Another Day, Another Emotional Crisis

Firstly, apologies to all of you (real and virtual) who got worried about me following the previous post. And a big merci beacoup to Jellie for the uplifting 'we're all in the shit together' emails...

I am fine, honestly.

Even so, I'm not in much of a talking mood.

I used to be so 'seize the moment and to hell with tomorrow'. I don't know when I started worrying so goddamn much! It's exhausting and boring and is giving me premature wrinkles.

Ignore me, I'm grumpy. Actually no, send me more good emails! Those cheered me up no end...

Big love, Mookmoo xx

Running on Empty

I am in serious danger of just giving up. I am so tired of fighting everyone and everything for the right to have a happy life.

I am feeling so ground down by the demands of everybody and every company and every goddamn thing, that I am finally, after 3 years, close to the point of surrender. There is only so many times that you can get kicked while on the floor and still try and get up again with a smile.

If the universe has decided that on the day He and I got together, our lives would be cursed for everafter (and god knows it looks that way) then maybe we should just give up. Maybe I should just do what this girl has always done best and get the hell out of Dodge.

It's just that every time I've run away before, and that's been a lot of times, I've never really regretted any of the things I was leaving behind me.

Oh God, I don't know. Maybe He'd be so much better off without me that it wouldn't even hurt Him too much once He realised that.

But in the end, however much I probably should go, I don't think I can. I think I have to stay here and just keep getting beaten and kicked by fate, and live with the guilt that I'm responsible for Him getting kicked too because I won't leave and send Him back to the safe bosom of His family where money troubles are whisked away and love smothers like a blanket of sackcloth.

Love makes fools of us all in the end, I guess. Even me

Wine, Wrestling and Thongs...

Hello my loves. Did you miss me?

This is the first time I’ve been sober since Thursday night, so by that you can probably deduce that a good weekend was had by all…

The following activities featured heavily in my Bank Holiday celebrations:

Drinking wine (Thurs, Fri, Sat, Sun, Mon)
Passing out on couches (mine, Jellie’s)
Dancing badly (Fri, Sun, possible other unremembered times)
Wrestling with Marines (ah, Nambo!)
Eating chocolate (constantly)
Watching Buffy while hungover (Sat, Mon)
Swearing never to drink again (every morning)
Hair of the Dog (every afternoon)

And these are the lessons I have learnt:

Hangovers get worse with every passing year
(But) You’re never too old to get razzed for five nights straight
He is the best thing since sliced bread (I already knew this, but got a reminder)
Jellie cannot give lucid directions while hungover (don’t ask)
Nambo can get a girl on the floor in three seconds flat (in a wrestling context)
The UK needs an Easter Tuesday bank holiday (for recovery)

And now…

I’m off to take three more Nurofen and have a power nap in the ladies loo.

Oh Joyous Eastertide

I won’t be blogging over Easter my leetle Eengleesh Chums (and my chums of other nationalities – I’m not discriminating), as I shall be busy enhancing my social life. So today you get a bonus amount of blogging to get you through the barren period to come…

My plans for this long weekend:

Open House Party on Friday – at which I shall flirt, drink, dance and be merry, after a lovely morning of lying in and then pampering myself to a state of utmost beauty (as in, as close to beautiful as I can get, not the ultimate state of all beauty as a universal notion). Can’t wait to see my beloved big brother substitutes Cliffhanger and Dettori, as well as Nambo of course. Oh, and there are other people coming too…

Hangover on Saturday – possibly including a visit from MIL. Oh joy. Though I doubt she’ll come. She made a big fuss about seeing us over Easter (because it’s my family’s year for our company, and she doesn’t like that), but then when we said Saturday was our only free day, she said she had planned to come Friday. Tough shit. So now she’s sulking and thus hopefully will stay away…

Family Lunch on Sunday – chez my extended family in Berkshire. Putting aside the fact that we are so skint we will have to fare dodge up there, it means spending time with some of my favourite people in the whole world, including Jellie, so the prospect makes me v v happy. The only thing I will miss is having DaddyCool there, but I’m sure we’ll see him later in the year.

