15 February, 2015

Spare me, puhlease.


13 February, 2015


I follow quite a few science based Twitter accounts and Facebook pages.  Have learnt all sorts of lovely, and strange things.  Yesterday the strangest thing ever (okay, so not, ever) happened. 
Someone posted a photo of a galaxy and said it looked like a hand.  I said it looked like a bat (Remember, I'm shite at seeing those seeing eye pictures so . .  I could have been shite at seeing the hand too).  Whilst I was saying 'Bat' some woman said 'Hand of God' (praise the lord etc.) 
She thought, I can only assume, that I was being facetious with my comment and started laying into me for being disrespectful of her Christian beliefs??!
Yeah!!!  Seriously!
I told her I wasn't being disrespectful as I hadn't seen her 'Hand of God' remark (wonder is she a Maradona fan) and started on (and on) at me about how people like me are constantly putting down her Christian beliefs.  (Jesus, I said 'It looks like a bat').   .  ..   Yeah, people like me, etc. etc.  Smart A-holes who can't open our minds to the love of the Lord just make her sick to her gut.  
Couldn't resist.
I said that I was amused by Christians shouting at me for putting down their/her beliefs when she was pretty much doing likewise to mine.  (I said it looked like a bat for fucks sake).  I told her that I was happy for her to believe in Gods but, as of yet, no such Gods have ever been proven to exist and what we were looking at (a big galaxy in space!!) had been proven to exist because, like, duh, there it is!  Photographed by the  Hubble Telescope itself.
I don't know what pissed her off more, me saying 'Gods', cos there is only one true god right?  Or telling her she didn't exist, the Gods that is.
Well.  She told me "she hoped I was wearing a light shirt and had a bottle of ice water with me at all times because I was going straight to hell and Satan was going to fuck me in the ass".

Now, I've been to Turkey on holidays and one day it got to 45C IN THE SHADE.  I was wearing a light shirt and had, indeed a bottle of ice water, and fat lot of good they did me.  Shudder.  I swear it, my eyeballs dried out!!!  You could see the film of water evaporating.  Could have been hallucinating though, in retrospect.

I told her that her Christ must be very proud of her.  I swear, hand on heart, you could hear her head implode all the way over here, on this side of the Atlantic.


p.s. AND, AND!!!!!  How does a woman, who cannot say Asshole without feeling rude tell me I'm going to get fucked by the divil himself?   

23 January, 2015

Dover Police DashCam Confessional (Shake it Off)

I love this song and I love this guy.  Snigger, especially how he stops shaking it off when he sees someone. 

15 January, 2015

Oh FFS!!!!!!

Picture it, I'm sitting at the head of the table (sodding dog sat on my foot), no. 3 is directly ahead of me and no. 2 is to my right.

They are meant to be doing their homework.  I'm meant to be doing my accounts.  Instead I'm writing this because, well, they ain't doing their bloody homework.  Ever tried to do anything where you have to concentrate where the kids are blathering on at you?  Sweet Jesus.
Every now and then I mutter 'is that to do with your homework?'  As of yet, the answer is always 'no'.
Instead they are talking about  . .  anything that seems to pop into their head.
So far we've had:
No. 2.  Yeah, so check out my scary santa picture.  Is it really scary?  (er, yes!!)
No. 3.  "At least you doing your work, Mam, gives me a chance to er, what was I saying?  Erm, you tube".
No. 2. "Mam?'  Me.  "What?"  "No. 2.  "So er, can I er, . . . oh, I forgot"
No. 3 for the 10th time "Will you help me with my project???"  My answer has been yes the previews 9 times too.
Himself gives me that look, you know that look!, when I am getting wound up and roaring 'Will yis just do your bloody homework   No. 2  "Mam, how much, er weeks, I know this, but I just want to see if, faaart, you know it . . . "  
Where was I?  Oh, Himself glares as me when I lose the plot and start roaring 'Shush, shut up, be quiet, FFS someone just stop yapping".  
Easy for him, he can work in College or upstairs or anywhere really.  The joy of coding.
Me?  Have you ever tried to decorate a cake whilst sat on a bed?  Or on a bus?  Yeah, not easy.

