either way. At the moment I know he's finding his laptop worse cos one of the progs I put on keeps giving him pop up warnings that he doesn't understand so I guess if he wants me to complete sorting it I'll hear from him, other than that it was certainly an experience!

100

I can't get my head together enough to do a song (or should that be I can't let it go enough, being sober!) so have a pic of my tattoo instead. I don't post many pictures so it's a bit different.

A (currently unknown) prize to whoever can correctly guess where on my body it is located...



Terms and conditions apply. Calls may be monitored for security and training purposes. Your home may be at risk if you hit it with a bulldozer.

Nuts

A turned up early to help me and bought me a box of mixed nuts on Monday which was unusually thoughtful of him (even though I suspect they were left over from christmas). REturning the favour I stayed and taught the late class with him and had a good laugh. At one point somone said nuts and we both launched into singing 'oh hazlenuts, ooh! Cadburys take 'em and they cover them in chocolate!' from the very old advert. It's weird spending time with him and that kind of chemistry still being there even though we both know things wouldn't work between us. If he was gay it would make perfect sense, we're the Will and Grace of martial arts.

Tuesday I finally had some time to myself as the last of the kids schools re-opened. I really do love my kids but 12 days of having them around me all the time was not helping my mental state. Training on tues evening was knackering in a whole new way. I can breathe easier which is great for stamina but means extra work for the muscles as I'm going for longer. The extra weight is really playing havoc with my balance and stuff too which completely dischuffs me. Not to mention the brain fuzz which makes me forget patterns in kata or, worse, the most basic move - getting out of the bloody way when a fist comes towards your face! Very ouchy moment.

Got home to find a dating site message from a bloke I'd chatted to by mail but put off cos I was backing off of dating and he was going away for a while anyway. He was just back from Canada and wanted to see if I was still available, we got chatting and before I knew it it was 4am and we were still laughing (on the phone by now). He's very different from my usual type - works with his hands, stands 6'4" and looks like he rides a Harley (which he does, I can't wait to have a go on the back of that!) but I've never been one to say never. One thing I find strange is that he's another aquarian! A is aquarian, as is P and so was J (five year part time, long distance man) I'm a magnet for water carrying blokes.

Weds was quite good even though I felt dead from lack of sleep cos I didn't have the black eye I was expecting and my upgraded mobile phone turned up (that's going straight away - I need the cash!) Harley texted me early to say hi* and let me know he'd got up late and carried on texting and calling all day till I had to admit that I'd double booked myself for Saturday night so couldn't do our date. Told you I was being ditzy lately. It's wait and see at the moment whether we meet up on Friday or Sunday, he's not stopped texting/calling me in the meantime and we're getting on great so let's just hope it works as well in meatspace.

Amongst all this I've been teaching myself html and I'm looking to learn css once I'm more confident. Thanks for the metaphorical arse kick, lc; you were absolutely right and it's not as difficult as my mental block had me believing all those years! I've not learnt anything proper since I chucked my psychology course in last year and I'd forgotten how buzzy I get when I have new information to play with.

Next post is the 100th, watch this space for something totally, er, unspectacular.


* As lovely as it is to be thought of, why do they do that? I don't open my eyes of a morning and immediately think Oooh I know, I'll text someone! I think Give. Me. Coffee! Having said that I don't wake up with a hard on so maybe I've just answered my own question...)

Turn of the century

Mostly live but not from Norwich. Oops, wrong century reference.

Anyway. My 100th post is very close and I am bored feel I should do something other than blather. What d'ya want then? A recipe? A song?

Suggest away, commenters and lurkers alike (aka validate me you bastards I'm having a wobbly!) cos I can only have ideas by the half of late.

Ten queue mush lee.

Time marches

Well, sometimes it does anyway. Sometimes it races, usually when an appointment is fast approaching and the traffic jam just isn't moving. On occasion it pootles along at just the right pace. Each minute lasting a perfect sixty seconds, sixty of those making up the comfortable passing of an hour, weeks being a good 7 days worth of time.