Chores on Monday – insert list here. Laundry, washing up, shopping etc. Oh, and hangovers most probably. And James Bond films (I like watching Bond when hungover).

All in all, I can’t wait!

And Now for Something Completely Different

Met up last night with one of my oldest friends, LadyDi, and her partner. LadyDi is the only person I keep in touch with from school (my school years were horrific – public school rod-up-the-arse nightmare – I’ll tell you about it sometime), so her friendship is fairly important to me. Unfortunately though, however much I try and warm to her man, I just can’t. He’s one of those dour northern blokes who despite being only 27 has the attitude and life-view of a 60 year old. You know the type. It’s not that he’s unpleasant, just… dour.

It was a nice evening though. The wine was flowing (or mineral water for MrDour), the food was good, the waiter was funny… And boy am I paying for it with my hangover today, which always suggests the evening was a success.

My problem though, is this: The more I see of other couples, the more I think that He and I have something entirely unique. Because he really is my best friend, and that just doesn’t come across in any of the other couples I know. I’m not being smug – if anything I’m wondering if we’re weird and doing something wrong – I’m just observing. LadyDi and MrDour practically had a row, in front of us, last night, and then proceeded to make little “It sounds like I’m making a joke, but actually it’s a barb” comments at each other all night. And the thing is, they are technically a happy, functional couple. They would say they are, anyway. But this is how they always behave with each other.

Oh I don’t know. It’s just strange that’s all. After years of being single-by-choice and observing couples from that vantage point, I had expected that once I was in a serious relationship I would understand that kind of bizarre behaviour. But it’s still a mystery to me.

A Short Treatise on Marital Ethics

Yesterday’s entry now makes me feel all bleurghy about things, and once again I am considering erasing a post. However, as you will know by now, I never do that because it feels like re-writing history, and as I’m not Chairman Mao, Stalin, or any other Communist dictator, I’ll resist…

What I’m feeling bleurghy about is trying to convince you all, virtual strangers that you are, that I would never cheat on Him. Because let’s face it: one of the greatest romantic myths is that once you meet The One you stop being attracted to other people. Well that’s just bollocks isn’t it? Come on, be honest, we’re all friends here. Well, okay, we’re not, but we’re all anonymous, which for these purposes permits the same freedom of speech.

The point is, being married or committed to a person doesn’t mean you stop fancying other people. It just means that given a choice between acting on that and chucking away your relationship, or not acting on it and keeping your relationship, you choose the latter. I am well aware that despite being totally in love with Him, there are still a number of people whose bones I would be jumping if I was still a slut-about-town.

Of course, I won’t deny that this needs to be separated into people who actually exist in my world, and people who I will never meet but still lust after in the manner of a hormonally-crazed 15 year old. The main difference being that He knows about the 15 year old crushes, but not the real people (for obvious reasons). And He rips the piss mercilessly out of my crushes anyway, as in addition to normal lusts (the Chili Peppers, Huey FLC, Vince Vaughn), I also have a few oddballs in there… (let’s not mention Ian Hislop or Chris Moyles, eh?)

Anyway, the point of all the rambling is me demonstrating to you, and maybe a little to myself, that it is acceptable and harmless to fancy other people, provided one does nothing about it.

And to anyone who is thinking ‘the lady doth protest too much’ – well I don’t, and I’m not!

Right to be Wrong

Have just heard that Nambo, my favourite member of Her Majesty's Forces, and honourary-big-brother/alternate-universe-boyfriend (see http://newlyweddramaqueen.blogspot.com/2005/01/picture-this.html in case you need a reminder), is returning for the party on Friday.

Is it wrong to vow that I won't eat til then, and go out and buy a new outfit I can't afford?

(Just so you know, I would never ever act on any feelings that either of us might or might not have for each other. Alright?)

The Naked Chef

Highlight of my week so far:

Having a highly erotic dream about Jamie Oliver (I know, I know, but I LOVE cheeky Essex boys – I married one after all!)

