Time for an Angieplan

I'm sitting here at twenty past late on a school night totally, completely and utterly alone. And, not only that...


Sorry, gimme a second, would ya?

...this is just the first of eight nights/seven days of it! Absolute Angieness. No sis on the phone for validation/marriage counselling, no ex-husband ringing or texting for spurious reasons and nobody to make me cringe when they call 'Muu-uum' as two, really whiny syllables. Just me, myself and I, unless I choose otherwise, for a whole fucking week! Oh yes, let joy be unconfined, let loose her stays and air them puppies!

Strangely enough (or not, if you've read anything about my weirdly dysfunctional family) this has come about due to my sister's ongoing bond with my ex-husband. Eight years post-divorce, he still manages to charm everyone but me into wondering how on earth I could be so fussy as to leave and devastate such a funny, warm, caring, loving man. I'm not about to justify myself here or anywhere else, I could and I did and that's all that matters. So there.

Anyway, brother-in-law loves surfing to the extent that he's done a week in the same place in Cornwall twice a year with his fire brigade mates for over a decade come strike, birthday or overdraft. When he and sis (the pisces water-baby that she is) got together he added a third week, this time as a fragmented, second family type group.

Her lads loved it, as did she. Over the years the group grew to include his parents, his sister (who lives next door to them) and her family until a conversation at christmas led to them inviting my ex to bring our children. There was a small amount of 'you two get on ok, why don't you come too, Ange?' until my look of doom was noticed and they hastily continued with plan A.

So I get to have a plan A too, an Angieplan.

1 - Tonight, a fresh bottle of brandy and the knowledge that I can sleep as deeply as I want and lie in tomorrow. Nice start. Blissful, in fact.

2 - Immaculate* my house knowing it will stay like it! Well, only until they come back with their washing and half a beach in their cases but still, it'll be lovely to return from training tonight and not feel like I've walked into a disaster area.


3 - Join my lovely mate Vi for the traditional village festival of 'ladies wot lunch'. This quaint, weekly custom involves the women of Blah gathering to line their stomachs with a little local food before proceeding to drink the pubs dry till they fall over. Never one to miss a chance to celebrate my femininity, I'll be getting up early enough to be there by midday.

4 - Involves me getting brave enough to venture into the loft even though it freaks me out and has a birds nest somewhere so I can put a load of gear on eBay and make some cash. This may or may not happen.

5 - Tidy the garden gym, reclaim my freeweights from under No 1 Son's bed and get back onto a proper exercise regime outside of karate. This weight gain is getting ridiculous, to the point I'm actually considering a visit to the GP for a thyroid function test. Or a stomach staple.

6 - Properly learn the two kata I need for black belt. I can muddle through them but that's not good enough for me and although the test is a way off yet I like to be prepared.

7 - Make an effort to talk to people who message me on my dating site before dismissing them because of spelling errors or facile opening lines. Even if they are mostly in their twenties.



* I know it's not a verb but I like saying it like that, so there.

Pimping my ass!

Big Blogger does ask some weird things of his blogmates but, me being me, I'll do anything to win this bloody thing! Yep, even pimping my ass...



I'm too skint for bribery so I'm going for humour and emotional manipulation...

If you really loved me you'd get over there and vote (er, for me!) then mail all your friends and tell them to do it too!

Unclenched

My jaw, that is.

The frustration so eloquently conveyed on my previous post was due to a combination of straws, most of which are far too tedious to blog in full but weighed the camel down anyway. In short then,

Temporary pink hair colour becomes permanent when it sweats/rubs off on a white gi top.

Biting your own tongue really, really hurts.

As does tripping head first up your own stairs. Sober.

Jobs that seem perfect when you apply will prove not to be when the full specs arrive revealing not only the true hours but also the small fact of a weeks training in deepest Cornwall.

The less money you have, the more letters from school you receive asking for 'voluntary contributions' to educate your children in new and inventive ways.

Schools don't like it when you take your children out for holidays during term time. Especially if that term time is the 'arts week' they want me to pay £45 for.

Bitten hard enough, a tongue can remain tho thwollen it can affect thpeech for a good three dayth or tho.

Sisters are lovely but listening to her latest crisis for the umpteenth year in a row gets very, very boring. Especially all through your birthday lunch 'treat'.

The thought of belated birthday drinks with the girls is hard to look forward to given that sister's MO when mixing angst with alcohol is to have an emotional meltdown while I organise glasses of water to be brought to the ladies and listen to the woe. Again.



Unclenching began friday lunchtime when, with my tongue finally back to normal size, I joined sis for a haircut and made very clear what I wanted for my head. And my hair. My favourite stylist worked scissory magic then later, sis controlled her alcohol intake so I didn't have to hold her new do back while she threw up.

The pub was banged out but good natured and giggly with a great band and the restaurant was busy and fun. I didn't even mind getting laughed at for ordering my fairy-gobbed combination of chicken korma and a kingfisher (jug of water on the side, please).

Nnnnng!

fuck
shit
cuntyarsedballs
withwankers
and
and
and
bollocksweat
on top!



Sorry if your rss got excited for nothing. Not my best post, I know.

I do feel slightly better having said it though.

Too good to be true?

Yes.

Despite my initial joyful thought, this has nothing to do with eating copious amounts of free chocolate.

Knickers. Back to looking for a proper job...

Awww, pussycat!

Not just because he came first...

...do I call him No 1 Son. Knowing how much I wanted this fantastic book, he ordered me a limited edition, signed and numbered, pre-release copy. Then refused to let me open it until my actual, after-release, birthday. Wherever did he learn to be so stubborn in the face of prolonged, pathetic pleadings?!