I love my kids but I really do wish they'd shut the, breathe . . . .. . .  . . 

23 October, 2014

I can't effing sleep

There were many reasons for this I think so, in no particular order:
  • My feet are bloody freezing
  • I'm overtired due to a fairly mental night last night. Started off on a high of giggling and laughing (I'll tell you tomorrow) with one friend and an hour or so of mopping up the tears of another.
  • I have a headache, probably because I am tired.
  • It sounds like there is a monster under my bed, you know how much I fear under my bed, but I have a funny feeling it's just Billy acting the bollix and sleeping there (as is his won't).  Thing is, I am too afraid to look under the bed just in case it really is a monster and it eats my  face off.
  • The kids put on the original Willy Wonks today and those oompa  loompas are really fucking scary.
  • I can't get the phrase "just saying'" out of my head. Someone said it to me today and it's really bloody annoying me,  I think that it is the most passive aggressive expression in use these days. "Just sayin" my arse. Yeah, you are giving your opinion because everyone is entitled to it, right?
  • I had no dinner because I hate pasta.
  • Friends. Friends can be the biggest pain in the arse at times.
  • Social media (the irony of this point is not lost on me). I was reminded today of the binders I have that are full of letters and cards I received pre email and text. It really irritates me that most of my interaction with friends these days is via Facebook, text or twitter. When did I get so bad at picking up the phone or meeting for coffee? I love when I meet my friends in person so why have I allowed myself to use Facebook as my main form of communication with most of them?
  • People who dump their shit in your lap and then aren't impressed when you pick it up and dump it back in theirs.
  • Did I mention my feet are completely and utterly freezing?  I would get out of bed to get thick socks on (might even close the window whilst I'm up) but I'm afraid there is w monster under my bed,

15 October, 2014

Surfing!!?? If that's what you call it.