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Gainful Employment

He has been offered a permanent post. After almost 6 months of temping, this is an excellent new development. Hurrah for Him!

Of course, this means that we are now both employed by the same university (I work for a university, did I mention that?), but as He'll be buried in the Faculty of Science and your heroine will still be perched in the highest room in the tallest tower aka the International Student Office, there should be no reason for us to mix. On the plus side, we have identical holiday allowance (generous) and working hours (ditto).

So the treadmill might get a bit more manageable now. Though I do have the unpleasant task tonight of going through our 'books' and working out how to improve our dodgy financial situation. I'm thinking another round of rate-tarting might be in order....

Big

I have decided that I am bad at being a grown-up. I was great at being a student. Seriously, ask anyone. I was the most studenty student you can imagine. But adulthood? No, ta. Not keen.

It’s all the responsibilities. Bills and work and cleaning and taxes and MOTs and all that other endless, mindless crap. And it’s so time consuming! Every shred of free time gets swallowed by fulfilling all these commitments, until life just becomes one long treadmill that you have to keep running on because we all know that if you fall off a treadmill, it’s almost impossible to get back on and keep the same pace.

Beano and I used to maintain to anyone who asked that we were 6 and a half. Filling in forms, everything. 6 and a half. And if any responsibilities interfered, we’d react like 6 and a half year olds – by sulking.

I’m not saying that’s a good way to be, but it’s better than this. I feel like student Mookmoo trapped in the body of Bree van der Kamp. It’s fucking hideous. My whole self is being eroded by adulthood. I finally understand now why couples get divorced because the wife has become a ‘wife’ and not a person anymore.

I am going to find a solution this weekend. Definitely. Whether it’s as simple as Direct Debits or as drastic as downsizing. Because the treadmill is fucking killing me.

Addendum

In the midst of all the social victory, I have entirely neglected another current top story:

Stop press! Scarfee is over the scum sucking loser ex boyfriend, and never wants to set eyes on his miserable ugly little face again!

It's quite a relief, I can tell you. Mainly because I'm shit at sympathy and handing out kleenex, but very good at coming up with cruel and manhood-withering jokes about evil men.

Which probably says quite a lot about my psyche, but never mind.

Ha ha! I win!

Yes, you heard that right.

Mookmoo: 1 Skeletor:0

Ah rah ha ha ha ha ha ha!! (that's my evil laugh, for those of you lacking in aural imagination)

Party back ON at MY house on Good Friday. Woo hoo!!

(For fans of explanations - not a big love of mine but I'm happy to indulge my readers - He rang her up and explained that we had planned a large partay at ours, which would have a far more comprehensive but overlapping guest list, and she gave in and called hers off in favour of ours)

But most importantly: I WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not that I'm unattractively socially competitive.

And in deference to being a gracious winner, I shall return to calling her MsKidd - after all, she can't help her slightly cadaverous bone structure.

Now, most importantly of all: what should I wear?!

Norma

So... looks like the party's off. The invitation-speed battle has been lost by us and won by He-Man's greatest foe...

Skeletor has decided to have a party the same day, which she has sensitively touted as a catch-up for their friendship group (all His old schoolmates), but she felt the need to add that 'partners are welcome'. Oh, well, thanks ever so! I'm so glad you've given me permission to attend! No matter that He and I are MARRIED and I am also friends with 99% of the people there! No no! I am an outsider! Thank you so much for reminding me! Unfortunately I will be unable to accept the invitation, as I am boiling my head that evening.

Have spent this morning in a furious email row with Him, which we are off to conclude in person in a moment.

Fuck, fuckety fuck. This was so much easier when I was single.

