mid week waffle

How was your weekend? Ours was an uneventful as ever, despite the invitation to a two year olds' birthday party on Sunday. Who, though, schedules a barbecue lunch between the hours of 10am and noon? Gah, not me. I am a recluse who gets ker-freaked out by the mere notion of a pre noon social event, possibly because it includes the word "social event". Poor Daniel. ALTHOUGH! I had a (quasi) valid excuse as I did wake up with an awesome hayfever headache Sunday morning, and as luck would have it, I still sounded like I was coughing up those lungs. This being the case, and the case also being that I don't like caving in to The Hermit Inside, so instead of making the executive decision "don't won't to go so shan't" and being cool with that, I ummed and ahhed for a fucking hour before sending a massive huge text (a text! the nerve! BUT! It was 10am and I didn't want to bug the hostess with decliney type phone calls. BUT! Her text function was down so she didn't get my message until yesterday, by which time it was all "no shit, aibee, you're not coming? Now let's talk about my daughter's gift, the one you still owe her") message to the hostess, giving her a justifiable and valid reason why it'd be best for me to not mingle with the crowd. I mean, who wants to be standing on the outer barking like a seal and having have the other guests all wonder what delicious germ you thoughtlessly brought to the part-ay.

Not me. But it's hayfever, people, not germs, so I still feel guilty for not going.

Daniel's afternoon naps are at the inconvenient hour of too-late-o-clock for us to do anything more constructive in the afternoon either, so the most we usually do is go for a walk, so that's what we did the entire weekend. We walked. A lot. He does like a good outing in the stroller, but the guilt for not introducing him to more stimulating and social situations is enormous. Dude has got to learn to not sleep between anytime between the hours of too early-o-clock and too late-o-clock and 4.30. Or his ma has got to stop being a lazy, reclusive oaf.

GUILT! CONSUMES ME!

Ebay fizzed a bit this weekend too, and while I wasn't chock full of selly goodness this weekend, the few (two?) items listed didn't sell. BRAND NEW SANDALS. Peoples, what gives?! Didn't they scream BUY ME loudly enough for you? I bought them without trying them on because at the time, Daniel was in the front carrier and yes! Sure I'm still a size 6! Except I'm not. Two pairs, one black, one deep chocolate, because I am an indecisive moron. So neither pair fits at all and it took me too long to work that out to them back for a full refund. Gladiator sandals. Are too freaking cute. Are too freaking small. Are unwanted by the ebay community. Arrgh.

That break in transmission was so that I could stand up to get Daniel a drink and trip over a train instead, breaking my big toe and teaching my son a few choice phrases.

Daniel is sitting on my lap eating the last of his breakfast, a meal that takes him three hours to complete. Oatmeal is being strewn all over my hands and my keyboard is looking...quite nutritious, actually. Not much of it has made it into Daniel's nutritional repository this morning.

I'm also going into shock as I just checked the cupboard and there's only one (ONE!) tin of sardines left. Not enough to get me through the day because I canNOT get enough of them. Still not knowing what the fuck is up with that but goiong with it because mmmmm, sardines. In springwater, with no salt added. Le swoon.

Behold, sportsfans, my addiction:

My thumbnail looks pretty, but IT LIES!

meanwhile, this....

....is gratuitous beefcake.

My girlfriend has been all "what the fuck is up with you and the sardines?" so I sent her that pic and she was then all "In springwater? Le blech. If I'm gonna eat one of those....things...it's has got to be drowning in the flavor of succulent and juicy, ripened in the mediterranean, sunshine, olive oil." So YOU KNOW I went out to find some...and photograph them because I really AM that anal.

My name says so: A N n A L.

See? Pronounced "Anna", but with a silent "L".

I'm meeting that girlfriend for lunch today which, of course, is code for "coffee and air". Very nutritious. She keeps me LOADED with her glossy magazine cast offs, while I return the favor by keeping her up to date with sardines and piles of the cheapest trash magazine available, OK! It's hardly a fair trade but a necessary one to keep her up to date with....primarily Brangelina. What is up with that? As you all know, I can't stand that Angelina ho' - and Brad? Is a dick. I liked him until he did the cliche, yawn worthy, predictable Falling In Love With The Leading Lady thing which, if you study the Lives And Times Of Ho Bags International, Edition 2.4, you'll note that Angelina is in the habit of getting involved with her leading men. And then mating with them seconds before gnawing off their heads. All the gossip mags can't get enough of them though, point being, the OK! magazines I've squirreled away will likely chronicle the lives and loves of Hollywood's (and the WORLD'S *gag*) first couple and little else. If you stack all the magazines on top of each other and flick through them really quickly, it'll almost be like a Brangelina movie, one page per frame.

I've got three aqua classes to teach this week too, booyah! Money, scads of it. Not really, but I live my life under an exclamation mark. My initial typo read an "explanation mark" which I kind of do too, thank you, outrageous guilt factor. Anyway, the classes mean a couple of extra dollars to pay for some more non essential items. Like registration and health insurance, which is SO much fun. I mean, if I'm spending a couple of hundred, I want it to register quite high up on the fun-o-meter.

Which brings me to: Seriously, how do single mothers survive without a sugar daddy?

I feed you a lot of bullshit about how I fritter away the spondools but really, it's for the sake of the story. In reality, I'm such a tight ass that I'm in danger of turning inside out. And yet, am so po'! Also, am poet.

I totally need a hair cut too (which shall be paid for by said classes). Mine is sitting somewhere below bra strap level right now, but as I hate my hair so much I'm always mean to it and drag combs through it when it's wet (!) which means, yes, peoples. Breakage. But my hair can suck it. I'll eventually take a whipper snipper to it, which is as good as walking into Supercuts or some exotic place like that, which is the actual plan, and having a few inches chopped off so I can...pin it up again so it doesn't look any different anyway.

Grey hairs! which I have several. Gasp!!? Nope, as several is not enough pour moi. I'm eagerly anticipating a head full of those fuckers because grey hair = coarser = thicker looking head o' hair. It'd be easier to maintain the blonde look I don't have too, with rinses and semis and such, than it is to make my brown hair blonde and then deal with the upkeep. Roll on blonde, is what I'm saying.

Obviously I'm haven't been to the gym this morning either. Please see reference to: ho, lazy. My ridiculous brain was all "we could leave, like, NOW! and get a work out in" and my sensible brain said "eat! some food!", which I did, which has put me past the 10.30am threshold. Now my ridiculous brain is all up in my ass saying guilt inducing things like "you could have made it if you weren't SO LAZY. Daniel would have LOVED the creche and you could have acted NOT like a lump of inertia". Sensible brain is all SHUT UP and reminding RB about hypoglycemia not mixing with lifting weights. RB though, is kicking SB's ass.

Which is a rather frightening peek inside my brain(s).

What fun!