Many, many months back in oooh, July it was time to go surfing again.  Love how that sounds 'surfing again'.  Makes one think I can actually get up on the board.  I can, actually, get up on the board but I can't stand on it.  Kneel? Just about, but stand?  No.
Fitsmile had done their thing again and organised a fun weekend away (do love those girls) and I got to go with them again.  I also got to have a road trip with my main partner in crime, Ms. Geraldine A!!!  I now have a new partner in crime too, she's very cool.  Her name is Ciara and she is very, very funny and swears a lot and, apparently, likes rather large willies very much or something, but that's another story.  We'll need rum, mint and lime for that one.
The whole way down to/over to Sligo we laughed and traded filthy stories and laughed.  Took brutal selfies when driving (am sure there is a law against that) and eventually arrived at the beautiful Surf Hotel in Sligo.
Well holy moly.  You should have seen the place.  It was gorgeous.  Balconies facing towards the sea, sigh.  And all for twenty quid a night??!  Bargain!
Snigger, we went in to the reception of the Surf Hotel and they said 'Er, you're not staying here.  Go out of the gates then take a left and another left and keep driving until you see the sea and it's there on your left."  Turns out we were staying in the Surf Hostel not Surf Hotel.  No balconies in this place let me tell you.  I can't believe we honestly thought we were getting something that awesome for twenty five quid.  The Surf School is very nice and the guys who run it are fantastic craic but salubrious hotel it ain't.  Can't remember any of their names now but can remember one fella was particularly well endowed, he's a carpenter.  Long story.
Everyone had arrived by six and we had a BBQ.  If you live anywhere near where the gorgeous Marta and Alicja of Fitsmile do their classes JOIN.  These two women are wonderful.  They are kind, funny, never stop moving and make sure there is great food for cooking at six in the evening in Sligo.
Have you ever been to Sligo?  We were in Strandhill and it was very beautiful and the sunset was gorgeous and the ice cream was lovely and . . . it's really, really pretty.
All the zumbaers are so nice.  Finally met E and learned things about locking up a fellas privates.  Met T and we fought over who loved Ger the most and my aul' mate Ee would not get into the water.  She's afraid of the sea.  The beautiful sea.  So sad.
I think I woke around seven the next morning, in a panic.  Had that dream again.  The one where I don't fit into the wetsuit! The horror.  Everyone up and good to go by 8 and having breakfast and enjoying the sunshine and banter so I took that as my cue and legged it to get my wetsuit and put it on quietly and privately in our teeny, tiny bedroom.  Seriously, four of us in two sets of bunkbeds in a room smaller than Nos. 2 and 3's bedroom upstairs.  Way smaller.  Ever try and squeeze yourselves into a rubber costume in the bus aisle?  Nope?  Well that's what it was like for me.  For us all in fact as it turned out.
Ger, Ciara and Maire arrived back just as I fell against the bunks in hot, sweaty relief at being in the fecking thing and not needing anyone to tuck my arse in for me (or was that Ger's arse last year?).  "Jaysus" they said, "that was quick."  Then Ger, kindly, pointed out that my knee pads weren't in the right position.
I tried and tried, God did I try, to hoick them back into the right position but no luck.  I had to take the fecking thing off and start again.
Aargh.  Getting into a wetsuit is fine when you are happy and collected and not panicked and sweaty.  By the time I got the fucking thing off I was a hot sweaty mess.  It took both Ger and Ciara to help me back into the sodding thing.  Mind you, Ciara, was having her own issues and palpitations.  If I looked anything as terrified and as stressed as her, and I bet I did, whilst she was shrieking 'I'm not going in, I'm not going in' it must have been an absolute picture.  Ger and Marie just slipped into theirs.  Wagons.
Thanks to the wetsuit er, helping on of etc. I now know Ciara better than I know quite a few people.  Snigger.  She also now loves the term 'wank' for stressful situations.
Then it was time to pick up our boards and parade through the town to the beach.  Bloody stony beach.  Big stones that you have to try and go down sideways so as not to fall over on.  Fail!  Fell over twice.
Into the sea and .. . . bbliss  I am a shite surfer.  Like, absolutely shite but I love it.  I love the laughing and the swallowing of water and the split second I get to my knees to whoop whoop before falling off.
So the er, well endowed surfer dude.  Ciara had an expression.  "He's a show-er not a grower"  which, I think, means he has a huge willy.
If, like me, you are shite at surfing and wouldn't recognise a cool, surfable wave, coming up behind you if it smacked you in the face (which it does) you find yourself lying on your board, feet in the correct position, and a chap at the nose of your board who is looking back out to the horizon for a wave he can send you off on.  Got it?  You're lying there with your face level with his crotch.  Well holy Jaysus, but yer man who was waiting to send me beachwards had the most enormous bit of tackle I've ever seen.  Just hanging there, chilling out beneath his suit and all.  At.  Eye.  Level.  Mortified.  I got so distracted by it or rather by trying not to look at it that I started asking him questions about what he did when he wasn't surfing.  He's a dad and a carpenter.  Oddest three, felt like sixty, minutes of my life.
Before you knew it, sure it was time to get out of the sea, carry the boards back to the hostel, shower and chill for the rest of the day.  When I was walking out of the water I noticed my foot felt funny.  Knew it couldn't be a broken bone or anything but it didn't feel pleasant.  When we got back to the hostel we discovered that our key was having coffee in the town and we were stuck having lunch (left over BBQ - that stuff lasted days) in our swimsuits.  Pretty.  Oh, and my odd foot?  Turns out I had split my gorgeously rose coloured big toe nail right down the centre.  Jesus I was weak at the idea of it.  Still shiver when I think of it.  The only thing to do was to rip it off.  Ugh.  Ciara adviced nail varnishing the skin to match what was left o
of the nail so it didn't look odd .  .  . .??

After lunch we went across the road to have a quick pint with those who were leaving for Dublin (a few of us were staying two nights) and a natter.  The thing with these gorgeous zumbaers and Fitsmilers (I think it's a cult) is . .  they hardly drink and they eat no crap food.  Lots of food but all healthy but no beer.  The surf lads had left us a big bucket of beers and ice and none were drunk??????  They were as surprised as I was.

