Tuesday, 19 October 2010

Haircut, age 4

Recently Babe has been doing a pretty good impression of some sort of abominable monster. We’ve affectionately called her Cousin It. Here.. this is actually pretty tame, imagine this swirling around the place, picking up dust and encouraging the puppy to jump and bite it…

cousin-itIt got a bit long, huh? So we had to visit the “hair cutter”. And she lost around… ok, lost exactly because I just measured it… EIGHT INCHES OF HAIR!!! OMG. That’s a huge amount. Anyway, here’s The Babe, age 4, post-haircut.


Hey look, we did this post before!

Friday, 15 October 2010

The Universe Is Against Me


This is a (bad) representation of my shower control. When I get in the shower, it’s pointing at 6. That’s too hot for me, so I adjust to 5. 5 is freezing OMG jump out of the way quick. Adjust to 5.5. That’s also freezing. Sigh. Adjust to 6. Also freezing. Huh? 6.5. Freezing. 7. Freezing. WTF?? 8. Cold. Grrr. Fine, whatever, I’ll have a cold shower. Cold is better than freezing. Wet hair. Apply shampoo. Lather. Water boils. There is no in-between, it goes from cold to Holy Crap I could make tea with this. Screech. Jump out of the way with scalded.. uh… outer extremities.

This shower doesn’t like me. I have shampoo dripping into my eyes. It burns. Eeek. Turn down water to 7. Boiling. Waft shower over toes to see if it’ll cool down if I give it a chance. No. To 6. Ha no, boil sucker. The steam is wafting into the shampoo dripping down my forehead turning it into some sort of sloppy goo that can get into eyelids that are squeezed shut.

5. That was freezing before, right? Yeah… not anymore.

Whack it down to 3. Still too hot, but not burning so I quickly rinse the shampoo and tears of pain.

Still hot. Reach for the shower gel…. Nudge shower control without moving it… suddenly the water temperature drops to zero and ice cubes drop on my head. Ouch. But also hah, I didn’t move you so I just proved that you are a sentient, malevolent, nasty… uh… machine. And I am bloody cold.

Turn shower right up to 9 because boiling has gotta be better than hailstones in the bathroom, right?

Ah ee ah ee ah aeee… sod it, that’ll do, DONE.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

In Which I swear. A LOT.

I was talking with a friend today. She needs a pseudonym… uhhh… Sandy. She’s Sandy. Actually Sandy is like the worst name ever because Sandy is the uptight virgin from Grease while this woman is more at home sprawled back, fag in hand, vodka in the other, cackling with me about penis sizes. Anyway. We’ll call her Sandy with an ironic wink, eh?
Sandy said there was nothing worse than having a reallyreallyreally bad day and you go to your husband/partner/whatever for a comforting hug. And they use the opportunity to grope your ass or boobs. You’re like “What the FUCK???!” And he’s like “What?????” As if he did nothing wrong and you are some over-sensitive uptight shrew.
Yeah. That’s bad.
I wish I’d remembered, though, what Himself does to me….
So I had a bad day. Thing One has morphed from this gorgeous bundle of love into a mouth with an attitude. She was doing her usual being mean thing, this time at Babe. So I literally screamed at her that Babe had spent 8 hours in hospital this week alone, she was in pain and tired and why couldn’t Thing One just be CIVIL for God’s sake.
And then I went into the kitchen, turned the Ipod up LOUD and burst into tears.
Himself came in and asked me what was wrong…. “She’s just a child but she won’t be a child much longer, she could leave home in as little as two years and I do nothing but YELL at her because she’s so horrible but I have so little time left with her and I hate all this…..waaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.” Sobs I.
“Awww.” he says. He puts his arms around me. And then he says it. The thing that is worse than groping your crying wife.
“Is your period due then?”
And okay I wasn’t exactly coherent but... I’d rather be fucking GROPED than fucking PATRONIZED. YOU TWAT.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Well *I* didn’t break my baby this time

She did it all by herself. Fell down the stairs, flomp. Bang. SCREAM. Quick trip to A&E when she couldn’t put her foot down. Quick = 3 hours. X-ray of ankle clear. Go home. Next day, ankle bruised, swollen, still not weight bearing. ‘Nother quick trip to A&E. 2 hours. X-rayed from hip to toe. Nada. She’s bruised her bones (I used to think that was a made up illness, like cooties). Back at hospital tomorrow. In the meantime, she can’t walk at all and we’re having to carry her literally everywhere. She sits on the sofa, bored out of her mind, whining. “Mummy can I have…. uuuuhhhh…..”

Wanna bet how long my patience will last? (Hint; bet SMALL, people, SMALL!).

Road Rage

1) If I stop on a busy narrow street to allow you to drive first, don’t say thank you to the car BEHIND ME, you tosspot!

2) If you are on a bike and I am in a car and we come to some traffic lights don’t swing around me to come past me on my right to fly across the lights as if magical-forcefield-of-omgitsabike will protect you from the cross traffic. You scared the crap out of me when you sailed past my window. Tosspot.

3) Probably most important. If you are in a car park and I am happily driving past you don’t just reverse out of your space straight into the passenger side of my car. Pretty please? TOSSPOT.

(OK. Maybe those first two aren’t really rage worthy. But it was a quick five minute trip to the train station to drop someone off, and they all happened in the same journey….)

Monday, 4 October 2010

Puppy Diary 4

Kibble is fast becoming one of the biggest benefits of this incarceration. I even get some at mealtimes now, which is a vast improvement on the mush they used to serve.

They took me back to the kibble place this week, but the nasty torturer this time didn’t give me kibble when she nipped my neck so I cried a little. Then they gave me a BIG nip on my neck but that time they must have felt guilty and gave me kibble so it was alright. They said the BIG nip was a “chip”, but I’ve seen chips on the smaller jailers’ food and there’s no way they stuck one of those huge things in me. I had a good sniff and scratch just in case. If they stuck food in my neck I wanted it out! It might be good, like kibble!

They did get new shackles. They made jokes about getting a pink sparkly shackle but luckily they decided to be sensible. Or so I thought. They attached a long “lead” to my neck shackle, which is not at all sensible! So I bit it and worried at it. Then they took it off.

I have deciphered quite a few of their bird noises now, but I shall pretend to remain ignorant so that they can’t tell me to do things. They keep making silly noises like “no” – often followed by the word “biting”. They do this when I investigate things like wicker baskets and fingers. I shall ignore them.

I have had some success with training the littlest one to understand a proper language. She now knows that “cry” or “head on side” means feed me. She isn’t very intelligent because she also thinks that “sleeping”, “exercising”, “researching escape routes” all mean feed me. I don’t think I shall tell her any different because it’s one way to get extra kibble.

Note to self; crying makes them feel bad and they give me kibble.
Note to self; bite the “lead” to make them rescue it and leave me alone.