Consuming Frenzy

It's payday.

I love payday.

I particularly love THIS payday, because it's the first one of 2006, the year in which I become properly solvent again, and I have about £50 a week to spend however I like.

So, I just went out and spent £20 in Boots (shampoo and all that jazz, plus a tuna sandwich and a gorgeous khaki eyeshadow with gold sparkle) and £10 on a top. And I don't have to feel even the tiniest bit bad/guilty/worried about that.

Hurrah!

AND He's taking me out for a pub dinner tonight!

Life is good.

Wishing and Hoping and Dreaming...

... or however that song at the beginning of My Best Friend's Wedding goes.

It looks like we have a car lined up, once we get The Money. We also, of course, have a whole relocation to Brighton lined up, but even I know that that will take a bit more time. Very excited about the car though.

Things are actually going okay the moment, unbelievably. And it's pay day tomorrow! I am living in a state of half excitement about how lovely life is going to be this year, half fear that everything is going to come crashing down around my ears as per usual. It's quite exhausting in a funny kind of way.

I sometimes wish I was stupid. You know, Jade Goody kind of stupid (I do actually quite like her, by the way). Just stupid enough not to constantly second guess and worry and catastrophise about bloody everything.

Either that, or someone could fit my brain with an 'off' switch.

Namechecking the Incompetent

Last year I spent an inordinate amount of time writing stinky complaint letters to various banks and credit card companies. That time has now passed (touch wood, cross fingers, etc etc) and it appears we have entered the age of moaning at mobile phone companies.

With this in mind, you will see that I have added another link to the 'People I Hate' section on the sidebar. O2 should be honoured. You have to REALLY piss me off to get this far!

That Friday Feeling

5820 seconds until the weekend.

Can you guess that I've had enough of this week?!

Plans for the weekend involve sleeping, exercising, and sorting out my study so that I can a) start to write again and b) open the flow of my life (feng shui style) by chucking out all the crap I've dumped in there. Obviously the extra benefit is that there'll be less boxes of random crap to transport to Brighton, and therefore more floor space in our new smaller home (which of course we haven't found yet, but still).

In other news: I have started to use anti-wrinkle eye cream - it's all downhill from here; despite having only lost 0.2 of a pound in the last ten days, my waist is looking smaller; Tesco have a really nice Pinot on offer for just £2.99 at the moment - try it, it's good; I feel trapped by buildings and grey sky and I long for a view to the horizon; Jellie has got me all nostalgic about chunky brown Fisher Price cassette players; I'm confused as to how Simon Hughes can be bi, have won his first election on an anti-gay stand, therefore be a huge hypocrite, and yet still seem like the best candidate for the Lib Dem leadership (in which I have to vote); I feel like I haven't seen real sunshine in months.

5040 to go...

Lost in Translation

My back was still hurting this morning, and so I decided to take a sickie, stay at home, and finally watch Lost in Translation, which I have been meaning to watch since it first came out on DVD (which I think was about two years ago).

Hmmmm. I think I liked it, but I'm not sure. I either liked it, or thought it was a bit pointless. I still haven't decided.

However, regardless of how much I did or didn't like it, it did serve to remind me of the time I spent in Hong Kong over Christmas and New Year 1998-9. It's the only time that I have felt entirely linguistically excluded while travelling. I had naively believed everyone would speak English, and so ended up doing no preparation and arrived with no appropriate Chinese phrases at all. It led to a kind of strange isolation, which at first was intimidating and then later became somehow liberating. I liked the feeling of being apart in the city, being lifted above the hum of conversation into the peculiar 'silence' of incomprehension.

I sometimes wonder if that's one of the reasons I feel so comfortable when I travel. Even in countries where I speak a spattering of the language, I still enjoy the verbal challenge, the new feeling of the sounds on my tongue as I try to make conversation. It makes communication seem so much more significant. We all live in such a clamour of background noise and chatter that we forget how lucky we are to be able to connect with each other so easily, and we become increasingly unaware of body language and facial expressions. We're so busy hearing that we don't see as much. I can clearly remember the faces of a lot of the people I have met with whom I have no common language except raised eyebrows, shrugs and smiles. I can rarely picture the faces of English-speakers I converse with.

