Aaaaaaaaargh!

Yeah, so this is going to be a short, but extremely frustrated blog post. I need to vent...

This doesn't even cover it...

Picture me: heavy Monday at work; just fed the troops; feeling the need to go defuzz my legs (and other regions, of which I shall not speak...!). I begin to run myself a bath...

This is what I envisage:

Aaaaah! Essential oils and candlelight--the perfect atmosphere for fanfiction...

Sadly, what I envisage is--this evening at least--far from what I get.

I dip my toe into the water to test the temperature... Perfect! Lowering myself into the tub, I make sure I have all of the essentials to hand...

It's worked every single time so far. I'm so careful. I have to be, as my glasses steam up, so I know when I'm in the bath I need to take care!

Obviously, this evening, I didn't take enough care :-(

Yeah, so replace that dude's face with mine, and you know what happened. And, amazingly, I hasten to add, even #Thing1 was surprised that he didn't hear me cuss.

Hell, no!

It was a whimpered "Aaaaaah!", followed by a slightly more forceful "Oh no!" that fell from my lips. You whiny people would have been proud of me *nods vigorously*.

My iPod fell into the bathwater. It is dead. It has languished in the airing cupboard of revival, having been blasted with the warm air of hairdryer greatness. And now it's sitting in a dish of rice grains, in an attempt to draw out the last dregs of moisture.

I'm not terribly hopeful :-(

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

In-Laws Incoming!!!

Well, hello there, dear whiny, bitchy friends! Long time no rant!

I hope you've all managed to enjoy a drama-free Christmas filled with goodies. I could whine about my Christmas experience (and the complete lack of gifts for me to unwrap) but I won't. Oh no. Today I have even worse issues of whininess to share with you all. Come join me in my nightmare!

This is a pretty accurate depiction of my current state

I have spent today completely and utterly indulging my need to stay glued to Twitter and the Interwebz. I have avoided the household chores that really need to be done, with the exception of shoving the few net curtains we have into the washing machine and hanging them back up again.

Why my current state of apathy, you ask?

Well, let me tell you, it is well-deserved. You see, tomorrow I'll be picking my mother up from the train station and bringing her to stay in my house. In. My. House....... In. My. Neglected. House. And she will judge. Fear not: she will judge.

She kinda looks nice in this. The reality will be far less so...

No matter that I work all the hours God sends, have a house-full of males, and really can't be arsed to be domesticated in my spare time (my spare time is devoted to the Interwebz - just like everyone else's is, right?). I will be judged on my general lack of domestic input.

But that's not all. Oh no, dear whiny friends. That is definitely not all.

On Saturday - the last day of this busy, busy year - my parents-in-law will also be coming to stay. In. My. House. For TWO WHOLE NIGHTS.

My mother-in-law can talk the hind leg off a donkey. (If you don't understand this phrase, just click the link....). And my father-in-law, bless him, has a tendency to fall asleep within minutes of arrival. Plus, he has been wearing the same woolly jumper for years. YEARS, I tell you. I despair...

So basically, my house is going to be overtaken by the next generation along. And I'll be expected to be the 'hostess with the mostest', the doting daughter / daughter-in-law, all sparkly-eyed and fresh and pleasant.

All I really want to do is lock myself in my room with my laptop and read fanfic / ogle Tumblr posts / tweet / blog / Hell! Maybe even write a little! Is that so wrong?

HELP ME!!!

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

I'm Just Not Superwoman!

Okay, so this is going to be a majorly self-indulgent post. But I'm not looking for sympathy - just a listening ear or ten ;-)

Just under a week ago (last Sunday, to be precise) I was doing the usual Sunday thing - laundry. I bent down to pick up a sock from the basket, with the intention of dropping it into the washing machine, and 'POP' - my back went. Quite where, I can't tell you. All I do know is that I lost the power of my legs for a moment, and was eternally grateful that we have some heavy-duty shelving in our utility room...

This is how wobbly my legs were...