Turns out there was a reason for not drinking.  We were gong on a hike!?  Yup, allow me to introduce the fresh hell that is/was Knocknarea (ahem, Knocknarea (/nɒknəˈr/; Irish: Cnoc na Riabh)[2] is a large hill west of Sligo town in County Sligo, Republic of Ireland.  The 327-metre (1,073 ft) high limestone hill is visually striking, as it is monolithic in appearance and stands in a prominent position on the Cúil Irra peninsula between the bays of Sligo and Ballysadare. At the summit is a large mound (or cairn) of loose stones. Although it has not been excavated, it is believed to conceal a Neolithic passage tomb.  Never mind the fact that we'd been in the sea for hours we were now due to climb the nearest mountain?!  WTF??? I think I may even have said that aloud.  They never stop.  As I have never climbed a mountain before I only had my trainers, turns out trainers aren't good for climbing mountains.  Too slippy and no grip.  You need mountain boots.  I now own Mountain Boots!

So off we all went.  Nice gentle incline to start with.  Halfway up it wasn't so fucking gentle and I sounded like Darth Vader.  I love Ciara.  Have I told you that yet?  I absolutely love her.  She told me not to panic and that she understood exactly how I felt (like I was going to die).  She had been the same when they went to Poland earlier in the year (they climbed everything that was over 10m on that trip) and herself and Ger just chatted to me as I tried not to be roaring red and not breath like I was gong to die.  I'd say we got within 100m of the top and I gave up.  I could see the top but there was no fucking way I was going to make it.  I didn't want to see the top.  I just wanted to lie down and die. M&A said they'd wait with me (I think they thought I was going to die too) until. I was ready to go up and told me I was well able for it and so on.  I, politely, told them to fuck off and I was incapable of taking another step.  Very hard telling these two ladies to eff-off as you don't want to hurt their feelings and . .  you can tell an Irish person to fuck off and they'll tell you to fuck off, you'll all laugh and happy out but. . . M&A are not Irish people.  They are very lovely, polite Polish people.
Still, they, eventually, left me to myself and I lay on the side of the mountain and watched the clouds scud past and enjoyed the sound of my breathing returning to normal.  When it finaly returned to not sounding life threatening I, briefly, considered climbing the remaining 100m to the top but . .  that passed and I got to lie in the sunshine for a lovely long while.

If I thought going to the top of the mountain was a bloody nnightmare  So fecking slippy.  Jaysus.  Thought my leg was going to snap at the knee as I went, quite quickly, down hte hill and my left leg went er, nowhere.  It went backwards, or stayed still.  Depends on your perspective I guess.  Never.  Again.  Back to the hostel for tea and a movie (psycho killer personal trainer) and I nearly peed with laughing and exhaustion when I limped out of the sitting room to go to bed and realised that I would have been nearer the stairs if I had've used the other door.  I don't normally get upset when having to walk an extra 2 metres but . . you should have seen the state of me.  Big toenail-less.  Bruised.  Bloody and oh, so sore.  That extra 2 metres was a killer.  As for the 13 stairs up to our room??

I woke up about 6am feeling very sorry for myself.  First off, the room stank.  I mean, STANK.   Us three wimmin could give the lads here a run for their money in the stinking room stakes.  Ger wouldn't open the window, you see, because it was along side her top bunk and she was convinced that, somehow she was going to shimmy downwards, whilst sleeping and fall out the window!?  Where was I?  Oh yeah, I woke up feeling terribly miserable due to a thumping hheadache(I have a feeling my headaches may be caused by stress - yesterday had been very stressful, what with the toe and the falling down the mountain.  Twice).  So I sat up to grab a drink and take some painkillers.

Holy fuck!!!!  Never.  EVER sit up suddenly when you are sleeping on the bottom bunk.  Especially when you have a headache.  I swear to God but I saw stars.  I just fell back and wailed quietly in my head . .  so quietly I was able to hear Ger pissing herself laughing at me.  I had hit my head so hard I woke her up.  She then reminded me that not only did I have a sore head, a bruised body and a very achy arse I also had no toe nail on my big toe (have I told you about that yet??).  FFS.

