It may get hairy…

Posts tagged ‘Wine’

And so I’m back*

It’s been a while since we’ve chatted.

A lot has happened since the days of The Diet, some good, some bad…some stupid, some funny (quite often both). So here goes:

I dieted. I lost next to nothing. I stopped dieting, ate what I wanted to and attended a wedding. My Grandfather got married. He cried through the ceremony with happiness. She laughed with joy (the thing, not a person). My parents split up. I learnt that laptops apparently don’t like red wine. I learnt that when one spills red wine on one’s laptop, one shouldn’t use a hair dryer. I learnt that hair driers melt laptop keys.

I laughed with people and at people. People laughed at me (quite notably the computer store clerks). People laughed with me, but perhaps not as much. I cried. A lot. I started the Soup & Yogurt diet. I learnt that the  Soup & Yogurt diet no longer works. I borrowed my Mum’s treadmill. I ran. I ran some more. My face got fat. I visited Hole in the Wall (wow). I started the Eating for your Blood Type diet. My fridge broke. I ate lots of ‘cold’, but not cold meat. I saved and I saved. I lost all email access (sorry). My business boomed  (bloody Murphy). I hired a freelancer. A freelancer saved my not so tiny bum. I bought my very own sexy laptop. I saved for a laptop all on my tod (through connections). I was sad. A lot. And then I decided to be happy.

In summary: Like many people, my life is series of Mr Bean** moments. My laptop arrived today and I decided I just had to visit my blog again to tell you all about this rather strange period. Of course, I can’t do that without wine, so there’s a glass of wine, in a shoe box, far, far away from my new laptop (but within arm’s reach).

I woke up this morning and despite the nagging feeling that yet again, something would go wrong, I decided to be happy. It’s both easier and harder than it seems. Things did go wrong, but I managed. While running back and forth in Woolies checking out ingredients and getting an audience, I saw flowers. Flowers make me happy. I’ve had a great work month, but alas, work and cash flow seem to misunderstand each other, so while I’m swimming in clients, I can’t afford to buy flowers. So I bought them.

I’ll be dining on more cold sausages in a sealed container tonight (no fridge, remember), but hey, I have flowers. I’m not sure how long I’ll keep them alive, or allow them to make me happy, but I hope each and every one of you finds a ‘flower’ today 🙂

That’s my corny bit, now I’m going to get plastered.

*Admit it, you sang the song. 

** I even have a teddy – 

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To be, or not to be… a slug

For the last few months, I’ve been sinking into a melancholic abyss. I get lethargic and fatter – couch potato takes on a new meaning as I gorge on potatoes. Alright, in all honesty, I’ve been eating really well and just continuously gaining pounds. Now, don’t give me the exercise lecture, been there, done that – it didn’t help either and yes, I did it for a significantly long period of time.

Anyway, this combined with my total lack of motivation has made me akin to a rather large, rather red, slug. So imagine this slug can’t find a way out of its slugness and sits at its laptop, day in, day out, feeling increasingly sorry for itself. Until one day, it communes with a non-slug that it really doesn’t like and all of a sudden the slug is filled with anger and a desire to not be slug-like, so that it can compete with the non-slug and show the non-slug it is so much better than it and is, in fact, a butterfly… or some equivalent happy, bright, non-slug like thing.

So, it is with this burst of motivation, anger and jealousy driving me on that I start upon my journey to salvation. My first step towards freedom, self-love and all that gushy stuff. This drive of non-slug-like envy raises me up to do what I have to do! To take my first step into the future that is mine to hold and so today, I took this first step. I grabbed my future by the balls and told it ‘I am the captain of my fate!’ And so today….

I did the dishes.

Now, I’d like a round of applause and someone to come do my laundry – there’s quite a lot.

Drunken woes and toilet bowls

Right, so this is a far from pleasant blog, as the heading tells you.

So, this weekend I popped off to Margate with my lovely mother and grandfather. We behaved ourselves for a full day, until Saturday, when I was asked to be the sacrificial Designated Dave and off I drove my elders to the pub, so they could get sloshed.

Sunday was my turn.

I’m going to skip ahead quickly – mainly because the banal details of how I ended up hugging the toilet bowl, eyes streaming and fully believing parts of my stomach were swirling around in the (…well… I won’t gross you out, but you get it), are pointless.

Lesson learnt 1: Don’t go drinking with a 19 year old.

Not only can they out do you, but they’re smart enough not to try. They remain pretty. You don’t. Although, to be honest, she was an absolute ball.

Lesson learnt 2: Do not try to convince some brauns-no-brain plonker that religious arguments are pointless.

Just shut up. They won’t stop. Ever….

Lesson learnt 3 (and most importantly): Do not drink blue shooters on an ulcer.

Why it takes two mind-numbing lessons to teach me this, I haven’t the foggiest. The last time I got plastered, was through some other blue, toxic nonsense that led to loose morals and stomach contents.