This was not a huge surprise. Three weeks ago, my back went 'POP' for the first time in years, just as I had carried a 25kg bag of dog food from my car to the garage. At the time, I was fortunate enough to be standing in the doorway and could grab hold of the frame just long enough to call to my hubs, who was working at the end of the garden. He duly trotted along, helped me back into the house, then left me to it. There was little else that he could do...

Thankfully, the pain subsided pretty quickly three weeks ago, though, unbeknownst to me, the cause had not gone away. I was quickly reminded of this last Sunday, as I hung on for dear life to the shelving, and wondered how I would ever be able to move.

Our utility room is hidden away in an area of the house that is the least accessible - and audible - to everyone else. Given that my sons, #Thing1 and #Thing2 were busy playing COD upstairs, and hubs was busy building things at the end of the garden, I knew that this time I was on my own. Trouble was, I was in no state to rescue myself...

This was me, except I wasn't wearing the nasty pink outfit, and was in a damn sight more pain. Trust.

To cut a very long and painful story short, I eventually managed to hobble out of the utility room, aided by various walls and bits of furniture to which I had to cling to for dear life. I then spent the best part of two hours moaning and groaning (actually, screaming) with every single move, before I eventually contacted NHS Direct (you can google it). I was advised to take paracetamol and some left-over anti-inflammatories, then told to contact my GP if the pain didn't subside within 48 hours.

I couldn't get out of bed on Monday morning. Or Tuesday.

I can't begin to describe the agony I was in - I thought I had broken my back. #Thing1 (who had been extremely helpful and had rescued me as a struggled on the sofa) was really quite distressed at this point (he's almost seventeen - so that says a lot), and he was insistent that I see my GP. And so I did.

I thank all the deities above that the emergency GP I saw on Tuesday happened to be one of the partners in the practice. He knows his stuff. He took one look at me, signed me off from work (I've never had the guts to ask for a sick note), prescribed me a shedload of drugs (some of which I was somewhat reluctant to take), then asked if I had private healthcare. It just so happens that I do - via my employer - and I've never ever thought to make use of it. To cut a long story short, he managed to get me referred to a physiotherapist for the very next day, as a result of my health care plan, and I've since had acupuncture twice and have been hooked up to a TENS machine for twelve hours straight each day - and it's working!

In case you've ever wondered - this is what acupuncture feels like...

So, where's the whine, I hear you ask...

Well, despite the medication, the needles and the electrical stimulation, I'm still pretty much out of action. For example, I can't bend down to fill the dog's water bowl, feed her, get things out of the refrigerator, pick towels up from the bathroom floor - you get the picture. I can't stand up long enough to iron clothing, can't straighten the bedclothes, can't even get my toiletries from the bathroom cupboard.

I can't pick the milk bottles up from the doorstep, plump the cushions, move the stack of magazines that has been bothering me on the lounge floor all week. I can't plug the damn hoover in to get rid of the mess that the dog and boys have trampled in all week. I can't sit - or lie - in one position long enough to feel relaxed.

And does anybody care? Have the three able-bodied men in my household even noticed the anxiety all of this causes me?

I guess you know the answer...

I can't wait to be back in action... :-o

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

The 'Do' That Wasn't

I've been MIA for a bit. It seems to me, there's been so much sadness going on in the world, that a whiny post would have seemed a bit wrong. But it's time, dear readers, it's time. So here's my whine of the week:

Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon at the hairdresser. I've been refraining from applying the usual 'semi-permanent' colour for the last God-knows-however-many-weeks, because I had finally decided that it was time to treat myself to a permanent colour and highlights. This was a big step for me.

Not quite me...

The last time I had my hair professionally coloured was probably about 20 years ago - and that time I went blonde :-o  These days, I tend to stick to semi-permanent colours, as I like a bit of variety - darker colour (i.e. Black Cherry) in the winter months; lighter colour (i.e. Warm Chestnut) in the summer months. To be honest, they all look pretty much the same (my hairdresser calls it 'build-up'), and sadly, they no longer cover the increasing amount of grey hair I've developed over the years.

I refuse to go grey. I mean, I'm sure I'll capitulate eventually, but Not. Right. Now. D'ya get me Mother Nature? So it was with some trepidation that I entered the salon yesterday at 1pm and prepared myself for the hours of 'pampering'.