Sleep, breakfast and then (because I'd strolled down to the seafront and seen the lack of waves) I begged the chap in charge not to make me go surfing again that morning.  He took in the state of me and gave me both my money back and a voucher for the local Seaweed Baths.  Seaweed baths are the dogs bollocks.  Even with a scabby, bruised arse and no toe nail it was divine.  After that I had lunch with a friendly crow and enjoyed the book I borrowed from the hostel.  I could see everyone on their surfboards playing games (no waves so they had to do planking and stuff . .  how is this fun?) and I can promise you I didn't feel one bit envious.

Sure then it was time for lunch and time to hit the road.  We stopped for icecream (not as nice as the Strandhill shop, called Mammy something or other) and before you knew it I was home and in bed.   My lovely gorgeous bed with no bed over it.  Happy sigh x

p.s. M&A invited me to go snowboarding / skiing with them next January.  Am quite impressed that they managed to ask with a straight face.  Think they are trying to kill me.

Ooooh, so pretty.
We're not bad either.  Theresa, Moi, Elaine, Ger and Emma 
An unfiltered gorgeous west of Ireland sunset, where else would you rather be?
Two in the bed, in the very small bed.
State of me
Love this, you'd swear I knew what I was doing
Look at me!!!!!!  Shame Elaine looked away as I my le'p up into standing surfer position.
Where'd the sea go?
I don't even like pear cider but this tasted like heaven.  
Sad sigh, everyone bar us two were on the top of the mountain.  We sat on the side, can you sit on the side of a mountain??
Mmmmm, first lunch
My dining companion

11 October, 2014

Talk about fecking drama

No. 3 has been complaining of a sore leg since yesterday.  We should have taken him seriously but seeing as how the leg in question has been dragged behind him, Quasimodo fashion, for the evening we thought he was taking the piss.  Still thought he was taking the piss up until 12.30 today when we realised those tears (yup, the ones lepping off his face) and the chattering teeth were for real.  
Oh dear.  
Rang Temple Street and they said 'He's old enough to know his own pain levels, bring him in".  'Bollox' thought I.  Himself was all set to bring him in but I felt guilty for saying if he, No.3, didn't stop with the limping we'd just take the leg off below the knee ..  . yeaaaaah, so I brought him in.  Took a while to get into town but traffic is always mental on a Saturday isn't it?
Checked in to the hospital and was helping Hop-a-long into a seat when I noted that the lady that looked like Ms.A.B. was, indeed, Ms. A.B.  Her daughter had hurt her foot doing a cross country run.  They'd just been seen by the Triage Nurse and were told there was up to a four hour wait.
I had wedding cakes to deliver at six o'clock.  I remembered Ger's advice and started to B.R.E.A.T.H.E and was just starting to come back to being able to see when Ms.A.B. put the fecking boot in and said 'You do know there is a big water charge march today, don't you, and that there are rolling road blocks/'  Er, no.  No I bloody did not.
I rang Himself and said "you need to go to Bernies and you need to bring the cake toppers and the ribbon and the ... cake toppers".  Then I rang Bernie and said 'No. 3 is in hospital are the cakes ready Darren is coming to get you and then we're going to swap and then you and me are going to deliver the cakes and is that alright with you?"  Love Bernie, with all my heart, as she simply said 'alright so'.  I bet she secretly despairs when I ring her.
Then I waited.  For two hours.  Got to have a proper catch up with Ms.A.B. and told both her and her, probably too young, daughter that the Bone Surgeon was a very fine thing.  A very fine thing who was seven feet tall, tanned, gorgeous arms and cowboy booted.  Beep!!  Text Message 'We're outside'.
They arrived in and myself and Himself swapped over.  I gave him No. 3 and he gave me Bernie.  Then.  It.  All.  Ground.  To.  A.  Frustratingly.  Slow.  STOP.
No matter which way we turned (and I'd been given amazing 'avoid the protesters' instructions by my friendly neighbourhood Garda, G) we were stuck.  It took two hours to get from Temple Street to Dame Lane.  Two hours!!!!  At one point we were stuck in the middle of the protesters and they were screaming "What do we want (shouldn't that be 'what do we NOT want?)?  Water charges!!!  When do we, not, want them?  NOW!!!"  Meself and Bernie are in the car screaming "We want the car to fucking move!!!!!!"  As we drove past Dublin Castle, for the second time, I had this sudden shiver . . . I'd never told Himself about the cake stands.  We had no cake stands for the cakes.  Four cakes and no stands.  Did I mention we had no stands???
Got to Odessa and found out they don't do cake stands.  Lovely chap working on the desk but no one really knew what was what when it came to us.  We left two cakes at the top of three flights of stairs and staggered back down and out into the world to find cake stands.  Was like the mentallist treasure hunt ever.  Cackle, we both ended up in Dunnes where we bought a teacup and saucer, a hurricane lamp and two pretty bowls.  All of which made delightful cake stands (receipt in back pocket as all are being returned tomorrow. .  maybe not the cup as it's a mug size cup and very pretty). 
Back into the car and 35 minutes later we were back at the hospital.  I was swapped for Himself and no. 2 and Bernie was, finally, allowed to go home.  
So.  No.3.  He has soft tissue damage and has been given crutches.  He walks like god knows what.  All hips and arse and big movement.  Keep telling him to walk properly or he'll injure himself but . . .it doesn't matter as we're back in Temple Street next week anyway.  