And then there are the times that it drags. No, not drags, creeps. Creeps, wheezing with the effort of moving at all, hauling it's bloated arse slower than a geriatric snail with a mogadon habit and stopping every now and then to flip you the finger.

Last July we had our first contact with the police. In a fortnights time we find out whether we have to testify at a full trial or not.

These are going to be 14 very non-marching days till that day in March.

Remind meme

To explain this

I was hungry when I found you
but I'm alright now.

Doin' the big 'uns

One of the side effects of having a shorter than usual attention span is that I lost my ability to read the blogs of people that have a lot to say. Anything more than short, pithy entries that don't ask too much of my left brainicle just haven't had a look in but I've made myself catch up on some today and I'm a happier bitch for doing so. Today I did some thinking as well as some feeling.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the real challenge: I'm off to catch up on joie's life.

I may be some time...

Curiouser and curiouser

What a strange place I'm in, said Angie.

I went to Sainsburys, they're having a bloody raid! Lots of orange-clad minions running out of the store as I toddle in and a really annoying alarm going off, er, alarmingly. In the midst of all those people careering the other way I suddenly felt very, very short. Still, cadburys was on special offer so I didn't just scratch and sniff, I purchased (along with a bag of salad. Well, I felt bad after making such a stupid face at it).

And then, as I sit with eight squares of chocolate and a coffee, mentally preparing to read a whole blog post in one go without getting distracted, what happens?

A white horse goes past my car (er, the car that's parked outside my window). Without a rider. And it takes ages of me staring with my gob open for the carriage type thing that was attached to it to make an appearance so for thirty very long seconds I really did think I'd lost it and gone totally and utterly not right in the nut.

No fag, all hag.

Apparently I've been smober (what kind of shitty made-up word is that!?) for
One month, 4 hours, 35 minutes and 44 seconds

With
935 cigarettes not smoked, saving £193.23

Oh, and
Life saved: 3 days, 5 hours, 55 minutes

Go me, yeah? Er, no. Right now I would kill for a fag.

Eh? Who would I kill?

Oh. Not thought about that bit.

Anyway, fuck off. What I mean is I feel a bit strongly which is quite absolutely silly cos it's been fairly okay, for the month up to now, as cravings go. (Don't talk to me about the weight gain though, I've eaten so much green veg and salad it's a wonder I'm not shitting rabbit pellets but have I lost weight? Have I arseholes, I've gained so much I now have my own postcode.)

My various, previously patch assisted quits gave me much more day-to-day trouble than this one has and never felt as permanent (which they weren't, obviously and hence, piss off, etc.) I remember without the least fondness the hours upon hours I spent crying out from some deep, dark place of angst and longing; reaching out with desperate fingers that were just short of the length needed to scratch the itch I felt in the depths of my very soul. Even the phrase 'scratch the itch' doesn't quite express the pain; this really was athletes foot of the psyche. Something like 'mercilessly rip the scab away, exposing the layers under the dermis and setting the blood flowing freely' might come close, I guess. Babies crawling across ceilings would have been a welcome respite from the mad, freaky dreams I had so even sleep didn't help when it came.

This has been nothing like that, on the whole. I am now that fabled person you hear of that smoked thirty a day for 24 years then just woke up one day and never smoked again. I'm an urban legend come to fat, whingey life, I tell you.

Oh for fucks fucking sake. I have some music I really like and felt like playing at the moment, sent to me by ML who can only communicate, musically, in iPod language. I'm obviously the last person in the world that speaks mpfucking3 and I can't find the thingy to convert it. That's the other thing, I've gone all ditzy and brainless since I quit. Or that may be cos the kids have been off school for a week. Or both. Either way I can't focus on a task to completion, repeat myself a lot, can't write a shopping list let alone fiction or a blog, forget things even more than usual and repeat... yeah ok, shit joke and I won't go there.

