I haven't blogged for a while and with good reason. I hate lying and I have a couple of secrets that that been quite difficult to keep in. To add to that, I am absolutely crud at lying. My cheeks flame up, I lose eye contact and then ye olde Catholic guilt kicks in.
Needless to say, no booze has been involved with this secret. I apologise if we haven't been able to be in touch in person, but things have been hectic with work, deadlines and families. Meanwhile, Girlpants has insisted that I tell the world my inner thoughts via here to see how long it would take for the news to out - a wee bit of a social experiment as it were. So here I type. However, despite the salivating jaws, there are no tales of espionage, no blackmail, no affair. The secrets are quite simply this:
One
I was one year older two weeks ago. Thank you to all those who remembered. And no. For once, I did not get drunk.
Two
I found four, yes four! grey hairs on that blessed day which did not make me happy.
Three
That's right folks. It's a blob and it's invaded my space.
Now Girlpants would like to claim that this now proves that a) he is no longer a girl and b) he wears trousers, not pants. But I beg to differ as we had a deal when we married - this was his job even if he dragged medical science kicking and screaming with him. And as far as I'm concerned, he's renegade on the deal. Meanwhile he's sipping cider whilst slowly my clothes are feeling ever so ever so uncomfortable, unable to eat "steak bleu", paté or runny eggs with a fry up. It's just not fair...
In the midst of this humble selflessness, I would also like to stand up and say "Hi. My name is Sim and I haven't drunk gin for several weeks." Actually longer than several weeks which just goes to prove my long standing assertion that should I ever stop drinking my favourite tipple, then the gin stocks would be put under threat and suffer. Ahh - to be proven right...
My new and rather homely doctor would prefer that I refer to this as a parasitical life form as opposed to blob but either would do I suppose. Apparently it's quite proficient in sucking the very nutrients, being and even the calcium from my bones. Nice. But that's okay - mini-hd will have years to more than make it up to me and I am already chalking up a number of chores for wee hands. Until then, I suppose Girlpants will have to continue to do the ironing.
A note from girlpants Having surprised wifey by coming home early (you'll doubtless hear about this soon), I really wasn't sure what to say, when... I woke up on valentine's day and was given something wrapped in red tissue paper... it was pink... a bit rubbery/latex like... had a label which read... Luv a...  ...Duck! Well I found it funny!
You would think that the lovely, long, big box that was delivered to my office this morning may have been an early delivery of roses as the other half had accidently booked himself away on business for the entirety of valentines. This lovely box was delivered to my room, all securely wrapped and lo and behold, when I opened it I found…
A sodding grout gun! Har blooming har!
He’s dead.
Chinese New Year last week co-incided with another event. It was Father's 74th birthday.  which meant that Sunday was cake day. The Sundays closest to the birthdays are always cake day. This weekend, we'll be eating cake again for Girlpants big day but in the meanwhile, the tacky pink musical candle topped the chocolate mountain that the rug rats had made whilst father beamed and regaled the table with stories of nostalgia. Including the aged old story involving the elderly neighbour who spent thousands trying to stop the family from building an extension on the roof of the house. Mother - Well he was really elderly Father - Not that old - only a few years older than I am now. Mother - But you have to forgive and forget - after all. People do tend to go dolahley at that age. Silence? All I could hear was the tinny sound of a musical candle with the batteries winding slowly down. And the sniggers of the children...
Gong Xi Fa Cai
 It's the year of the rat, and to celebrate, big fat munter cat brought in a gift for us which is now lodged under the washing machine. Big fat munter mouse was so fat that big fat munter cat was able to take her time and wobble up to catch it. God only knows how she managed to drag it through the cat flap. However due to it's girth, the mouse is now lodged under the drum of the machine until we can prize the cats away to save the rodent. And all in the spirit of the New Year. The great thing about Chinese New Year is celebrating with the food and family. Chow mein, Peking Duck, prawn crackers... - just typing about it is making my mouth water even though the dishes I experience and love to indulge in over here are nothing compared to the food that the extended family will be tucking into. But with our favourite Chinese take out being closed on because of the New Year 4705, I'm hoping that Girlpants will stop eyeing up the bottom of the washing machine, allowing me time to break out the fish and chips.
Whilst the drag back to work was harsh in the first week, it's slowly getting back to normal. I say normal - each morning the cats are are waiting patiently at the foot of the bed, pawing at my nose to get up and feed them (although you would think two meals and biscuits would be enough for any furball). Girlpants pulls the pillow further over his head and rolls deeper into the duvet like a human sausage roll, whilst my feet are suddenly snapped into the cold as my half is usurped.
And most mornings, I really do not want to get out of bed.
I find myself lying in for 30 minutes (after putting the alarm a little but extra early) and dream of my school days or even that time last year when I was working four days a week, looking forward to that bank holiday weekend which slowly creeps forward. My Friday's off meant that that morning was lie in, a lazy day where I could catch up on the housework, do the shopping and then have a little time for me. It was the day of the week when my cats actually preferred me to Girlpants, when I could preen myself to my hearts content, away from male prying eyes so that my appearance seemed effortless, or even when I could dawdle and browse around town at my leisure - something Girlpants hates as all shopping must have a purpose.