Big Sigh.

p.s. Ms.A.B's daughter?  Broken bone in foot, ouch.
p.p.s.  It got so bad at one point I was on to Ger three times in then minutes so she could tell me it would be 'fine and to breathe'. 

13 June, 2014

Ha! It really does catch crumbs!

I was chatting to Karen earlier and, I have no idea how, but pubic hair came up.  She prefers the clean look, I like the clean look but . . am lazy and forget to get waxed (on purpose) so, cackle, can be a bit bouffant at times.  She reckons we don't need it at all and I said 'we do, for keeping germs and stuff out'.  According to herself, and she's a doctor of some sorts, that's shite.  
So we googled it.  It does keep stuff out (not puppies, hedgehogs and crumbs but things like herpes?!).  Who knew??  Yup, apparently keeping it all clean down there is leaving skin and teeny, tiny cuts cuts exposed which makes it easier for you to catch stuff (not puppies or crumbs mind).
Pubic hair also acts as a buffer and prevents friction injuries?!  Don't know what that person gets up to but . .  friction injuries?  I do like the idea of not being the victim of friction injuries so that's another reason for me to keep my (as Mabel calls it) full bush.  Cackle, always think that term 'bush' is very Jilly Cooper.  
I once got accidentally hollywooded.  How in the name of Jesus I ended up with a bald yoohoo is beyond me but I did.  I thought I was asking for a Brazilian but nope, I had it all whipped off.  According to the beautician, who I know well (now I know her even better) I have a beautiful labia!  Even Himself has never said that to me.  Yup, apparently I am very symmetrical.  Wish the rest of me was.  I came home from that waxing, red in face, light of pocket and showed it to Himself.  He was intrigued and would happily have played for hours but . .  it was so sore.  It was sore for days.  Then it was itchy for days.  Oh the humanity.
Never again.
So Karen is one for whom less is more and me?  I'm for the easiest, less itchy option.
I once got chatting to a mate of my brother and, again, (how?) pubic hair came up.  He said he preferred them to look natural.  I was astounded until I realised that he was 21 and natural, to him, was bald as a coot to me.  Apparently he keeps himself very bald there too.  He's a back, sack and crack man.  
Shudder, when you have a Hollywood they wax your bum too.  Nothing like having hot waxed slathered there to make you ponder the reason to life.
I don't like smooth men.  Himself, as you may know, was knit.  It looks like two of my sons are going to turn out to having been knit too.  I like it.  Okay, so the first time I saw Himself naked I nearly shat myself but . .  the two times he got his back waxed . .  nah, it wasn't for me.  Didn't feel like him.  Cackle, people are forever remarking on the fact that he only ever ventures outside in t-shirts and a hoodie, even in the depths of winter without feeling the cold.  Of course he doesn't, he has his whole gorilla thing going on.
Mind you, I do occasionally worry that one day myself and Himself are going to end up velcroed together.  I shall go for a tidy lady garden if you don't mind, but not a bald one.  Never a bald one.

