When did we become 75?

Every street has one. That house where you know if you step foot on the lawn, whether purposefully to get to your friend’s house quicker .. or completely by accident when you were using the curb as a balance beam, that from out of nowhere the occupant of that house is going to appear to tell you to “get off my lawn!!”. Usually it is an older, retired person or couple. The parents on the street try and sympathise in the beginning, but after being told countless times how rude or badly brought up their child(ren) is/are, they too begin to lose patience.

Lee and I are that couple.

In fact, it is midnight and Lee has just hopped into the car in search of the loud music that is thumping somewhere in our neighbourhood and preventing us from having a restful sleep. Or any sleep. When we finds out where it is coming from, he will return home and we will decide whether to lodge a complaint directly (if this is coming from a business) or if we should call the police to register a noise complaint.

That’s right, we’re old, we’re tired and we’re crotchety. If you don’t like it, too bad.

I always grew up saying that I was never going to be like my parents. Instead of focusing on how I’d rather be, I’ve ended up becoming that neighbour .. or my Dad. After all, he is the man that demanded that they turn the music down one evening when we were having dinner… in a pub.

*insert grumbling here*

I should have known it was going to happen. It is almost like reliving the 27th of January 1991 all over again. Only this time where was no Scott Norwood and my beloved Bills were nowhere to be found. But I held out hope that Tom Brady and the New England Patriots could finally ease some of the pain that has lingered since that cold January day in hell when that ball which was meant to go between the uprights was sent wide right instead, letting down every Bills fan – whether they were closeted one or loud and proud ones.

But noooo, they couldn’t do it for us could they. As a Bills fan, I am supposed to hate that Pats, but ever since I went to Boston one US Thanksgiving and saw and felt the love that New Englanders had for their team on that special day, I haven’t been able to hate them. I associate the team with “Happy Family Moments” and it is hard to disassociate yourself from an experience like that. So I’ve gone on loving my Bills and liking me some Pats. And I do want to hate them today. I do want to say that the Giants didn’t deserve it, because after a perfect season you want to just say “Screw the Superbowl, give the Pats the trophy now”. But all it takes is one game and if you don’t bring it, you don’t bring it.

The only up side is that Randy Moss didn’t get to win! That helps ease the pain… a lot.

This afternoon, Lee and I went to meet up with some friends for lunch in Northampton. We spent a lot of time talking about how amazing it is that you can have this little person growing inside of you one day and then next day you wake up* and there they are.. you can touch, see, hear and smell them.

Instead of taking the highway (motorway) home, we went through the villages so that we could stop at the farm shop and get some yummy Pickle Power (pickled onion cheddar). We got our piece and took some Black Bomber (extra mature Welsh Cheddar) to go with it and started heading toward the car when a commotion caught my eye. Not between people, but between the chickens that roam freely. I at first thought that it was a case of some rabid chickens trying to eat another chicken, when Lee pointed out that I was actually witnessing Fowl Gang Rape.

I covered my ears and turned away and waited for Lee to get the car and bring it to me (we were parked right by the action). I’ve never witnessed such a horrible sight, and I’ve seen a dead man vomit on someone!!!

I’m so happy that BoB cannot see from the inside out. At that moment in time I envied him/her. I too wanted not to be able to see, or hear, or have a memory.

This cheese better be the best damned cheese I’ve ever had!!!

*Note: I am aware that you don’t wake up to find a baby there. I can only dream.

Our calm night turned into a mad morning as I became extremely sick to my stomach, along with having a hyper active baby who was wondering what was going on, and some lovely and painful Braxton Hicks thrown in for good measure.

The New Year has not started off well in this house. Poor Lee was pulled out of bed by my bellowing and by my side he remained until it was all over. The poor man. As if living with Normal Me isn’t bad enough. But he never displayed his frustrations; even when I asked him to mop my brow and then straight away demanded he stop as I realised that I didn’t really want it. It was about an hour of pure confusion and pain that had now led to a day of discomfort and nausea… and other side effects that I’ll keep to myself.

At least I won at Scrabble right? That’s got to mean something?

Today I sneaked out of work with 3 of my colleagues and braved the blustery winds of Central Milton Keynes to go wave a cheap paper flag and stand behind the cold metal barriers that lined the route you were taking to officially open The Hub. If not for the warmth of my unborn child, I fear I may have succumb to hypothermia out there. My fingertips were freezing because I did not have my mittens which were in my car which was on my driveway because I figured your arrival was going to mess up the parking outside our office.

Now I know that you cannot control the weather, but you can at least make an effort to be on time. It was appalling how you arrived without a care in the world over 20 minutes late. Had you been on Probation you would have received a stern warning and I did consider sending out an enforcement letter to you to make you aware that the breach of the trust of “your public”, who believe that they can depend on you to be punctual, is a serious matter.

Worse than your tardiness however, was the way you sped by the crowds. Even when the car turned onto the pedestrian walkway that was in front of us, no effort was made to slow down and allow your subjects more than a fleeting glance of you in your purple outfit. We had been told that you were going to get out and walk past. We understand that it was very cold out there, we should know as we were the ones waiting for ages for your arrival. At the very least you could have had the driver slow to a crawl. You were safe, there was a sniper on the roof of the hotel. I know the people of Milton Keynes are not the most attractive folk in England, but they are not THAT scary! I mean, have you taken a look at your own heir to the throne? He’s no supermodel.