Since having an extortionate amount of time off for the yueltide festivities, each weekend seems so short as we try to cram as much as possible into 48 hours. First priority is sleep. Catch up time is a must as it's early to bed on a Friday to cram as many zzz's in a possible. And then the weekend shop followed by the DIY in the doldrums continue, saving enough money by working on it ourselves so that I can half Nelson Girlpants into letting me have those sexy granite worktops. And then before you know it, it's Sunday night and that dvd you've been meaning to watch since Christmas still lies unopened on the side. Why is it when you go back to work after time off, you always need another holiday?? Or the need to create a plethora of excuses to get the man out of the house for some time to me and to exfoliate my legs?
Why is it that the first week back at work sinks slowly into the deep deep aches of your bones? Whilst the first two days were manic, it has become increasingly more difficult to leave my duvet induced coma first thing in the morning, throwing me back to faded memories of minor tantrums before primary school.
I'm not against work. In fact I love my job which admittedly not many people can say. No day is the same and different things need to be done each day. But it is difficult to get your brain back into work mode when you can't remember any of your passwords nor some of the more obvious names of your closest colleagues. So it's not the work per se but the getting back to into working mode and hauling ass out of before before 7am each morning. A very early 7am in the morning.
On the plus side, Girlpants also has to get out of bed at the same time. After all, if I have to suffer getting up in the darkness and then returning home in the same, then so bloody well has he. After all, I did come and mop his poorly brow on the numerous occassions of man flu last year. The man owes. Question is, can I milk it for breakfast in bed or a cup of tea? My moneys on the latter
September! September? Where did the time go? And how bad and how crap am I?
The lappy is officially dead. A good old hoover of the stuffed up bits didn't work. Plan B - the new fan from e-bay ground to a halt after a full 3 minutes and then started ripping itself out of the shell. Ear plugs to remove the sound failed as frustration kicked in when the space bar died and the grinding of the fan started to smoke and stink.
So now I am hijacking Girlpants new company laptop to try and get back onto the digital highway. It feels like an age since I’ve managed to get online for a decent time. It took about a week for the shakes to subside there for a while, but by November, I had pretty much controlled the urges, got off the gum and now my toe is being dipped into the ether of the blog-sphere.
During that rather large interval, I had to be re-interviewed for my job, got the job, went for a new job, got the new job which starts at midnight and is scaring me sh!tless, built a bathroom, spent a stupid amount of money on presents, was accepted onto my Masters for 2008, made a complete and utter tit out of myself at the departmental Christmas party much to my chagrin and once finally recovered, had the entire family over for Christmas. Well, a girl has to do something to stay out of trouble.
Question is, what will 2008 bring? We’re in the new home now and are still in the midst of moving kitchen and doing work on the house. 2007 was a pretty big year. 2008 will probably be bigger still and if I can get a certain well known brand of laptop to deliver pretty sharpish, I’ll be able to tell you all about it. Until then, have a happy new year, a hic hic 2008 and here’s to me and my own getting back into the blogging routine
Booting up my old Toshiba laptop on Friday with a view to blog resulted in the machine being shut down all too quickly. The grinding of the fan trying to move with many groans and squeals that made it sound like the hard drive was trying to rip itself out of it's shell quickly informed me that all was not well.
I think that the laptop may be on its way out. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. It's not so much the howling noises that this machine emits but rather the automatic shutdowns and fatal errors that are pointing me in the rebuild direction. Taking it all apart and giving it all a good hoover didn't really help last night so now I am consigned to using Girlpants PC for access to the digital highway, which is a chore unto itself as it took over an hour to give his laptop access to edit this site. However the threat of going once more into the internet desert has already filled me with dread, so with the aim of keeping the laptop on it's feet mean only using it sporadically until it can be sent to the laptop doctor (Girlpants) and even worse, may mean that he won't be able to look at it for some time as we've just discovered that the roof is leaking. It's only Sunday and I'm already getting that feeling that it just may be a very long week.
It has to be fresher’s week. We were inundated with freshly scrubbed newbies, eyes wide with the notion of being away from home for the first time and anticipating a new world opening before them. Each new fresh face was filled with wonder mixed with worry, line of dread as they realised that parents were no longer holding the leashes tying their children tightly to their sides.
Which meant that for the past two days, I've experienced parenthood. Of a type.
Every single question within the sphere of uni that you can imagine. Accomodation. Council tax. Lifestyle choices. Banking. Budgets. How to live in the real world. Holding hands with new students as they try to start off at uni until they move towards lectures and standing on their own two feet. You know they'll come back with their problems - exams and money usually. And when they do, we'll all be there.
And whilst Girlpants and I have occassionally spoken of babies and then withdrawn back into our working worlds, this has to be a small insight. But the two days were enough to drain me.
|