No more waiting. But it's almost the time when my body, mind, and spirit wake up. The alarm clock is soon to go. Hopefully there'll be some Sex and the Cuty reruns, as well as some CSI, oh, and some Criminal Minds wouldn't hurt either. Because today I'm on my own and it's nice sometimes. I don't have to talk. It also means I don't have anyone I can sweet talk into being a waiter as usual, but it's not going to hurt for once. I realise I have only 4 days of holidays left. Pity. They stretched out so grandly on the first day, now they're pitiful. And I'm not sure I used these holidays well either. I've slept so much. But then sleep never hurt anyone. I didn't eat so much, which is probably a good thing. But right now it's when I can breathe a finer air, because it's 10am. Now I understand why my mother said she had a hard time getting us to sleep. Her mistake, which is the world's mistake is that 10pm is bedtime for kids, and probably also for adults. Sorry, it's just our body clock We cannot time it the way the rest of the world says it should be timed.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Just another bill...
And the waiting continues. I have realised just how much booze there is in this house, and that is plenty. I don't know how this has happened, probably all along the Christmas presents, the Christmas party. I know I have opened quite my fair share of booze, but unless it's called Bailey's then it's just another bottle which I'll put in the booze cabinet, hoping someone will come, someone who appreciates the booze. And is someone like that knocks at my door, I'll be happy to put it all in one bag for him or her. No problem. As long as they enjoy it, they're very welcome. I like looking at the bottles, but that's about it. I have no idea what this funny relationship I have with alcohol is. It's just a no relationship at all. And yet I like looking at the bottles. Funny. But then it's not as if I'm not funny with other things. I can never understand someone looking forward to the weekend because they can splosh out on the booze. I will look forward to a weekend where I can relax, but not drink. Which is another silly thing. I get asked, with looks of amazement and furry brows up in no time, Don't you drink? Of course I drink, I drink heaps of Diet Coke, coffee, water, some orange juice sometimes. That's drink right? But no, it's always a reference of, don't you ever hit the bottle? No, not unless it's a Diet Coke one, and if it comes with the man in the Diet Coke ad, oh sure I'll hit the bottle and everything else. If anybody want to drink alcohol it's fine by me, they can drink copious amounts, it doesn't bother me. That is how good citizens should behave when instead of the bottle, there's a cigarette in question. If they don't like it, I am not going to force them to smoke, but I should be let smoke as much as I want. But no, the world doesn't see it that way. So it's all right to hold someone's head, hold your nose and look the other way, while they're puking the booze out, but just the faintest smell of a cigarette makes them sick. Oh am I so tired of this behaviour. They can drink but I cannot smoke. But I don't drink I just smoke. I really would like to see alcohol banned in public places, oh then that's when there will be an uproar. But if everybody were like me, then the AA would close down, and quite a few people from Sedqa would be unemployed. We groan and grunt about the hazards of drinking, yet, if we had all to follow my regulations, quite a few people would be piling up at Hal Far unemployed. We groan and grunt about families and the dysfunctional attitudes, but if we all had model families then they'd be on the dole too. And if no people were on the dole, then ETC would close too, and where would unemployed ETC people go to? So let us rejoice on alcoholism, bad parenting, because they contribute to the economy, or, as yours truly sees it, they rip the economy apart. And they get off the Enemalta surcharge because there's always people like me who will foot the bill. And then, I cannot light up in peace? Go away and let me smoke myself to death. Look the other way if you don't like cigar smoke, or better still, change your location. Because I will at least have deserved my own funeral which will of course not be paid out of your money, but mine. I'll have had plenty of practise footing the bill.