Anyway, it's a scattered kind of thought I've been having. Blame the painkillers. But I like it, nonetheless.

Ice and Endorphins

So, on the way to work this morning I managed to slip on a random patch of ice outside McDonalds (presumably some stinking chavteen decided to pour his drink onto the pavement and make it freeze for a laugh). Both legs went out from under me and I landed on the base of my spine and the back of my head - obviously the two most stupid places to land. Honestly, who designed the human body?! It's almost as though it wasn't built with falling flat on your back in mind...

Now, you would think the worst thing about this would be the pain (considerable), the humiliation (ditto), or even the fact that my already fragile combats ripped a bit more. But no. What is upsetting me most about this? The fact that I won't be able to exercise tonight, and probably not tomorrow either.

What is wrong with me?!? I blame the endorphins.

The Questionable Allure of Owning Your Own Shit-Machine

As you are no doubt aware, I find it hard to see the point of babies. They scream, shit and puke, and they aren't capable of holding any kind of conversation. In fact, having children generally seems like a nightmare to me - come on, if someone came up to you, a complete stranger, and said "Hi, would you like to shackle yourself to me emotionally and financially for eighteen years or more, in the hope that I will turn out alright and become a useful member of society, even though for much of that time I will scream at you, hate you, and make your life a misery?" would you honestly say yes?!

So, with this in mind, you can understand why I find it so fucking irritating when people, particularly my outlaws, bang on about how He and I should start breeding. Apparently it is not appropriate to answer "The mere thought of being pregnant makes me feel physically repulsed, and as for children themselves - eeeuuuuurrrgh!!!!" as this just encourages smug looks and the most annoying comment of all: "That will change."

NO IT WON'T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And even if it does, it will NOT be a result of your interfering smug bollocks about how the only way a woman can feel fulfilled is by having children. I AM fulfilled! I am fulfilled by using my brain and my intelligence, THAT is how I find fulfilment in what is, if you don't mind me pointing it out, MY life! I am not an extension of Him, I am not a breeding machine, I am an intelligent woman with numerous life skills and THAT is what I base my happiness on. I get fulfilment from working towards my career goals, I get fulfilment from my relationship with my husband - a man I CHOSE, not fell into a marriage with because I didn't want to be alone, or because I didn't feel like a whole person without a man! Any idiot can fuck themselves pregnant, it doesn't take SKILL or INTELLIGENCE! And MY fulfillment is based on enjoying MY life, with my husband, and my career, and my friends, and my studying, and everything else that makes me HAPPY! My life is not any less fulfilled or worthwhile because I haven't chosen to have a shit-machine hanging off my nipple while I cook His dinner and hoover the fucking house!

And just in case you've all forgotten, I'M ONLY TWENTY-FUCKING-FIVE!!!!!!!

*deep breath*

Whew. Bit more resentment in there than I realised...

Anyway, the point of this post was going to be: Mars and Venus want to have another baby. This will either scale down the pressure on He and I, or amp it up. Personally, I don't understand why it's all such a big fucking deal. But then, you probably gathered that from the above.

Moneybags and Gladrags

I never thought I'd ever be saying this, but Natwest have come up trumps. The normally Evil Ones have extended our joint overdraft by £200, without a murmur of protest. This of course means that we can not only buy some food for the rest of the month (don't we all hate January, the skintest month of the year?!), but can enjoy a few luxuries.

For example, at the current rate of skinnying myself, I should soon be able to fit into my luscious retro secretary skirts that I wore to death this time last year. And so I need to have them dry-cleaned, and buy some nice boots to wear with them (on the cheap, from New Look, but still...), and now I can! Hurrah!

I was considering being miserly and not buying any new clothes at all until I'm much skinnier, but a year of not being able to afford anything new has really bitten into my wardrobe, and the few clothes still left in there are hanging on by a thread (often literally) so I think I might need to make some gradual changes rather than one big 'brand new wardrobe' shopping expedition in a couple of months. Oh well, c'est la vie!

