Friday, November 28, 2008

This Time 15 Years Ago

Boy couldn't sleep this morning and the squeak of the cupboard woke me up. Despite my life-long hatred of 6 am, I got up and sang Happy Birthday, much to his bemusement.

As I write this my clock says 06:49. This time 15 years ago I was exhausted and labouring to expel him from my body (too much information? it's my blog, I can over-share if I want to). I still have trouble believing that tiny, grizzling bundle is now this long and lanky teenager.

I still spend too much time worrying about him. The modern world is a scary place, but I trust he is learning to negotiate it well. More importantly, I still get unsolicited hugs. When we spend time together it tends to be relaxed and we laugh a lot.

I think my neighbour downstairs will be wanting to move out soon, I bought Boy an electric guitar including the amp and 'thank god' headphones. Boy is busy looking on-line for chords and it won't be long before 'My Dog Has Fleas' turns to 'We will Rock You'.

Will I live to regret it? Probably. Would I have it any other way? Nope.

Monday, November 24, 2008

House Guests

I think it's just the time of year, but I've had a house guest come to stay for the last few weeks, hadn't been around for quite some time, so I suppose a visit was overdue.

Oh yes, the Self-Pity Gnome had come back.

Woe, woe and thrice woe (in a very Frankie Howerd stylie).

I tell you, it got so bad, I went to work without make-up! That's how bad it was.

Honestly, anybody would think there was a death in the family, the way I carried on.

The good news is that my flat can't hold that many people and when Hottie popped by last Monday, she took one look at the Self-Pity Gnome and threatended it with a bottle. It scarpered, fearing for it's life. I tell you what, don't cross the woman, she'll have you for breakfast!

Since then, I've got in some serious pampering. Bought some new work clothes from BHS, I know, not terribly exciting, but I was pleased with my purchases. I've had my hair cut and coloured. I've got around to trying a YSL nailpolish given to me in my leaving bag from previous place of employment (and it's fabulous). Tomorrow, I have my emergency wax. Saturday, massage and facial. I know it's superficial stuff. But the difference it made to my wellbeing...actually, it just feels good.

I've also been to Salsa with Brown Eyed Girl and Boy came with me as well. It was as fabulous as promised; everyone was so friendly and welcoming. It was so good to get moving again. Definitely going to do more of that. Lots more.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


Further to my recent post on e-mail had me in stitches this morning.

The subject line read:

Make her grotto wet of pleasure.


I've never heard it called a 'grotto' before. And in such a grammatically awful way, as well.

Just shows you can learn amazing things from unexpected places.

Friday, November 07, 2008

The Excitement that is my What Life

It's Friday evening. I've come home from work, peeled off the work armour and am now lounging in comfy clothes. Boy and I had a brief, shouted discussion that went along the lines of:

"I'm off to hang out with my best friend. I think I'll spend the night. I've got my stuff. Bye!"

So it's just me and the cat. I think this calls for a Chinese takeaway and a large glass of naughtiness. I deserve it.

As part of my Sales and Marketing remit, I get to receive the joy that comes through the info@ e-mail address. You know how much I love spam. Generally speaking, I receive 91 e-mails a day from that address, and of those 3 will be work related. Picture me, clutching my coffee, tapping out 'I don't want your fake degree' or 'I don't care if you are a busty, blonde lonely Russian babe' in morse code on my [delete] key. Perhaps if I set it up right, I could play a tune on it. I get regular reminders from Nat West, Abbey National and HSBC to follow the link and update my financial information, despite the fact, these financial giants have yet to see the whites of my eyes. And of course, there is the endless stream of cheap drugs guaranteed to enlarge my member, keep it up and keep her satisfied.

I was deleting it, half asleep this morning when I stopped mid-stroke. I know about Viagra (only $1.25 per pill - bargain), but I hadn't a clue what Cialis, or Tramadol or Soma were. I texted my favourite drug dealer, Hottie and asked her what they were.

I freely admit I am fascinated by other peoples' sex lives. I'm glued to the Channel 4 documentaries about BDSM etc. and yes, I did use to watch Euro Trash in it's height of power. According to my boss, if there's a clump of pampas grass growing in the front of the property, the couple inside are swingers. Since he told me, I've not been able to look at the frothy fronds with a straight face. Tell me, is it true?

Anyway, according to Hottie, Tramadol is a heavy duty pain killer, she took an educated guess that Soma is likely to be a sleeping drug and didn't have a clue what Cialis might be for, they are US drugs and her bible doesn't cover them. I'm really quite 'vanilla' in my tastes, I don't do anything that requires an instruction manual, props or the services of an osteopath afterwards. And while I'm aware of the breadth of human sexuality, is it just me that finds the thought of a sex life between two consenting adults where Viagra, heavy duty painkillers and sleeping pills are required, slightly worrying?

Thursday, November 06, 2008

Happy Thursday

I haven't blogged since last week simply because I wanted to give people the chance to take part in the previous post.

It had nothing to do with my wild weekend with the Viking in the Fens. And absolutely nothing to do with the ghastly bug which inflicted itself upon me Monday and pretty much ruined this week.

However, I decided I would live to fight another day and I'm pretty pleased I did. Being poorly is no fun at all. This evening, I sit here in my jammies and pink, fluffy dressing gown, grinning like an idiot. A few weeks ago, I had to give the MR2 back. It needed to have some work done on it and the tax ran out (long story). So I've been driving The Director's other car - a SAAB. The Saab is incredibly comfortable, solid and rather light on it's feet. Unfortunately, as well as all the bells and whistles you could ever hope for, it is very thirsty. It does bugger all to the gallon and has a huge tank to fill.

This afternoon we finally got my act together and got the MR2 taxed . The Director is once again installed in his beloved Saab, and I am back in the MR2. Woo Hoo!

I realised as I was driving back in the darkness that is a Norfolk night, I am hopelessly in love with the MR2. It is not a comfortable car to drive. It has no power steering, no ABS brakes. It has the minimum of luxury in the interior, in fact, there really isn't much of an interior to have - it's two seats, steering wheel and dash - oh and a handbag hook behind each seat. It's quite a tiring car to drive. But I got in, started her up and grinned during the whole drive. The gear box is positive in it's delivery, and my goodness, when I rev the engine it growls and snarls. It sits on the road fairly steadily, but does have a tendancy to dance round corners if you're not careful. It's fun, with a capital 'F'.

The MR2 hasn't had a thrilled reception from all of my friends. One person suggested MR2 was French for 'shite', another was horrified that I could possibly call myself pagan while driving it. I'm assuming because it's a sports car - an ostentatious show of wealth and a planet destroyer. The fact that it's about 20 years old and goes forever on the smell of an oily rag, is neither here nor there.

What can I say? I just can't help myself. Despite it all, I love it to bits.

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