Sweet F.A. - Furious Angel

The Day With Randomness

Vixx — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 18:28:39 +0000

Am not dead. Nor in a self-imposed exile. Just phenomenally – ridiculously – busy, and feeling slightly under the weather as a result. The weather is shit. The house looks like shit – I look like shit. I have three days left in work before I kick off two weeks leave and this CANNOT COME A DAY TOO SOON. Simply put? I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. My eyes constantly burn from screen fatigue. I need a rest.

A week today we fly off for seven nights in Spain. My plans are numerous, but chiefly involve me lying down for this time, whether that’s sunbathing, reading or sleeping (I would include the other thing you (usually) need to be lying down for, but we’ll be sharing a family room with our six year old, folks). I desperately want to take my laptop to enable me to get a bit of writing/work done too, but it’s such a solitary past-time that I suspect M would accidentally throw my Macbook off the balcony – which makes it not worth the risk, obviously. I’ll have to settle for a buttload of paper and electronic books instead (have to admit, I think I’m falling for Apple’s iBooks service). It’s a compromise I’m willing to make, providing, you know, I’m still able to lie down.

Also: am fat again. I’ve, like, completely undone all the hard work of last year. I worked so hard and what do I do? Eat myself back there again. Awesome, Vixx. Way to go. Have some cake to celebrate you FAT DISGUSTING COW.

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The Day with the Grand Day Out

Vixx — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 08:00:34 +0000

My week ended better than it had begun. :)

Friday saw the culmination of several weeks of plotting and planning and the realisation of a four year long dream, a dream I’ve had for a long as I’ve worked in my current organisation. Myself and several of my closest work friends went out for lunch … and didn’t go back. We each booked a half day off work and spent the afternoon in the sunshine in the shadow of our office building, high on excitement, drinking and laughing ’til we ached, and then headed to the Bay for an extended evening of the same, only this time with a view of the sparkling water. It was wonderful. Relaxed. Perfect.

In all there were six of us. Three male, three female – myself, my work BFF and then three of the guys I had so much fun with at Christmas (the third girl I didn’t know so well, but while she didn’t seem quite as attuned with our stupidity and sense of humour, I think she had fun(?)). If you’re a Flickr contact then you might have seen the photo set, and if it bored you … well, that’s okay. I think that for 80% of those photos (and all the videos), you kinda had to be there, you know? :)

It was like the day had been designed for us. A flawless sky, boiling sun, bottled beer on ice and a long wooden table in a sun-soaked beer garden. We ate lunch – stoutly committed to ‘lining stomachs’ before the drinking commenced – and then spent nine hours sinking back Corona and, later on, ice-cold G&Ts. And to be honest? When we first cooked up the idea, the thought of nine hours together … well, there can be too much of a good thing. I’d convinced myself that by six or seven o’clock, we’d be busting a gut for an excuse to make tracks and leave. I WAS WRONG. When nine o’clock hit we were all sat around the table, weeping with laughter, wondering how we could tease out another hour or so. I never dreamed that we could spend that long together and not run out of things to say. :) It was stupid and juvenile and crude and vulgar and UTTERLY PERFECT.

We had lunch again yesterday, ensconced around the same table – hell, the same seating pattern! – as Friday, dissecting the evening over food and trying not to choke when the laughter bubbled up with mouthfuls of food. C regaled us with the tales of how he got home – or, more accurately, how he very nearly didn’t. (We went into work yesterday morning to an email presenting the details of the text message conversation with his girlfriend, the tale complete with drunken typos and misunderstandings and honestly – I was weak reading it.) S was in the doghouse after stumbling in at 10.30pm after promising to be home ‘early’, and E had to deal with housemate hostility after she failed to return home by 5pm as promised. Personally, my evening for fine; we’d booked this night so long ago – and M had been well-informed of my excitement – that he was actually surprised to see me as early as 10pm. Heh.

The one downside? The full details need to be tucked away in a passworded entry (mental note: I must do that), but suffice to say: I.’s fiancee turned up and I.’s fiancee really doesn’t like me. I can pretend I don’t know why, but I suspect that maybe I do. Anyway: she turned up, sober and driving when the rest of us were already on our asses, and I. – drunk and gregariously generous – insisted on taking me home, even though his missus was spitting daggers at him. And you know how it is – he’d already said it, so she couldn’t recant and refuse. So I ended up in the car with them, trapped in the back and by a forced, overly-polite conversation, willing the miles away so that I could get the fuck away. When we did arrive at my place he jumped up to let me out and hugged me in full view. Whilst that was fine, kissing me on the lips – however briefly – probably wasn’t. It was probably pretty fucking stupid of him, actually. But like I said – that’s for another entry.

I have no idea what happened after that as I wasted no time running into the house, but he’s since been unusually quiet and I don’t think she’ll be driving me home again. Which is a shame, cos she seemed quite nice. Girlfriends and wives never seem to like me. :(

So, anyway. Yeah, the last twenty minutes aside, it was such a good night. There’s no way we’re waiting another four years before doing it again!

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The Day Without the White Knight

Vixx — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 17:54:22 +0000

I’m going to gloss over the last few days. I’d just … argh, I’d had enough. I hate feeling like the only grown-up sometimes – the only parent, the only responsible one. It pisses me off. The whole thing kicked off this massive clusterfuck of an argument and ended up with me feeling like – well, like I can do better. Not that I can do better than M per se (only because I’m pretty sure that I can’t – my husband’s still hot by anyone’s standards and I’m pretty sure that I define the term EMOTIONAL HIGH MAINTENANCE), but more in the sense that I can be better than this. Smilier. Happier. I’m a person who’s used to laughing a lot. Feeling like this – so utterly hemmed in by the humdrum of home and banal suburban hysterics … ugh. It sucks ass.

