mixed bag
My neighbour brought over a big shopping bag FULL of strawberries yesterday. Usually I'm quite tepid about the strawb. Eh, you know? I can take 'em or leave 'em, and I usually leave 'em as they don't do anything for me. These strawberries though, were magnificent, and I've eaten almost all of them already.
These people are our local Tom and Barbara, cultivating a veritable market garden, smack bang in the middle of suburbia, and I'm lucky enough to be the recipient of hand delivered organic produce from time to time. The father taps shyly on my door and proffers a bag of whatever it is they have too much of, and then asks to use my garden waste wheelie bin. He can hardly speak English, only enough to whisper '...bin?', but we understand each other, and the deal is done, right there without fuss, and at the front door. It's a fair trade. Yesterday though, this friendly neighbourhood bartering reached a new level for, along with the strawberries, there was an apology ('..dog..sorry...' ) for his annoying as fuck dog's incessant barking. Methinks I've been bribed, which presents a moral quandary: I ate the strawberries. Would it still be wrong of me to throw a brick at the dog's head the next time it wakes me up at 5.20am?
He knows the dog irritates the living shit out of me because when it starts up, I yell at it over the fence. I also yelled at his wife the other day. She was outside, the dog was barking, and she didn't do a damn thing. She doesn't speak English at all, so considering yesterday's strawberry drop, she probably thought my fist in the air with associated crazed look was an enthusiastic request for some of the fruits of their labor.
The scariest thing about looking over the fence though, was not the wife's face, it was the sighting of a new puppy . Yes, it's as cute as fuck, but what if this cutey pants fuzzy mcfuzzybutt learns to bark too?
Meanwhile, I've been googling puppy pictures and my angst has turned into warm fuzzies and I really couldn't be arsed being pissed off about the contravening of this council's nuisance laws. Wanna see another puppy instead? Meet Bosely. Hot damn but is that not the most adorable thing you've ever seen?
Where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm getting new floor coverings in the next week or three. Yay! It's going to be totally average and not very appealing Housing Trust beige linoleum, but think gift horses, mouths etc, and I can't wait because *drumroll* it's not carpet!
The housing inspector came to assess my health hazard floor coverings last week, so thenuclear waste dump spare room needed to be cleared out so he could even see the carpet, or lack thereof, in that room. There's some really heavy stuff in there, and as the room clearing is mostly for my child's benefit, and as the father of my child (whose name is Stef. I didn't want to name him before, out of respect for his privacy, bla bla, wank wank, but seeings as how I don't respect him...rock on with naming the father all over the internet, woo!) has, in the past, promised to clear the shit out of that room and is, after all, the father of this child who's getting a room cleared out for its benefit, I called him.
This was last Saturday. He didn't pick up when I called, and despite me unblocking my number so it would show up on his phone, he never called me back.
What a cowardly piece of shit.
I moved a lot of stuff anyway, and the inspector successfully inspected, but between now and the lino laying people's arrival, I need to find someway to clear out the rest of the seventy three tonnes of crap that I can't lift, and don't want the lino boys touching, much less seeing. That someone will likely be Stef, and I am, in my own demented way, quite looking forward to knocking on his door and watching him panic when he answers it to see me standing there. Hee!
In other news, my new obstetrician cancelled on me last week. My appointment was for this Monday, so when his secretary called and told me of the family emergency preventing him from seeing me for another three weeks, I, with my fatalistic attitude, threw my hand to my brow, convinced that I'd never find an obstetrician, and that ergo, the world was about to end. Before it did though, I heard this disembodied voice speak to the secretary, asking her if she could speak with me. Seems the good doctor is currently running a study, and it seems Denise is an integral member of it, and she wanted me to consider joining the study. Without even knowing my social situation (which, to summarise, entails no family, few friends, a dipshit sperm donor and only one aibee), Denise went on to describe the nurturing environment the study provides, and the support to be found in being a part of a team all working with me to bring my child safely into this world. My hand shot up so fast, I nearly dislocated my shoulder, and now I'm involved in this High Risk Maternal Medicine study, and will be getting monthly ultrasounds, including the fancy schmancy 3D scans, for the first few weeks, gradually increasing to weekly scans as my due date approaches. I'll know my baby intimately before we even meet. Aw. The study also provides all the antenatal testing a geritatric mother could ever need, beginning with my Nuchal Translucency Screening booked for next Thursday (which, by the way... *chewing nails*)
Finally, it's mum's sixty fourth birthday tomorrow. I had planned on sending her the ultrasound pictures with a card saying 'Happy Birthday, Grandma', but she went to stay with her brother (which is a relationship providing me with hours of entertainment at my psychiatrist's)(no, ick, they're not having sex)(you sick bastards) and issued me with a reprieve. Yes, I know his address. What's your point? I'm going to call her and carry on with the Jolly Good fellow bullshit still, but will leave the big news and associated images for her Christmas card.
