Can I nibble on my finger?

I'm still staying with my mummy and daddy while the floors are fixed. It has been quite fun actually. There is nothing wrong with freshly squeezed orange juice each morning, and a home-cooked packed lunch every day. I did, however, have to phone home to complain yesterday. Reason being that we looked in the fridge yesterday morning before work to find nothing. Well, ok, not nothing, but no neatly packed tupperware shouting: "I'm Shiny's lunch! Take me! Eat me!"

On receiving my complaint call, my mother explained, that, due to the fact that I had gone out the night before to The BFF's birthday, she didn't think to pack me lunch. WTF? I was horrified. Almost wordless, except that I find wordlessness, well, impossible. I had to have a word with my father about it when I got home from work. He, too, was shocked.

This morning, as I drank my freshly squeezed orange juice (yum), I noticed a new bottle of hand cream on the counter. And you know what that's like. New bottles of cream just shout out to be tested. Which I did. My hands now smell like marshmallows, it's wierd. I keep having this unsupressable (is that even a word?) desire to chew off my baby finger.

I'm sure that'd be okay, wouldn't it?

Back Home

Ah yes, you see? That's what happens. I do myself proud, writing every day, and then, wham, slack off because I've done it. Thing is, though, that I have been ridiculously chaotic. I now live with my parents again. Where my bedroom was, is a large, gaping, hole. It's time, right now, if anybody wants to take me up on The Offer. The Nothing is being removed, the entire household has moved in with my parents who, luckily, live just down the road. It's chaos. But I got freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast, and I have a packed lunch in the fridge. Of homemade food. I have also, thus far, managed to hold back on regressing into a 13-year old.

It was close though. When my mother 'snuck' into my room after I'd gone to sleep, with a torch, to rootle around in her linen cupboard looking for a certain blanket, I had to really hold my tongue and remind myself that they're doing us a favour letting us live in their house. Honestly, though, my tone probably wasn't the most friendly when I asked her what she was doing.

The Big Black Dog was instantly settled and thinks she's living in heaven, because there's a pool in the garden, and she likes water, alot. The Siamese Princess, however, spent the day cowering in my jerseys but got a good night's sleep last night. I know this because I heard her snoring. It's full moon, I was, of course, awake. The Big-Boned Babycat is settling in at The BFF (or so I hope), and I have managed to keep my calls down to only three (and an SMS) since dropping her, oh, 16 hours ago.

So that was Day 1 out of The House in The Middle of The Street under the belt, and my parents are planning a two-week trip (probably to India) so I will then be able to run wild in their house. And the builders promise me it'll be over in four (maybe five) weeks...

I wonder if I'll manage not to regress?

Experiments and Spring springing

I had a fabulous weekend. Spring is in the air, and I am always surprised when it arrives and my mood lifts and I remember that I'm not actually the grumpy bitch I am all winter - I do actually have a personality.

On Friday I had strawberry daquiris with The BFF. It was an especially good afternoon I thought. I haven't seen him for ages because he's been useless, basically, and tends to get caught up in his own misery, to the point that he forgets to look around and see all the good stuff he has, right here and now. We had a good catch-up, though, and I hope he remembers the resounding theme of it all - that he does actually deserve to be happy.

During the course of our cocktail session he brought up the programme Mythbusters, and was telling me about one they did to show that if you drop a Mentos in a coke bottle, it explodes. Of course I spent the rest of the time gently coaxing him (i.e. vociferously persuading him) that we must try this theory out. He kept telling me he had no desire to blow off one of his arms just to satisfy my lust for dangerous experiments.

Needless to say, we stopped in at the 7-eleven (I needed bread!) on our way home, and using my winning smile and never-ending charm, I persuaded The BFF to buy Coke and a roll of Mentos - it was a sign, the Mentos were in the passage on the way to the till! In a quiet cul-de-sac, our adrenaline pumping in anticipation, with me nice and far away from the test site (I don't want to lose an arm) The BFF bravely placed the bottle of Coke in the middle of the road, dropped a Mentos in and rushed back to me. I'd like to say he rushed back to protect me, but his standing behind me would negate that idea completely.