Anyway, it’s since blown over – which is usually does – but I’m still feeling wary. Weary. I worked til 7pm last night just so’s I didn’t have to come home and fake pleasantries, but today M’s working nights so at least I get my bed – some space – to myself.

Hmm. I just re-read that sentence and realised how melodramatic it sounds so, here, I promise – we’re not looking to Judge Judy or Divorce Court anytime soon. Honest, guv. It’s just that these kind of things often catch me off-guard, winding me with the sudden, slightly sickening realisation that – wait a minute – this is it. This is my life. Forever. It’s makes me want to stamp my foot and scream ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’m 34 now. My life’s practically half over. And I have a (usually) great husband and a beautiful son and a job I love and a wonderful home but I’m still waiting for my white knight. I’m still waiting for someone to fall unbearably in love with me and spirit me away someplace to suck marshmallows out of my bellybutton for the rest of my life and tell me how fucking CRAZY I make him. And I know that’s being greedy as I already have a perfectly lovely husband but, Jesus, we’ve been together for half my life. Half of FOREVER. So you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t be the better person and not feel claustrophobic here. Right now it feels like I’m so hemmed in by the bombproof walls of my own life that I’m going to suffocate on my own screams.

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The Day with the Crap Day

Vixx — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 20:01:17 +0000

Let’s see … Son is a thug. Husband is a fucking prick. Boss is … well, a boss.

Today has not been a good day.

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The Day After my Birthday

Vixx — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 14:07:43 +0000

My birthday rocked. :)

Despite S’s poorly eyes (he suffers severely with hayfever, and on Thursday and Friday he could barely open his eyes – no exaggeration – so swollen were they) and a clusterfuck of a hangover courtesy of D and a drunken night in the garden the night before, it was an almost flawless day. I was awoken by my boys with breakfast in bed and a pile of gifts, which included a gorgeous new watch, DVDs, CDs and a heap of lovely new books. My sister-in-law got me things to spoil me – a CD, chocolate, wine, some flowers – and my in-laws more Lost boxsets so that I can re-watch rather than endure the shitorific World Cup. My parents are helping me fund a new iPhone (scheduled for release on 24th June), as is one brother. My other brother’s bought me Naughty Bear, which should hit my doormat next week. Sharon and R. also sent me some wonderful gifts, too, which utterly made my day. Yay!

I worked from home in the morning because of Sam being off school, but I took a half day and spent the afternoon lounging around, watching The Inbetweeners and reading for a bit. M cooked dinner (although he always does that) and he and S bought me a cake and enthusiastically, tunelessly, sang happy birthday. In the evening I met with eight friends and we went out locally to celebrate, which meant copious food and wine and no watered down beer or expensive taxi rides home. After that, four of us went back to my friend’s house and we rocked plastic guitars and mics until 2am. Awesome.

It was a low-key day which made it practically perfect. My friends were astonishingly kind and I went home with bags of cards and gifts, humbled by their generosity. I ate too much Italian food, but drank very little Italian wine due, in part, to the colossal hangover that still draped me. We took lots of stupid photos and they put three candles in my ice-cream and they also sang happy birthday. See? Perfect. :)

Oh – and also? That press pass for Gamescom that I was worrying about? It went AWOL in the post, but my replacement arrived in my birthday mail on Friday. Woot!

Oh – and another also? Our new car came in on Thursday! :) It’s lovely and fancy, albeit cripplingly slow for someone who’s gone from a 1.9 turbo diesel engine to a 1.2 petrol thingy with all the ooompfh of an aging lawnmower. Still, I’m sure the problem’s me and not the car and even if it is the car, who gives a shit – I get a new one again in nine months time and even I have the patience for this. In the meantime, I’m driving a shiny new car with 6 miles on the clock and more gizmos than I can shake a stick at. Whatever that means.

Anyway, yesterday we had a quiet one. I was still reeling from three consecutive nights of restricted sleep, so after going to see Iron Man 2 (yes, we’re late but yes, Robert Downey Jnr – who’s appeal I never understood prior to Iron Man – is so far past hot in that movie it’s insane), I crawled upstairs and passed out for four (FOUR!) hours. When I awoke at 9pm, I read some more until finally retiring for the night at 1am.

I finished the book this morning. It was Twilight, my gift from R. I’d stuck it onto my Wishlist because … well, because I’d been wondering what all the fuss was about, to be honest. I’d not read any of the books before, nor seen the movies, but I’d seen enough people squee over it so I figured it was worth a little of my time. And it was. Admittedly, it wasn’t quite as groundshakingly awesome as I think I’d been expecting, but I did enjoy it, even if I thought that Edward was a complete bellcrease for 90% of the book. The brooding male lead? I have NEVER understood the appeal. Honestly. The angry eyes, the snarled mouth, the shouts the mixed messages … blah-blah-blah. I just don’t get the bad boy thing. And whilst that’s all explained very satisfactorily in the book it’s like … Bella. Seriously. Get some self-respect. Why get turned on by such an asshole? Surely you’re worth more than that? Surely the first time he treated you like something he wiped off his dick was the last time you’d give him the time of day? Surely by then you should’ve told him to fuck off and stick his brooding intensity up his arse?

And it’s not just Meyer – it seems there’s a complete dearth of genuinely lovely guys in a whole ton of female contemporary fiction of late. The last half dozen or so books I’ve read have just featured bastards, mean and moody and monobrowed ones. Ugh. Why?!

Anyway. Yeah. My birthday – the whole weekend – has just been lovely. And now I’m going to finish it in style but shoving a family-sized bag of Maltesers in my mouth and play me a bit of Left for Dead 2.

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