It took a week for me to recover. Not fully, as for over a month I struggled to eat anything – the consequence of pouring neat alcohol onto a gaping hole in your innards.

This time it was bubblegum tequila. I hate bubblegum. I hate tequila, so how I had so much, god only knows.

There is no hyperbole when I say I thought I lost chunks of my stomach lining. The pain was so intense that I barely believed I was alive. Long after any alcohol had left my system in the projectile sort of way, I still lay sprawled over the bowl, calling God on the Great White Telephone.

Sleep-induced delirium didn’t help me. How sleep came (and so deeply!) in my state floors me, but every time the spasms passed, I slipped back, which means that the pain took on strange and gnarly contours, becoming a real and living thing, rather than a symptom.

I eventually stopped, well, mostly and heedless of my appearance managed to pack, climb into the car and snooze myself back into normalcy.

My pain was noticed during the night – others knew of my ulcer and realised that this wasn’t any hangover, but rather a horrible situation, triggered by bloody blue shooters.

And yet, come morning, the jokes ensued. I know I should have expected them, but I wonder why, when the world knows of your affliction (ulcer, not alcoholism), does it all become moot, when triggered by booze?

So. Moral of the story – do not drink blue shooters on an almost healed ulcer.

PS. My friend recently posted a rather personal blog on the effects of over-thinking – ‘Why didn’t I do this?’ ‘Why did I say that?’ ‘Why didn’t I stick up for myself‘ etc etc…we all know the feeling. I’d tag her in this, but I believe her blog to be very personal, so won’t, but now I’m afflicted with the same bloody disease. Pre-puke, I was rather happy and very friendly. I’m a loving drunk – everyone is beautiful and I give much needed advice (not!) to the young’uns and know better than everyone else. I try to fix fights, hug and touch everyone (usually, in the normal platonic way) and am just amicable. So, post-puke I find myself wondering – Why did I do that? Why did I confront the idiot in my nice and amicable way? Did he take it the wrong way when I touched his arm? I’d rather return to mid-puke than have anything with that lunk of dumb.

There are few things worse than drunken woes and toilet bowls. 😦

Some kick-ass reading

This post may be of relevance to no one but myself, but I must say, today I am awesome. I am also buggered, for the same reason.

I read an entire novel last night, after returning from work…late.

I like to classify myself as a bit of an English boff. I don’t compare to some of the great minds I studied English with in our Honours’ year, but I do like the classics and love to get my nose stuck into something obscure and intellectual. I read Rushdie for fun, Fowles for insight (please read The Magus. It is one of those novels that may actually change your life…and simultaneously make you doubt the loyalty of your toenails) and I love a bit of Shakespeare when the moment’s right, but I also revel in my cheesy crime and horror novels.

I loved reading as a child, but my passion came when, as a ten-year old, I picked up my first Stephen King: The Tommyknockers (unbeknownst to my mother). A mediocre novel at best, and by far not his best work, but it served to tell a little, rather odd, girl that she was not all that different from others. I was awed by the fact that the characters’ minds seemed to work similarly to mine (that they would suddenly ponder the state of their laundry, whilst aliens attacked, incessantly probing their minds). This was, of course, before they thought of nothing but nursery rhymes and building walls (King is outstanding. He is also strange. And I fully believe he stole the walls thing from Churchill).

Last night, after returning from work at 7.30, I wanted nothing more than to enjoy a glass of  Merlot, whilst reading a chapter or 8 of a new Harlan Coben before I went to bed. His writing style is particularly cheesy, which says nothing of mine, as I felt as I were reading my own work for the first few pages. At around 9pm, I realised that I may have gotten myself into a problem. I couldn’t very well put down a book, when it was about to reveal the ‘who dunnit’ (excuse the vernacular)? At 9.30, a new problem revealed itself – what if there were no ‘who dunnit, ‘ as nobody had, actually, done it?

It wasn’t until midnight that I finally turned the last page, thoroughly pleased with the ending and hit the pillow.

Now, this would not be a problem for a large majority of people, as midnight is not a particularly awful time to hit the sack. For an insomniac, however, it’s a bad, bad idea.

I fell asleep at 2am, filled with thoughts of run away pedophiles and blog writing.

Thus, I am buggered. But I am awesome. I read an entire novel in only a few short hours 😉

*A slight hindsight note: I doubt that I seriously pondered the state of laundry as a ten-year old, but you get the drift. Additionally, this is the second time I have written this blog, as dear HTML decided to hate me and, instead of saving a draft, it published a version I had written an hour previously. A start to a particularly crappy day, that has gotten progressively worse. This second post is much crappier. Apologies. On a last note: anyone who has time, please see if  you have any problems subscribing to my business blog, as I’ve heard there are issues with some and not with others. Don’t worry, you’ll get to unsubscribe if you want. It’s not a spam scam, I’m desperately trying to fix a blog prob – http://sayssez.com/business-blog/ – click the panda.


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