We waited with bated breath. The Coke fizzed, bubbling over disconsolately onto the tar, and stopped. We looked. And waited same more. Nada. A Coke bottle surrounded by a small puddle of Coke. Some experiment that was. The adrenaline popped, causing uncontrollable giggling, despite the disappointment of it all. Subsequent reasearch has brought to light that one needs to put the lid back on to cause a build up of pressure. It's probably lucky that we were not bright enough to realise this (really rather obvious) point as I might instead be writing about how to remove Coke bottle shrapnel from your shins...

The rest of the weekend was filled with lovely people and lovely things including Lindt hot chocolate, a drink straight from a natural spring, a long drive, two princesses-who-became-sleeping-beauties-who-became-nudists all in the space of Sunday lunch and the overwhelming feeling of the promise of new things with Spring.

Who doesn't feel like skipping about singing with the first whiff of Spring?

Insomnia, the BFF visits, and I have a thought

It's that time of month when my boyfriend, Insomnia, creeps into my room, usually in the early hours of the morning, blows on my eyelashes to wake me, then climbs in with me and cuddles up to my back. He's sneaky in the way in which he strokes the back of my neck, lulling me into almost sleep, but then, as I nod off, he prods me, hard, jolting me back to wakefulness. And thought. I have to admit, I'm not minding too much at the moment, I'm thinking alot, and it's okay. For now.

The BFF came over for dinner last night. He has been scarce because he's got back together with his ex-girlfriend and boys are just crap at being able to sustain their friendships when they get into a relationship. I tried to explain the concept that, in fact, keeping up your other friendships when having a relationship with someone actually usually helps to sustain the relationship and keep it healthy. Channelling all your energy into one person is a sure-fire way of exhausting things before their time! I think he may even have got it.

Beside all that (deep?) stuff, it was just nice to hang out with him and talk shit and catch up. I've missed him. He is my BFF and all!

Back to my thinking. My mind often amazes even me. After 34 years, you'd think I'd have got used to it, but, nope... willy-nilly, it'll bring up a thought that surprises me! Honestly, usually it surprises me with it's inaneness and this was a good example. Maybe not inaneness, more, well, I'm not sure of the word. You'd think I'd worry about world hunger or, closer to home, my garage door that isn't working. But, no sirreee, not me!

Basically I got to thinking about what happens to all the deleted letters on computers. You know - when you type something wrong and click on the backspace... Where does the extra "K" go? And now I'm going to sound wierd, I know, but this is my space so I'm allowed to be wierd if I want to. Sometimes I try to just move the letter somewhere else, so it doesn't get relegated to wherever it is lost letters go.

Then I thought that perhaps it's a cool place - like a land of letters. Some amazing island off an unknown coast where they all hang out and move around, creating beautiful words, and then making sentences and wonderful stories, only to break up again and move in other directions and new stories like an ever-changing story wave. I liked that idea so I moved my thoughts elsewhere at that point. I also now feel less bad about my backspace and delete buttons. Phew.

I wonder if I should worry? Or, at least, try and worry about more important things.

Tiny solderers

Oh, woe is me. The BFF came over, looked at LLL, shook his head sadly, and said: "The wire is loose". Hmm, okay, so off I sent it to the computer shop this morning who reiterated this (Thank you, Pimply Youth, yes, I know the wire needs soldering. That is why I am here). But they don't solder. Try computer shop 2, around the corner. Trudge, trudge. (Thank you, Pimply Youth 2, yes, I know the wire needs soldering. That is why I am here). They don't solder either. Try the electrican waaaay down the road. Trudge trudge.

You guessed it, they don't do such tiny soldering either. At least it wasn't a Pimply Youth that told me this time that the wire needed soldering, instead it was an adult electrician. I still, however, knew it needed soldering... that was why I was there for heaven's sake. And they had no suggestions. At least I have had quadruple opinions on what it is. And they all concur.

Where the hell does one go to find a tiny soldering person? (And by that I don't mean that the person needs to be tiny, just the solderer. The person can be any shape or size they please. They can even be not-very-nice. Just as long as they tiny solder).

In happier news, The BFF has offered me a spare one of his so I'll be able to harriedly meet my deadlines this weekend. Yey for The BFF, he is a dear.