My mum and the bad girl
Waiting again. And I don't like the fact that this is becoming a regular Friday thing. That spells out timetables and I do not like timetables. My mother had them. Monday was washing day, Tuesday was washing her mother's house day, Wednesday was the take it easy day, Thursday was washing the upstairs floor day, Friday was the downstairs. And washing day was an every day thing. Oh dear this sounds so terrible, but I really wonder how any woman could have lived a life like that. And it's not as if I have a stupid mum, although sometimes I really think all her religious addictions have turned her dumb. But she was (is) a mum with a degree on her shoulder, something which wasn't that popular in those days. And yet she let all of the housekeeping/religious dung go straight to her head. I had a sexy mum with unsexy schedules and even more unsexy thoughts and probably an unsexy lifestyle. At my age, she was already leading the granny kind of lifestyle, and not of the sexy nowadays type. When I remember I start feeling sorry for her kids, myself in particular, seeing I was the one who paved the way for my dear twin. I wanted to stay out later then 10pm, of course that was turmoil, but I stayed out anyway. I hate to say that seeing that my mum was, in my opinion at that time, being unreasonable, then I'd return home at 10 all right, only it would be 10 am, the following day. Oh God what a rebel. So when my very good twin stayed out till midnight, in my mum's eyes he was a saint. Yeah right, a saint. My mum still thinks she did all the good things about parenting while I did all the wrong things in daughtering. But I don't think I did. I wanted to party. I got good grades in every sphere, I fell in love, in lust, and her idea of her daughter finding a good man at 18 just wasn't on. It started so earlier. But she seemed to think that there was kind of love machine, one falls in love at 18. Sorry mum it happened at 14, so get used to it. Which she never did. Get used to it, that is. And then again, and again, and again, and again until I lost count. However can anybody explain to a woman who has married her only boyfriend, that her daughter was not getting so lucky and so the boys started growing up into men. And that suddenly my mum thought I wasn't young anymore so I'd find the one. Grow up mum and see the world as it really is. She didn't. Grow up that is, and she hasn't. And when I take a good look at myself in the mirror I am surprised at the change that has happened. Teenage tearaway me, the one who'd stay out all night, who would see dawn plenty of times, has been transformed into this very normal girl (yes I resist the world woman), and it's hard to remember me in those 80's stilettos all day long, in that pink dramatic eyeshadow, and in those micro skirts. But yes it's happened. Every dog has it's day. I did too. It's hard to believe that I have been transformed into this tame-looking thing. Where did all the bad-girl image go? I guess it's fallen somewhere along the path of good sense, or perhaps nonsense. I just wish I knew at 14 what I know now. It would have pleased mum no end. As it is, it still doesn't please her. So I've just taken a very long break and accepted that while some girls stick to their mummies with imaginary superglue, well, I'm not one of those, and will never be.
Outta the oven
All righty, so I'm back here with nothing to do except wait, wait for the first batch to come outta the oven. Except for the fact that I seriously do not know how to switch the oven on. I discovered this a few days ago when the mister asked would I be a darling and just switch the oven on. Of course, I said, yeah right. I spent a solid minute staring at what I know is the oven. But I couldn't put it on, because I do not know how to anyway. And although I watched, I still wouldn't be able to repeat what I saw. Terrible, this oven thing is just terrible. And I feel even more terrible especially when I see my other half scoop up the dinner tray right outta the oven, so professionally with oven gloves too. Oven gloves, I don't think they're nice. I like leather ones. But I don't think they'd do the trick when I recall my physics knowledge. That is the point, I am so armed with knowledge which I never use.
Anyway, I don't like ovens very much. They become so hot that you've got to steer clear of them. I haven't understood much of why this happens, but I'm not a glutton for some scalding burn. Now take washing machines. They're so much better, they will always have me in awe, the way I just throw everything in, and everything comes out so clean. And yes you really can wash everything in a 40 degrees if you use Ariel. Now that sounds so clever, although it's probably the only clever thing I know about housekeeping and it's not as if it hasn't come through trial and error. Fact; I will never be a good housekeeper. Fact; it doesn't bother me one bit. Fiction; I always say maybe next year. More fiction; I really want to learn but somehow I cannot. Even more fact; it's way too boring and I'm better off writing in here.
I guess I must make up for my bad attitude as regards housekeeping in something else. Fact; this is me. Take it or leave it.
Anyway, I don't like ovens very much. They become so hot that you've got to steer clear of them. I haven't understood much of why this happens, but I'm not a glutton for some scalding burn. Now take washing machines. They're so much better, they will always have me in awe, the way I just throw everything in, and everything comes out so clean. And yes you really can wash everything in a 40 degrees if you use Ariel. Now that sounds so clever, although it's probably the only clever thing I know about housekeeping and it's not as if it hasn't come through trial and error. Fact; I will never be a good housekeeper. Fact; it doesn't bother me one bit. Fiction; I always say maybe next year. More fiction; I really want to learn but somehow I cannot. Even more fact; it's way too boring and I'm better off writing in here.