Hmmm, does something tell you I'm not a great fan of going to the hairdresser?

Three hours later I emerged: full head tint coupled with highlights, hair cut back into shape, conditioning treatment applied. I even spent the 'developing' time reading fanfic on my iPod (thank God Stanza has an option to increase the font size - I was unable to wear my glasses!). I was happy with the result - my hair felt manageable once again and I thought the lighter colour made me look a little fresher and - dare I say it - younger.

I arrived home to positive feedback from my sons, Thing1 and Thing2 (I clearly have them well-trained!). By the time my darling husband (she says with gritted teeth) arrived home, I was well and truly at ease with my new 'do' and looking forward to some positive husbandly feedback. By this time, however, I was also cooking dinner. This is what ensued:

--------------

Hubs arrives home, plonks his bag in the hallway and enters the kitchen. I have my back to him, so he should be able to see - immediately - that my hair is shorter.

Hubs: [peering into the pan] Hmmm, what are you cooking?

Me: Well, I didn't have enough time to roast this, and Delia's cookbook says it's a pot-roast cut anyway - so I'm gonna pot-roast it [endeavours to disregard his lack of attention to the 'do']

Hubs: Hmm, okay [he walks away and doesn't comment on the 'do']

Hubs re-enters kitchen a little while later - and still doesn't comment on the 'do'.

Me: Ummm, have you not noticed anything?

Hubs: Huh?

Me:  My hair, perhaps?

Hubs: [gazes at my head for a moment] Well, it's a lot shorter... [he pauses] Um, and it's ginger.

He pauses again, then leads me out through the back door into the daylight.

Hubs: Why did she leave the grey in? [he plucks a grey hair from the top of my head]

I give up.

--------------

Needless to say, despite his numerous apologies, I haven't let my DH off the hook...

But, you know what? I like my hair. I can see the difference. And that's what matters, right?

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

A Simple Slice of Toast

I sit here today having just eaten a single slice of toast - and I'm regretting it.

You see, over the past few months I think I've narrowed down the cause of my frequently rumbly tum - and it's wheat.

Yes, it looks innocent enough, but beware - it is a thing of the devil!

Now I know that this may resonate with more than one of you here, since I recently had a conversation on Twitter with a few others about it. I was shocked to find how widespread an intolerance to wheat actually is.

I don't think it's gluten per se that's the problem. I just think it's wheat - or anything containing wheat for that matter. Slowly but surely, I've tried to eliminate it from my diet and I do believe that I've been proven right. But that doesn't make it any easier to handle... I mean, look at the list of foodstuffs I should be avoiding:

• wheat, wheat berries, wheat bran, wheat germ, wheat grass or any form of the word wheat
• flour, bread, cakes and cookies
• semolina, pasta, couscous, tabbouleh
• doughnuts, pies, pretzels and other baked goods
• gnocchi, chow mein
• snack foods
• soups, gravies and thickened sauces
• breaded meats or vegetables, dumplings or meatballs (no fried chicken for me!)
• salad dressings, Worcesteshire sauce and other condiments
• beer (say what???)

Recently, I happened to mention my discovery to my GP, in the hope that he might be able to suggest a cure (stop sniggering). He launched into this big spiel of how I would need to go back to eating wheat for about six weeks before having a rather invasive test (yeeuuuww!) and then explained that - should the test prove positive - it would indicate that I am, in fact, wheat intolerant (no shit Sherlock!). When I then asked what the treatment would be, he looked down nervously at his prescription pad and mumbled something about 'diet'.

So, let me get this straight. First you want to make me eat wheat-laden foods which I happen to know will have me in agony for the next six weeks. Then you plan to poke about in places I care not to mention in order to get a 'sample' (yeeuuuww again!). And finally, if all of your torture proves my self-diagnosis correct, the only thing you're going to suggest is that I don't eat wheat? Um, hello? Isn't that what I'm doing already?

Errr, that would be a resounding "No!"

Needless to say I have declined to be tested. What's the point? And in the meantime, if I feel the urge to eat the odd slice of toast (when I really, really crave some comfort food), I'll do it with my eyes wide open to the fact that I will - indeed - probably regret it once it's been devoured. Oh, and I'll make sure there's a bathroom close by to deal with the aftermath.