Just in case you're thinking "I bet she's being a typical girl and she really has lots and lots of clothes but is just doing that girl thing of 'Ooh, I have nothing to wear'", here is a list of what I have left (absolute truth):

1 pair of indigo jeans
1 pair of dirty-green combats (with holes in)
1 brown corduroy boho miniskirt (unsuitable for work)
2 retro secretary skirts (that I can't quite fit into)
2 black t-shirts
1 emerald green fitted cardie
1 black camisole top
1 black zip up jumper (with holes, used to belong to him)

Obviously I'm not including underwear or my motley collection of baggy t-shirts and jogging bottoms for exercising in, but the items above are the only clothes I have that are fit to be worn in public (just about).

Sad, no?

Arrest Davina!

This woman is a torturer! Behold the instrument of torture!

I did this innocuous looking 'workout DVD' last night. It hurt. And when I woke up this morning, I was in agony.

This woman is dangerous, mean, and finds pleasure in suffering - her own (it seems from the DVD) and other people's!

If you see her, do not approach her, she is freakishly tougher than she looks! Instead, sneak away quietly and hope she doesn't notice your bum jiggling...

Wanted: NOW!

I've never been very good at waiting for things. I've never, for example, ever 'saved up' for something I wanted - that's what credit cards are for! Even when it comes to men, I don't think I've ever done the whole 'Rules' thing - no, if I wanted to have sex with someone, I was going to have sex with them TONIGHT! And as for life-changing decisions? No, of course I'm not going to think it all through, plan it all out... I'm just going to do it NOW and sort out any problems once they appear.

And so it seems ironic that now my whole life feels like it's on hold waiting for various pieces to drop into place:

We can't move to Brighton until we have jobs
We can't start looking for jobs until we have the money to move
We won't have the money to move until I receive my inheritance*
I won't receive my inheritance* until the lawyers do whatever it is they have to do

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Boring, boring, boring.

I want what I want, and I want it NOW!

*I am neither grabby, insensitive, nor mercenary. I am a realist, and I'm not particularly sentimental. As far as I'm concerned, if I leave people money when I die, I won't mind at all if they're keen to get it, as long as they're using it to make their lives better and happier - as I am, in this case.

Float Like a Butterfly...

Rabidly intent though I am not to let this blog ever venture into 'my weight loss diary' territory (how revolting!), I can't resist broadcasting the news that I have lost 5 pounds in the last 10 days. This is good. At this rate I will be positively sylph-like by the time we move to Brighton, and certainly even more bikini fabulous than last year.

So, with that in mind, I'm off to the pub tonight. Well, it's ten days til I have to weigh myself again, and a couple of vats of wine won't make too much difference...

Fucking Outlaws! (UPDATED)

This'll teach me for thinking I'd won one for once! Bastards!

Having wiggled out of the annual trip to the panto with the outlaws tomorrow (the torture of which is exacerbated by the fact that it's a church trip, so you have to go on a bus full of bible-bashers) I was feeling pretty proud of my negotiating tactics.

But now MIL has suggested that He and I get a lift over to her house with Cuck and Riptorn at noon, and we then sit around on our own at hers all afternoon while they're all at the panto, all so that we can have a takeaway Chinese (which I hate and wouldn't eat even if I wasn't on a healthy-eating kick) with them in the evening while they discuss doubtless fascinating topics like the quality of local schools and how much bloody money they've spent on bloody Christmas buying over the top presents for their spoilt children!

And He wants to do this! Why? Why?

And more importantly, how can I get out of it?!

UPDATE:

The good news: by pointing out to Him that He might infect the whole family with his evil virus, I have persuaded Him we shouldn’t go tomorrow!

The bad news: I had to suggest we invite them all over next month instead (doooooom!!)