I guess I must make up for my bad attitude as regards housekeeping in something else. Fact; this is me. Take it or leave it.
The sex law
It's the laundry time again. I think I only mention laundry as in household chores over here, probably because it's the only thing I do. I don't do anything else. Now if shopping because a household chore restricted only to housewives, then I'd get married tomorrow and resign from my job with a really polite letter which would say, you cannot really blame me, and I thank you for your understanding. And I would expect them to understand. Who the hell wouldn't understand a reason like that? I haven't hit the shops yet, because they are mostly closed, and braving out the cold for just a couple of shops wasn't worth my time. My tartan blanket was calling. I'll try my best tomorrow.
My dog is menstruating, so my other dog is in an excited state, the kind of being in sheer glee and frustration all in one. It's a wonder he hasn't realised that no, sex is not on the agenda, after 5 years. My female dog (no she's no bitch) is so smart. She wants all the attention which my other dog lavishes on her the minute the menstruation begins, but of course she doesn't want to go through the gestating and the giving birth. She's so clever, she wants all the fun, but none of the pain. So there she lies like a goddess while her male companion does all the works, except for when the male companion decides that an hour of oral fun and foreplay is enough and would love to do the rest, it's then that my really nice female dog turns into an angry one. She is so smart, she doesn't even need contraception, she knows exactly what she's doing. Which is probably a very good thing, since I cannot imagine some ten puppies running around. Because I don't care that they would cost a hefty sum had I to sell, I still wouldn't sell. There seems to be something in this house that defies the law of copulation, the law of sexual fertilisation. I can understand the cats seeing they are all neatly neutered, but not the dogs, and not anybody else. So beware, if you're desperately trying to have a child, do not knock on my door for your own sake. It's a solid door which although has gone untested by laboriteries seems to be as good as every oral contraceptive, or not necessary oral. It's just as good. Seriously.
My dog is menstruating, so my other dog is in an excited state, the kind of being in sheer glee and frustration all in one. It's a wonder he hasn't realised that no, sex is not on the agenda, after 5 years. My female dog (no she's no bitch) is so smart. She wants all the attention which my other dog lavishes on her the minute the menstruation begins, but of course she doesn't want to go through the gestating and the giving birth. She's so clever, she wants all the fun, but none of the pain. So there she lies like a goddess while her male companion does all the works, except for when the male companion decides that an hour of oral fun and foreplay is enough and would love to do the rest, it's then that my really nice female dog turns into an angry one. She is so smart, she doesn't even need contraception, she knows exactly what she's doing. Which is probably a very good thing, since I cannot imagine some ten puppies running around. Because I don't care that they would cost a hefty sum had I to sell, I still wouldn't sell. There seems to be something in this house that defies the law of copulation, the law of sexual fertilisation. I can understand the cats seeing they are all neatly neutered, but not the dogs, and not anybody else. So beware, if you're desperately trying to have a child, do not knock on my door for your own sake. It's a solid door which although has gone untested by laboriteries seems to be as good as every oral contraceptive, or not necessary oral. It's just as good. Seriously.
Need or want?
I think one new year resolution should be ; I shall not oversleep. This is getting too much of a habit. Let me see what I can blame it on. This year I haven't even used my duvet much. But in my wardrobe, where things seem to grow suddenly, I have found this tartan blanket, and since tartan is all the range on catwalks, then why not on my bed. The thing is this tartan thing seems to have the power to throw me into sleep so deep only a prince could wake up, or, in my case, only loads of telephone calls, mobile calls, and a bomb is able to wake me up. And then it's not a very hurried wake up call either. Really, Go should make an effort to turn their wake up call into a crashing forte, as it is, I am wasting so much money on wake up calls which are going unheard. But anyway, sleep is good for beauty, or beauty is good for sleep, it could be either way.