Apologies for giving you TMI there... ;-)

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

Big Brother is Alive and Well!

Well, there's no way I can top TwiKiwi50's post - especially since mine is NOT going to have a happy ending. However, in the spirit of true whining, I hope you'll join me on this journey...

This past week has been a bit of a pain in the proverbials, to be honest. It kind of all started when I had three days off work at the beginning of the month due to a chest infection, and then spent all of last Friday catching up on unread emails and jobs that needed doing in the office. At the time I thought nothing of the fact that my internet connection was acting suspiciously...

Okay, so this is NOT what I want to see...

This week, however, it intrigued me. On Monday morning I arrived at work, logged on, checked urgent emails and diary appointments, then turned to my second PC and clicked the normal buttons that allow me to circumnavigate the firewall (required behaviour, if you don't want everything you do to be monitored by our rather dubious Security Manager). I then launched Internet Explorer (yes, we're quite traditional where I work) and clicked on my Google icon. Result: Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It simply would not load.

Cue much wailing and gnashing of teeth from my side of the office...

Why the f*ck can't I get logged on? I need to check my Twittah Feed!

On Tuesday, I tried again. With the same result...

On Wednesday we had a team meeting. Item 3 on the agenda was an update from the Systems team (I work in Applications...). "So," our manager announces. "Marshall has successfully been replaced by Bloxx and will be used company-wide from now on. Marshall is being decommissioned today."

What? WHAT?!!! Why wasn't I given any notice??? (For those of you who may not know: Marshall and Bloxx are super-strength web-filtering options adopted by companies to protect them from virus attacks and inappropriate surfing.)

Now, I may not be the most important person in our office (far from it!), but I had at least hoped I'd be given the opportunity to prepare myself for this gross infringement of my human rights. I mean, how else am I supposed to check on my watched blogs, update my own blog (and this one!) and generally participate in the fandom / twitterverse if I Can't. Bloody. Get. Online???

To cut a long, frustrated story short, my surfing habits at work have now been drastically curtailed. I quickly check my emails, log on to Seesmic [hehehe, they haven't yet realised that I can still access Twitter via a web client :-) ] and that's about the size of it. All blogs are blocked (b*st*rds!) and I can't even contemplate accessing Tumblr, given some of the accounts I follow.... All of my movements are logged. Frankly, it sucks, big time.

God. There are times I wish I was a cat. Even a LolCat.

Thank you so much for listening. Please don't hold it against me if I don't reply to your comment immediately. It'll only be because I don't have the freedom to do so...

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

I don't have enough!

Dear Complaint Department,

I bring to you today my greatest pet peeve. It haunts me at night. It stalks me every single day. It waves at me, sickeningly, every time I realise I have something I need to do - now - before something else comes along and becomes top priority.

Complaint Department: I bring to you "Not Enough Hours In The Day".

Time = Hours in the Day / Hours I'm awake * Number of Roles - it does not compute!

You see, I have several roles to fulfil, some of which are mutually exclusive. And, well, that generally means that something, somewhere along the line, has to give. Whether I like it or not. Let me give you an example of how I have to distribute myself:

I am

A wife, a Mother, an Employee,

A Daughter, a Sibling, a Confidante, a Lover,

A Friend, an Owner, a Manager,

A Tutor, a Blogger, a Specialist in my Field of Work,

A Neighbour, a Writer,

A Fanatic, a Counsellor, a Homemaker,

A Nurse, a Cook, a Dog-Walker, a Pillow.

This list is not exhaustive. But I think it gives you an idea of where I'm coming from...

So my whine is this: where, in that severely cut-down list, is there time for ME? You know, time that can be spent tending to my own personal, professional, emotional and spiritual needs?

You know what, Complaint Department, it's just not good enough. I'm gonna take a stand. I demand time for me. Even if it means that I have to stay up until late into the night /early hours of the morning and end up looking like a walking zombie. At least I'll know: I found time for me. And that is what matters.

Who's with me??

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x