11 June, 2014

Be careful what you wish for

Years ago, when I was working and years ago when the boys were small and constantly needed me, all I wanted was a couple of hours alone.  Just a couple of hours to get things done in the house and sit and read a book.  Go shopping, anything.  Just be alone.
Fast forward 6 years and here I am.  Alone.
No. 1 is in bed, he will be up and out within an hour.  Won't see him until 6pm.  Nos. 2 and 3 are at school and, when they come home, they too will be out and about and having fun.  Himself is at college.
Me?  I'm home.  Alone.  And.  Bored, and dare I say it?  Lonely.
I always imagined, when I got to the point where the kids still needed me but needed me less I'd have a nice life going for myself.  I thought I'd be either going to the gym or meeting mates for coffee.  I thought I'd be working part time at a job I enjoy and only do because I want to get out of the house for a couple of hours whilst the kids are at school.
Yeah, not how it all turned out.  I do have a part time job (ish), I make cakes.  This means I am busy Thursday and Friday.  Nothing too taxing (unless it's communion season).  The rest of the time I do housework.  I swear to God, I am living ground hog day.  Every day I get up, empty dishwasher, load washing machine, hoover, dust, grumble about kids not feeding animals or picking up after themselves.  Pick up all the dog pooh in the garden and .  .. it's still not 11.30.  Kids don't finish school until 2.30.  So, for 3 hours I . .  dunno what I do.  Upload stuff to itunes, sort out photos online for an album I don't have the money to print.  Just hang around I guess.
I am starting to dislike caking.  I'm not enjoying it so much anymore, don't get me wrong, I still get a buzz out of creating something but . . . it doesn't even pay minimum wage.  I want a job where I get paid a proper wage and people appreciate what I do without constantly haggling lol.  But I can't do that yet because Himself is in college.  I am starting to resent him too and that's not really fair, is it?  He gets to go out and meet people and do stuff every day, okay so it's college work but he still gets to leave and do something.  I don't.  Most of my friends, kids in same age group, have returned to work.  The ones who don't work  yet have smaller kids, so they hang out with other mams with smaller kids.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is not how I planned it.  I am bored and lonely and fucking fed up with my lot.  I am fed up at having no money, I am fed up with increasing costs to live, what has become, a boring life.  When Himself lost his job I said 'as long as we can put petrol in the car we'll be grand'.  It's becoming harder to do that.  
I know I'm not alone in being broke, half the country is up shit creek but christ, it makes everything so grim.  

Right, it's 10.45.  Time to empty the washing machine and hit the menopausal mile.  I believe that is what the walk from Malahide to Portmarnock is called.  You know?  Being a Malahide Housewife isn't all it was cracked up to be.

08 June, 2014

The eldest chap

He's just turned 13 and the hair is oh, so cool.
He also has a smart phone now.  A tablet too.  All of which I have to keep an eye on, in my role of good mammy, to make sure he is safe and up to no devilment.
At least that was the plan.  
Two things happened in the last while.  I don't know who is more scarred, me or no. 1.

First thing:

He's not allowed to have anything that can be connected to the internet in his room when he goes to bed.  So, on one of the many occasions he broke that rule, I took the phone off him and brought it downstairs.  I really wish I hadn't.  I decided to flick through his many, I never knew there were than many, social network accounts and came across a picture of Himself.  Himself in the nude.  Himself in the nude lying sideways, you know how they do.  Imagine yourself lying on a bearskin rug, your lower leg stretched out, one leg bent and resting in front of the other leg. . . .  kind've like this:
Yeah, lying in the nude with the biggest schlong you have ever seen in your life!  Me and He looked at it and looked at it, Himself trying to work out when the photo had been taken and how no. 1 came to have it and me trying to work out "there's something not quite right here....'  Yer man's willy was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too big to be Himself's willy.  No offence to the man of the house but it was frickin' huge.  If you saw it coming at you you'd go white and bless yourself.  
Cackle, it turned out no. 1 and his mates had worked out how to superimpose peoples faces over those of porn stars. 
No. 1 got a bollocking, Himself still thinks that is what he looks like and me?  Well, sigh.  It was a mighty schlong.