We've had a rocky time lately, he and I. GCSEs aren't easy (especially if you're bright and have more than most of your cohort) and neither are adolescent lads, (especially when their single mums are a bit flaky due to sending their grand... oh, you know it all by now).

So, when came home from work on Saturday carrying these, well.

I didn't think I'd ever stop hugging him.

Sadly, neither my flower arranging nor my photography can do them justice.







ps

It's tomorrow. Just, ya know, in case you were interested, like...

Much as I pride myself on my general knowledge

I guess my assumption that it was Ricky proves my Pub Quiz speciality is, in fact, popular culture.

Cancer, my arse!

A friend in need

I see a million thoughts run through his mind as he runs a hand through his hair. Such a cute habit. He's self conscious of it but I love it; intrinsically him, it's a totally natural gesture and shows off hair that only looks better for a little mussing up. Sensing my gaze he looks at me across the pillows and I ask, yet again, if he's ok. A smile, a kiss, a light squeeze from the hand resting on my inner thigh is answer enough but a verbal affirmation comes soon after.

Champagne finished we are drawn back to the pub, the cool shower before departure continues the skin tingling that began much earlier that evening, the spitting rain during the walk dampens my bedhead but it can't take the flush from my cheeks or the fullness from my lips. The brightened eyes and glowing skin of a satisfied woman, so often badly replicated with cosmetics, seem to have settled upon me tenfold and refuse to shift.

At the bar I catch appreciative smiles from men and want to answer the quizzical glances from carefully made-up beauties, tell them this isn't a look that can be bought, at least, not with cash. It's paid for through decades prior then gifted to you by a special friend just when you need it most.

We find a table, my special friend and I. Talk, touch hands, laugh, confirm each other, constantly reassuring and thanking, hash out the new rules of our relationship. The sexual tension between us finally released at just the right time, a time I most needed a friend to help me over the final hurdle of recent times, a time he most needed to be that friend.

What we were will never be again, what we will become is separate but together, supportive of each others paths mostly from a distance. Trusted confidantes swapping music and mental madnesses with no fear of our daily lives being affected by the truths in our heads.

A friend indeed.

You know who you are...

Gram flour through my letterbox and a phone holder that actually fits my gorgeous hot pink V3 and my car vents. Ta, darlin'! Hope Brum was all you wished for and more...

Finally admitting that something has to give cos you're letting people down (er, mostly me) and actually growing the marbles to do something about it. Thank fuck and thank you, at last! Beautiful man, I really, truly hope this is the start of you prioritising properly forever but, whatever; I'll always be your silly, daft friend that loves you and wishes she wasn't quite so fussy and could have 'settled'.

Receiving drunken uh-oh-Ange-is-in-la-la-land ramblings at twenty past stupid in the morning, whether by mail or text, and not hating me. My most blushing thanks.

More specifically, those (well that one, if I'm honest) that was subjected to drunken ramblings that weren't born of worry or concern for fellow females but were merely mad, mind purging type shite chucked towards someone that I felt very, extremely, connected to at that very moment for reasons that absolutely aren't your fault and I'll try really hard to control if I ever feel them again cos I'm just not worthy and all that...

I. Am. Most. Truly. Bloody. Sorry. I was just... feeling. Thinking didn't come into it.

Which was nice... so thank you, again.

On reflection

Watching The Butterfly Effect after the last couple of weeks but, more specifically, watching it the day I read the newspaper report that quoted the child that I was, probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

Silver lining: at least I finally found something to trigger me into a short but much appreciated mental orgasm.

*tops up glass and nips off to do silly songwriting for Big Blogger while Snow Patrol are on telly*

Sex objects

You may not know this but a lot of non-living objects are actually either male or female. S'troo I tell ya! Some examples...



FREEZER BAGS: They are male, because they hold everything in, but you can see right through them.

PHOTOCOPIERS: These are female, because once turned off, it takes a while to warm them up again.

They are an effective reproductive device if the right buttons are pushed, but can also wreak havoc if you push the wrong buttons.

TYRES: Tyres are male, because they go bald easily and are often over inflated.

HOT AIR BALLOONS: Also a male object, because to get them to go anywhere, you have to light a fire under their arse.

SPONGES: These are female, because they are soft, squeezable and retain water.

WEB PAGES: Female, because they're constantly being looked at and frequently getting hit on.

TRAINS: Definitely male, because they always use the same old lines for picking up people.

EGG TIMERS: Egg timers are female because, over time, all the weight shifts to the bottom.

HAMMERS: Male, because in the last 5000 years, they've hardly changed at all, and are occasionally handy to have around.

THE REMOTE CONTROL: Female. Ha! You probably thought it would be male, but consider this: It easily gives a man pleasure, he'd be lost without it, and while he doesn't always know which buttons to push, he just keeps trying.

Dippy day

Kids back to school, mobile on silent, landline unplugged.

Computer, paper, pencils, garden chair, sunshine, music.

Nothing to do and a good few hours to do it in.

Ber-liss.

Inner child is scribbling silly pictures for Big Blogger, inner adult is having a day off of life. Training tonight but they're all celebrating tourny wins so I'll get away with being daft.

Ber-lissful, I tell ya.

The sparra has landed

Wayhey! I got picked out of the mighty sombrero of Timbo to get into Big Blogger 2007 and have, finally, completed the first task and posted my entrance.

It's grand, my entrance. And there's trifle and what may or not be cherries and some funny people and some clever people. And me. Get over and have a look!