Freaky Week

It's been a strange week so far. He has been struck down by a foul fluey bug, and scared the life out of me yesterday by ringing me at work, unable to breathe properly, telling me He'd spoken to NHS Direct and been referred straight to the GP asap and needed me to come home and take Him in case He collapsed on the way. Two hours and a double dose of antibiotics later, He was fast asleep in bed and I was crying on the sofa. Asthma-type attacks are scary to watch (and obviously scary to suffer from...).

Because He's been off work all week, I've also felt very alone. Used to walking to and from work with Him, doing it alone (25 mins each way) is surprisingly tedious, and seems to last three times as long. Halfway here this morning, I was very tempted to give up and go home again. I hadn't realised how much I value our random morning conversations, and our evening work-rants. More than that, getting up alone in the mornings and getting myself ready to my own schedule reminds me far too much of the six months that I lived on my own in the godforsaken Midlands in my brief period as a graduate trainee. Urgh.

Don't get me wrong, I love spending time alone, but there are inevitably parts of life that are more enjoyable with company. And suddenly losing that (albeit temporarily) is a nasty shock to the system.

Other than that, work is still boring, money is still tight (but only because it's January), I'm still eating super-healthily, and life is just ticking on. Hopefully He'll be feeling better by the weekend, and we'll be able to get 'back to normal'.

Monday Has Broken

At the risk of sounding cliched, god I hate Mondays!

Along with the rest of the world, we are skint because it's January. Therefore we spent a very enjoyable weekend watching 4 out of 6 discs of the Lost boxset, which I mysteriously received for Christmas despite it not being out in the UK yet. I can only assume it was sneakily imported from the US for my viewing pleasure...

Also managed to remain virtuous and vegetable-eating all weekend, along with only 4 glasses of wine - probably my lowest weekend alcohol consumption since around 1998. I weighed myself on Friday morning (dooooooooooom!!!) so I guess that gave me the added willpower. Either way, it's going well and I do feel better for it, though let's just skip over the fact that the change in diet has made my skin 'expel toxins' in the form of loads of spots (which He reckons aren't even visible, but I think He's just being nice/lying through his teeth).

Anyway, I hate Mondays. This is because my job is tedious and I don't like it. It is also because I am so much better at sitting around than I am at working to someone else's schedule. Which, when you think about it, could be a problem!

In other news: there is an inch thick layer of dust on the first draft of the novel; He is ill and therefore swings between stroppy and snuggly; I already have two weddings to go to this year; Covent Garden Tomato and Basil soup is one of the nicest things I've ever tasted; my last few items of clothing are seriously starting to fall apart; I am supposed to 'come into money' by the end of the month; my fingernails are silver and sparkly.

A New Look for the New Year

The more eagle-eyed amongst you might have noticed that the blog has changed a bit today. It's a new image I'm trying. As well as a pretty new outfit, you can also see a couple of new links in the 'Sites I Like' list, and a little cartoon picture of me which I update when I'm bored. Which is quite often.

But don't worry - the packaging may have changed, but the bitch remains the same...

Bored, Aburrido, Ennuye, Annoiato, Langeweile

My job is entering new realms of boredom. I can't remember if I've explained this already or not, but basically half of my job was moved to another campus a couple of months ago, and was replaced with a chunk of marketing work. Now, when I first graduated I worked as a graduate trainee for a marketing consultancy... Did I like it? No. Is my idea of hell lying to people all day about how great a product is? Yes. Does it make me feel like a dodgy hypocrite? Yes. Did I quit? Hell, yes!

So hopefully you can see why my 'new' job is NOT making me happy. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending how you look at it, it also involves a lot less actual work, and hence a lot more actual boredom.

I am SO bored!!

Thank god we're moving on soon is all I can say.

Healthy Body, Healthy Mind

Okay, so yesterday was the first day of my New Year's healthy eating and exercise resolution. Not only did I manage five portions of fruit and veg, but I even managed to force down some muesli for breakfast (I don't DO breakfast). Now, I hadn't expected to see any kind of results for at least a couple of weeks, so steeled myself for a willpower battle...