I am also tempted to hit the shops, seeing it'll be the sales. But what if the shops are closed and the sales start tomorrow, then it would be a waste of woman power. I don't need anything, but when did shopping be shopping for need? It's always shopping for what I want. And what I want somehow turns into what I need once they're in a shiny shop window which must be cleaned at least four times a day. I don't need shoes, but I know where there is a red leather pair of boots and if I go anywhere near them, they'll suddenly be the thing I need the most. I want to go to Sliema, but I'm not sure I'm prepared. Because I'll inevitably end up buying so many things which I never thought of in the first place, but which suddenly become a need in the second place. Then I'll load my car with these things, and that in itself is an experience. I also have seen a white Chanel bag to go with my white boots, but the problem, or the good miracle, was that the shop was closed. And yes I've been again only to find that the bag was taken. I wanted to stamp my feet in the white boots in frustration. That was my bag and nobody else's and yet somebody else is wearing it. I could have cried, I wanted to badly. But that wouldn't really have spelt sophistication. And I remembered in sheer joy that I actually own a white Chanel bag anyway, and although it isn't big as I wanted, then I have a Versace bag in white and in a size which could carry my shopping around easily. That is my problem. I buy, and I forget. And at times when I realise that my shopping is way out of order, then I think how good I am to the economy. The economy which I know nothing about, but which I am so good to, although not good at. Another problem is my memory; my memory of things having been bought. I don't know what it is, I have a rather good memory in all other spheres, it's just that the sparkle of possessing new things fills up my brain to the limit so much so I have no more space for other types of memories.
So what is it I want? I'll find out soon enough, the minute I hit the shops. Then somehow I'll realise that it's actually what I need and I cannot go without. Strange thing this brain of mine.
I am also tempted to hit the shops, seeing it'll be the sales. But what if the shops are closed and the sales start tomorrow, then it would be a waste of woman power. I don't need anything, but when did shopping be shopping for need? It's always shopping for what I want. And what I want somehow turns into what I need once they're in a shiny shop window which must be cleaned at least four times a day. I don't need shoes, but I know where there is a red leather pair of boots and if I go anywhere near them, they'll suddenly be the thing I need the most. I want to go to Sliema, but I'm not sure I'm prepared. Because I'll inevitably end up buying so many things which I never thought of in the first place, but which suddenly become a need in the second place. Then I'll load my car with these things, and that in itself is an experience. I also have seen a white Chanel bag to go with my white boots, but the problem, or the good miracle, was that the shop was closed. And yes I've been again only to find that the bag was taken. I wanted to stamp my feet in the white boots in frustration. That was my bag and nobody else's and yet somebody else is wearing it. I could have cried, I wanted to badly. But that wouldn't really have spelt sophistication. And I remembered in sheer joy that I actually own a white Chanel bag anyway, and although it isn't big as I wanted, then I have a Versace bag in white and in a size which could carry my shopping around easily. That is my problem. I buy, and I forget. And at times when I realise that my shopping is way out of order, then I think how good I am to the economy. The economy which I know nothing about, but which I am so good to, although not good at. Another problem is my memory; my memory of things having been bought. I don't know what it is, I have a rather good memory in all other spheres, it's just that the sparkle of possessing new things fills up my brain to the limit so much so I have no more space for other types of memories.
So what is it I want? I'll find out soon enough, the minute I hit the shops. Then somehow I'll realise that it's actually what I need and I cannot go without. Strange thing this brain of mine.
In the dark
I'm back, I've made it back safely into comfort zone. I didn't have to worry about anything, my best friend just bagged himself a lovely mate. Very lovely, if looks are anything to go by, then she's lovely, and if it's the insides we're going by then that's lovely too. And it makes me so happy. Perhaps happiness is catchy in 2009, if it is the case then I hope I make at least the ones in my comfort zone happy. I so want it to be a happy year, but how can I really tell what the rest of the year is going to be like just from one day? I don't, of course. I feel so tired, and unfortunately it's not the real kind of tired. My brain is racing, my body so lethargic, and one seems intent on going left while the other firmly goes right. It's a strange feeling, and I've checked everything, including my blood glucose level and all is well and normal. It;s just my thoughts that aren't very well I suppose. I have it all now, I want it all, and I want more. But then I'm not sure I want more. It'll be a very big leap in the dark, and while I am friendly with the dark, well I don't like leaping very much, because leaping is for frogs, and I might be all the things under the sun (and moon) but I'm not a frog. So I'll let the leaping be for now, and just be in the dark.
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