The Patter of Expensive Shoes

Well, I’m definitely not pregnant. On the other hand, I’m beginning to understand where Lady Macbeth was coming from. Presumably it was Shakespeare’s wife/mistress’s suffering that inspired him to write so movingly about being ‘steeped in blood’…

Anyway…

Other than that. I’m feeling quite ‘perky’/’chipper’ (delete as appropriate for your nationality) this week. This is because as well as successfully eating less and exercising more in order to rein my outrageously fine but ever so slightly unruly curves back into bikini form, for once everything seems to be going rather well. I won’t bore you with details, but life could well be on the up…

Note to self: the impact of … will doubtless be reduced if you use it at the end of every paragraph…

Breaking news: We are planning a huge and very badly behaved Open House on Good Friday (what better way to commemorate this solemn occasion than by getting pissed and running around the garden), which I am veeeeeery excited about. Not least because it appears that my three favourite members of the Armed Forces (Detorri, Nambo and Cliffhanger) will be putting in an appearance. More on this story when we have it…

Super Mookmoo

Ooh lala, my life is getting stranger by the day…

Firstly, MIL is trying to make a real effort to be nice to me, presumably on the back of the Scotland thing, though she hasn’t mentioned it to either of us since He told her, so is obviously in denial…

Secondly, I seem to have acquired willpower from somewhere as I devised a new diet/exercise plan for bikini hell (3 months to go) and am actually sticking to it…

Thirdly, I have developed a super keen sense of smell and taste. Seriously, it’s bizarre. Unfortunately it also means I feel nauseous quite a lot… Basically, I’m either turning into a super-hero, have caught some new strain of disease, or am pregnant. I’m praying fervently for the super-hero option…

Fourthly, I feel like I might actually do some work today…

Bloody hell, what is WRONG with me?!

Facts and Figures

A few things you don't know about me:

1. Much like most men I know, I've had far fewer lovers than everyone thinks (though I have had quite a few)

2. Sometimes I send wishes by email to god@heaven. They never get delivered.

3. I have a 34 inch leg, and therefore struggle endlessly to find trousers that don't skim my ankles.

4. I hold my university's JCR committee's record for the most number of consecutive nights out drinking without a break (jointly with my uni housemates).

5. I refuse to set foot on American soil for political reasons (I have nothing against Americans, just their leader).

6. If I wanted to set foot on American soil, I couldn't because I have previously been arrested for causing a public disturbance (during a Drop the Debt demo).

7. I have dived with sharks.

8. My shortest ever employment was as a waitress. Fifteen minutes into my first shift, a customer tried to feel me up. I poured a beer over him, and was sacked.

9. I used to work in a video store where 90% of the tapes were porn.

10. Every man I've ever had sex with has been either a musician or a professional sportsman.

Family Values

I’m worried that with my constant rating about His family, I may have not only confused some of you, but have actually missed out the two people in his family that make the constant gatherings bearable.

And so, I would like to introduce you to the wonderful Dollface and 007. But first, here’s a paragraph explaining how they all fit together…

MIL (Mother-in-Law) married Elvis (he looked him, honest!), and they begat Venus and Cuck(old). When Venus and Cuck were in their mid teens, He came along as a surprise package to MIL and Elvis. Shortly afterwards, Venus married Mars (they met at Church club – how endearing), and Cuck married Riptorn (he shagged her one night on holiday and she wouldn’t fuck off). Cuck and Riptorn then begat Prince and Princess within a year of each other, and Mars and Venus begat 007 shortly afterwards. A few years after that, a year after Elvis left the building, Dollface was born to Venus. Oh, yeah, and three years later, He met me and the feuding started…

So, 007 and Dollface. Despite being 11 (tomorrow) and 6 respectively, they are two of my favourite people in the whole world. 007 is a total tomboy, and plays footie like a miniature David Beckham, as well as having an intellect that reminds me of mine at that age. Dollface is the girlie one, a tiny fairylike creature who likes pink tutus and Barbie, and can throw the best tantrums in the world apart from mine. They are what makes being in-lawed to his family bearable.

So, as I say, I felt they deserved a mention. As does the fact that 007's birthday tomorrow not only means a whole day with the Munsters, but we also have to stay over at MIL's. All I can say to this one is, thanks a fucking lot.