BUT this morning I woke up feeling incredibly well rested, in a really good mood, full of energy, AND my skin looked nice.

Hurrah for vegetables and fruit!

Mookmoo’s Christmas

Much as I’d love to give you an in-depth insight into my activities over the last couple of weeks, I’ll spare you the finer details and try to keep it brief…

22nd – went out for dinner with DaddyCool and StepMummy, got pissed, went home and got more pissed, all played games and drank lots and lots, went to bed very late and still had to get up for work.

23rd (Wedding Anniversary) – sleep-walked through morning at work, then went out, got pissed, had fun, was good.

24th (Christmas Eve) – went to MIL’s, endured homophobic rant*, felt sick, went to Joni and Topgun’s to see family etc, and ended up doing dance routines with Neil and Jellie to Steps and Kylie and Jason – hurrah, told Jellie we are moving to Brighton – hurrah, got pissed on champagne – hurrah, had to leave – booooooooo!!!

25th (Christmas Day) – went to shitty council estate to pick up MIL’s stepmother - aka Mental Auntie, got lost, drove around for ages, found her, went to MIL’s, ate Christmas dinner in 45 minutes (with The Family it never takes less than 3 or 4 hours!), watched telly, played games, endured Mental Auntie’s schizo views on ‘darkies’, went to bed as early as acceptable.

26th (Boxing Day) – woke up, went to pub with Nambo and Cliffhanger for bloody marys, got blindingly heavy period, went to Mars and Venus’s, spent whole day fighting sleep and cramps, was visibly stroppy (though tried hard not to be), had to eat Christmas dinner all over again, wasn’t allowed to go home til midnight, went to sleep while He told MIL about Brighton – ha!

27th – woke up to lots of snow, MIL panicked and insisted on taking us home asap due to snow – hurrah, got home, watched five hours of Friends and Sex in the City, felt normal again.

28th - lay around, watched DVDs, ate chocolate.

29th – went to the pub with Nambo, Cliffhanger, Queen of the Irish, Piano Man, and various others, got drunk, was fab.

30th - lay around, watched DVDs, ate chocolate.

31st – celebrated NYE by staying in and eating tons of Mexican food as 2005 was the shittest year ever and didn’t want to celebrate it, cried for twenty minutes at midnight because 2005 was finally gone, drank champagne, fell asleep on the sofa.

1st – Thims came over, went for coffee, bitched about outlaws, had a laugh, then had pizza for dinner with Him.

2nd – went out for a ‘last day of holidays’ lunch, got pissed, went to pub, got more pissed, staggered home, tried to watch Mr and Mrs Smith, turned it off after half an hour because it was shit, fell asleep on the sofa.

3rd (today) – refused to get up, threw a tantrum, cried about boiler never giving any hot water, He fixed boiler so I could wash my hair, ate some healthy cereal, tried hard not to throw it back up (bad at eating in the morning), walked to work, sat at desk, started writing blog…

… and here we are. So it was an up and down sort of Christmas. But on the plus side, we are planning to move to Brighton, we survived our first year of marriage, and my family and friends are great and I love them all lots.

*Turns out MIL isn’t just homophobic because she’s a bible thumper and therefore has to be. No, she really hates the homos. They make her ‘skin crawl’ apparently. They’re damned, going to hell, responsible for the breakdown of morals and values in society, half of them aren’t really gay and are just pretending because it’s fashionable… yadda yadda yadda. Nice. You have no idea the self control it took not to say “Wow, I’m so glad I’ve never told you that I’ve slept with women and I like it… oops, sorry, just did!” or, more to the point, “Shut the fuck up you stupid, prejudiced, narrow-minded, ignorant, bible thumping bigot!”. But apparently you’re not allowed to do that when it’s your husband’s mother. Even if said husband is sitting there looking sicker by the minute and agrees with you 100% regarding the rights of everyone to sleep with whoever the fuck they like without being persecuted for it.

2006

I'm back! Have you missed me?

Full Christmas update later on today, once I've pretended to work for a bit!

Mookmoo xx