At least your husband was friendly and giving it his all with his massive smile and waving. You looked like you’d rather be getting a barium enema as you forced that half grimace and lifted your hand ever so slightly to semi-acknowledge that we were all there. Honestly, half an effort would have been better than none. Just because you looked good, didn’t excuse your poor performance.

From what I heard, you were no more sociable at the Football Stadium! Driving around it instead of walking. Seriously. You should have just cancelled if you were not feeling well. You should have declined the invitations if you really didn’t want to be here. It is not like you haven’t done so in the past.

In closing, I just want to say that as one of the millions of people who are forced to pay your salary, I am very disappointed. You should be thankful that you don’t have an official boss or else I’d be petitioning for a decrease in your pay or a demotion. I’m sure Camilla would have at least acted more the part. Or heck, you could have sent one of your grandsons. They would have had much more of a turn out as well.

All I can say is, mutton dressed as lamb.

Sad. Just sad.

Ally McBeal had her life theme song and so do I… Ghetto Bastard by Naughty By Nature. The line where they say “if not for bad luck, I would have none”. That sums me up in 9 sweet little words.

In a country where the salaries are low and costs are high, you take the breaks where you can get them. So when I found out that because I am pregnant I get to go to the dentist FOR FREE … until the baby is one year old… I was over the moon. Then I found out that it only applied to NHS dentists. Then I couldn’t find an NHS dentist. So I went to the pay-as-you-go kind where I had to pay £43 for a man to poke around my mouth for about 7 minutes and then tell me that I am all good and just to go see the hygienist the next week. So I did what I was told and paid £50 for an “extended” session. All I got for that £50 was 10 minutes of scraping and a polish.

Out of pocket £93 … which is a lot when you have a £750 visa to apply for and then a £655 citizenship to get right after …. I go to work last Friday and someone recommends a dentist to me. An NHS dentist that is not only good, but taking on patients.

It took me £93 worth of half-assed dentistry to find out I could have had it all for free.

Only me.

Some people dream of winning the lottery, spending their days being beach bums, owning property all over the world, have no responsibilities or all of the above.

My dreams are simple: laser eye correction, gastric bypass (has to be easier than doing it myself), laser hair removal, weekly manicures and pedicures and having someone who washes and brushes my hair daily.  I know that my dreams can be acheived. Perhaps not all at once, or not all this decade, so for now I will settle for new glasses and “magic pants”.

Shh, did you hear that?  I think it was reality slapping me across the face.  What a bitch that reality is.  She’s okay as far as television shows go, but bringing it to my own life? How dare she.

Urgh.  I am feeling like Bridget Jones, only married and Canadian.

On Friday a co-worker and I put together a well oiled Lottery Syndicate at the office. With 33 entries and a jackpot of over £123 million, it would be fair to say that the day was spent dreaming rather than working. I guess it didn’t help that the weather was complete shit, we were drenched on the way back from getting the tickets and my McDonalds bag tore leaving my poor cold fries exposed to the cold.

Fast forward until last night. The results are in and I check each line. And check them again in case I got it wrong. Nope, I was definitely right the first time. We didn’t win the Grand Prize, but we did win something. A whopping £6.40. That’s an entire nineteen pence a person. Well 38 each for Rodney and I since we entered twice.

Then today I got a phone message to let me know I won something in a prize draw for charity. Apparently I won a Fusion Hamper. Something to do with sports stuff. Probably crap, but hell I’m thrilled! But wait. I cannot find my winning ticket! That’s right, I finally win something and I don’t have my little stub to claim the prize.

Only me.

Tomorrow morning I am going to call them and BEG them to let me have my prize. I swear if there is some higher being, they spend their day thinking up ways to build me up and knock me down just so they can laugh.

But it is…
Going to be great.

nerves

That is me right now. Not a hand tearing through a hole, but a massive fucked off bundle of nerves. I am scared of thinking, because when I think I realise there are more things I need to do or that I forgot to do.

What do you buy a three year old as a thank you for being in your wedding? What do you buy the best man for that matter? Where is the thank you gift I ordered for my step father? Am I going to remember to by special wedding pants?!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… at times like this I wish I had a penis.

Not really.

But men have it so easy. I mean they say the wedding is all about the bride, which truly pisses me off to be honest, and I guess that means that is should be she who is left to deal with everything. And no, I am not trying to slag Lee off. It is just hard when you are not at all bridal. I’ve not had this planned since I was 8 years old. I’ve not been pining for a perfect wedding for years. It is two weeks until the day and I STILL have no fucking clue what I am supposed to be doing or what I should have done by now.

What I do know, is that I feel like I am drifting out to sea alone and at a time when I am supposed to be feeling an enormous amount of love and support.

Oh well, I guess this is another example of something not killing you making you stronger. It better be anyway. If I am not stronger after this, I am going to have words. Not quite sure who those words will be with, but there will words. Count on it.

Fuck me. I thought the blues were supposed to come post wedding when there was nothing left to look forward to, not before the wedding!

See.. I am doing it ALL wrong.