Speaking of childbirth, I need a new car. I love my car (think white duco) and I SO don't want to get rid of it, but it doesn't have air conditioning (hello summer baby!), is a two door, and is sprung really low. Dragging my humungous self out of it when I'm as big as a house ain't gonna be much fun. It was with this in mind that I wandered through the car yard down the road yesterday-and the woman there knew I was pregnant. Thankyou belly.
These people are our local Tom and Barbara, cultivating a veritable market garden, smack bang in the middle of suburbia, and I'm lucky enough to be the recipient of hand delivered organic produce from time to time. The father taps shyly on my door and proffers a bag of whatever it is they have too much of, and then asks to use my garden waste wheelie bin. He can hardly speak English, only enough to whisper '...bin?', but we understand each other, and the deal is done, right there without fuss, and at the front door. It's a fair trade. Yesterday though, this friendly neighbourhood bartering reached a new level for, along with the strawberries, there was an apology ('..dog..sorry...' ) for his annoying as fuck dog's incessant barking. Methinks I've been bribed, which presents a moral quandary: I ate the strawberries. Would it still be wrong of me to throw a brick at the dog's head the next time it wakes me up at 5.20am?
He knows the dog irritates the living shit out of me because when it starts up, I yell at it over the fence. I also yelled at his wife the other day. She was outside, the dog was barking, and she didn't do a damn thing. She doesn't speak English at all, so considering yesterday's strawberry drop, she probably thought my fist in the air with associated crazed look was an enthusiastic request for some of the fruits of their labor.
The scariest thing about looking over the fence though, was not the wife's face, it was the sighting of a new puppy . Yes, it's as cute as fuck, but what if this cutey pants fuzzy mcfuzzybutt learns to bark too?
Meanwhile, I've been googling puppy pictures and my angst has turned into warm fuzzies and I really couldn't be arsed being pissed off about the contravening of this council's nuisance laws. Wanna see another puppy instead? Meet Bosely. Hot damn but is that not the most adorable thing you've ever seen?
Where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm getting new floor coverings in the next week or three. Yay! It's going to be totally average and not very appealing Housing Trust beige linoleum, but think gift horses, mouths etc, and I can't wait because *drumroll* it's not carpet!
The housing inspector came to assess my health hazard floor coverings last week, so the
This was last Saturday. He didn't pick up when I called, and despite me unblocking my number so it would show up on his phone, he never called me back.
What a cowardly piece of shit.
I moved a lot of stuff anyway, and the inspector successfully inspected, but between now and the lino laying people's arrival, I need to find someway to clear out the rest of the seventy three tonnes of crap that I can't lift, and don't want the lino boys touching, much less seeing. That someone will likely be Stef, and I am, in my own demented way, quite looking forward to knocking on his door and watching him panic when he answers it to see me standing there. Hee!
In other news, my new obstetrician cancelled on me last week. My appointment was for this Monday, so when his secretary called and told me of the family emergency preventing him from seeing me for another three weeks, I, with my fatalistic attitude, threw my hand to my brow, convinced that I'd never find an obstetrician, and that ergo, the world was about to end. Before it did though, I heard this disembodied voice speak to the secretary, asking her if she could speak with me. Seems the good doctor is currently running a study, and it seems Denise is an integral member of it, and she wanted me to consider joining the study. Without even knowing my social situation (which, to summarise, entails no family, few friends, a dipshit sperm donor and only one aibee), Denise went on to describe the nurturing environment the study provides, and the support to be found in being a part of a team all working with me to bring my child safely into this world. My hand shot up so fast, I nearly dislocated my shoulder, and now I'm involved in this High Risk Maternal Medicine study, and will be getting monthly ultrasounds, including the fancy schmancy 3D scans, for the first few weeks, gradually increasing to weekly scans as my due date approaches. I'll know my baby intimately before we even meet. Aw. The study also provides all the antenatal testing a geritatric mother could ever need, beginning with my Nuchal Translucency Screening booked for next Thursday (which, by the way... *chewing nails*)
Finally, it's mum's sixty fourth birthday tomorrow. I had planned on sending her the ultrasound pictures with a card saying 'Happy Birthday, Grandma', but she went to stay with her brother (which is a relationship providing me with hours of entertainment at my psychiatrist's)(no, ick, they're not having sex)(you sick bastards) and issued me with a reprieve. Yes, I know his address. What's your point? I'm going to call her and carry on with the Jolly Good fellow bullshit still, but will leave the big news and associated images for her Christmas card.
Speaking of childbirth, I need a new car. I love my car (think white duco) and I SO don't want to get rid of it, but it doesn't have air conditioning (hello summer baby!), is a two door, and is sprung really low. Dragging my humungous self out of it when I'm as big as a house ain't gonna be much fun. It was with this in mind that I wandered through the car yard down the road yesterday-and the woman there knew I was pregnant. Thankyou belly.
posted by aibee at 10:38
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