Mr Mop

Found a cleaning firm on the internet yesterday, got home and told Him all about them, and He said He’d rather I paid Him to do it (He’s a bit skint at the moment, on account of the being-on-a-temp-contract issue). Fine. Only problem is, I have no problem sitting on my bum while a stranger cleans the house, but there’s something rather weird about sitting on my bum while He does it. But still. At least I get out of doing it.

I have decided, after yesterday’s low patch, that on balance I would rather be creative and interesting and messy than be Bree Van Der Kamp. This is a Good Thing. The risk of me turning into a wannabe Stepford wife has receded.

With this in mind, I am going to try and take advantage of Him cleaning the house to get on with the book. My current aim is to get the first draft finished by June (yes, I know that’s three months away, but I need that much time, I’m a busy girl!), go away on holiday for two weeks and try and detach from it, then come back and do the polish. Should be with the agents for a decision by September/October, leaving me to concentrate on organising the move to Scotland in the New Year.

In other news: Scarfee is showing no signs of post-breakup recovery – “Why did he leave me? Why? Why?!”; I have started a new fitness regime – tedious but necessary; people have finally started to notice that I am now wearing contacts full time and not my media-whore glasses; I have constructed a sign for my desk that reads ‘If you ask this woman one more stupid question, she will smash your face in with a stapler’.

Mrs Mop

Pulled a sickie and stayed at home yesterday with Him, because we had a silly row in the morning before work, He walked out, then called me three minutes later in tears, came home, and cried for the first time since his father died 8 years ago. And that's all the detail you're getting, because it's private.

But it ended up being a nice day, in a funny sort of way. Once the emotional crisis part was over, we fixed the video/TV/DVD wiring (men like practical problems after showing emotion) and I indulged my creative side by designing a kind of light sculpture inside one of our tables using coloured cocktail glasses and suspended hidden bulbs...

However, today I am in the mindset that being creative and clever and all of that stuff is actually not much use when you can't manage to keep your house tidy, cook, or do any of the other things that most women (and very specifically the women of His family) do effortlessly. Not a great feminist thought for International Women's Day, but there you go.

Have just spent an hour on the internet searching for cheap dishwashers and spring-cleaning services...

Brighton Rocks

Had a fantabulous weekend away with my beloved. Walked on the beach, played in arcades, drank lots of wine, fought lots of crime... Neither of us wanted to come home.

So fantastic are the effects of the weekend, that He phoned me at work a little while ago (He has today off too, lazy toad!) and told me He had had a long telephone conversation with MIL, in the course of which He told her about our plans to move to Scotland, and about the fact that we don't want kids now, and may never. Two things that a week ago He would rather have walked over burning coals than told her. So hurrah! It went down like a dose of SARS of course, but at least it's done.

In other news, got into the office to find an email from Scarfee saying her three year relationship was over because he 'needed his space'. If it were me, I wouldn't mind him stamping on my heart so much as I would mind that he couldn't even find an original line to do it with. But that's just me.

15 weeks til the summer holiday, hurrah! 15 weeks til I have to wear a bikini, doooooooom!

Personality Disorder Test

Says it all really...

Disorder Rating
Paranoid: Moderate
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Moderate
Borderline: Moderate
Histrionic: Very High
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: Low
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low


URL of the test: http://www.4degreez.com/misc/personality_disorder_test.mv

Indecision

I am having second thoughts about posting the Ballad of Mookmoo and Beano. I'm going to think about it over my weekend away.

I don't feel like myself at the moment, to be honest. I need this time away to get my head sorted. God knows what's wrong with me. It's not that I'm unhappy, because I'm not. I'm just... restless. And a bit fucked off with everything, if truth be told.

The problem is, whenever I've felt like this before, I've moved on. Just upped and gone and made a change. But now that there isn't just me anymore, and it's not as simple as just packing my bags and leaving, I don't have a solution.

Although some would argue that running away and starting again isn't a solution anyway.

Hmmmm.

Don't get worried - I'm not about to leave Him, not in a million years. I just need a change. I'm boooooooooooooooored (and immature and self-indulgent, I know).

Anyway, to Brighton tomorrow for a long weekend. See you chaps on Monday/Tuesday.