Ick. Right, time for an Angieplan.

1 - Get dressed (Noooooooo! It's sunday!)
2 - Stop moaning and get dressed.
3 - Find some cash, remember how to drive.
4 - Stop in salad section of Sainsburys to blow loud raspberries and stick fingers up at anything green.
5 - Go to chocolate aisle. Inhale.
6 - Return home. Blow nose on size 12 jeans.
7 - Make gym plan for next week when kids are back at school.

Lambent, if you say 'have a fag' I'll hunt you down and fuck you to death. Oh, and I've lost the url of that Mr P bloke, mail me it please you sexy beast? Mwah. Good lad, you know I love you really.

Real romance

...is reading the words 'you sort the dates out and I'll finance it' and knowing they are as true at that moment as they have been every other time you've read them over the past eight years.

Knowing that when this person says 'I'd fuck you no matter what, we're more than just that', he absolutely means it and, as a bonus, is so sexily confident in his knowledge that you feel the same way.

Knowing that it takes something special to still feel this way eight years and various lovers (each) after the one and only night you ever spent together. A night that involved an inflatable rucksack, a couple of rushed drinks, a four poster bed and a McDonalds milkshake.

Now that's romantic.

I have the dates. This time I won't just think about it, I'll book the flight.

Valentines hard

I loved you so hard.

Yes I still have all the lilac cards but please don't think it's because I can't bring myself to throw them away. It's practical. I've not changed the colour scheme in the bedroom so they still blend as well you knew they would each time you bought one, wrote a line or a word in, posted them halfway down the country. I only keep them until I find something else that will fill the gap, meet my aesthetic standards. You may have been right, it may be that it's all about my standards. Just, may. I haven't stopped fighting yet. I'm not fucking dead yet. Not outside.

I did love you but it was so hard.

And you've done it again. You're nowhere near but I'm only nerves and emotions and words tripping over one another to be expressed, no, exorcised and my mind is screaming, screaming to be heard but my voice is that of a smothered little girl and my fingers can hardly find the letters I need on the keyboard but it's important they do because I know you'll read even if you never actually hear the desperate typing.

I wanted so hard to love you.

Opposites attract. (Poles apart)
Age doesn't matter. (A man that 13yrs my senior shouldn't drain me like another young child)
Deeply sensitive. (A weak dropout that has financially enabling parents to angst over)
The best lover I ever had. (When did it become all about your acceptance/rejection/extreme submissive tendencies?)
You are a beautifully diverse woman. (Hang on while I name which of your multiple bonkers personalities I'm dealing with right now)
I love watching your intelligence at work. (Scoring as highly as that you're too good to study, jack it in)
Dump your whole family, you only need me. (We have to show willing with my lot, they send large cheques)
Leonard Cohen. (Elizabethan Lute playing girlie?!)

I think I'm done, I think I've exorcised all the words now. Not that you'll read them cos this is somewhere you don't know, my place, not mail or text to your places but that's okay, this was about me, not you. You'll laugh at that, feel hard done by. Not to worry. For all the clever words you hurt me with, for all the people I love and you used to get to me at various 5am's, for all the long, tormenting nights, this is my answer.

I'd rather be a) utterly, desolately lonely, than b) be with you.

But I'd really like a c) choice.

If today is your birthday...

You're one of two rather delicious blokes I know of...


The energies on the day of your birth will lift you high and give you a strong desire for material acquisition. There is certain success for you particularly if you conduct yourself with integrity and high ethical standards. Though there may be some disappointments and setbacks try to take the advice of people more experienced, older members of your society and family as usually the advice they have to offer you can be taken and used to your advantage.

The number 13 has always been considered a mysterious number, a number of upheaval and transformation and it is said that if you can understand the vibration you are given great power and dominion over other people.

Seeing as one of the blokes I mentioned is tied up somewhere fighting demons, I must mean you, Midnight Meandering! Happy birthday, babe!

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