Eleven Things I Hate

I've been pottering around other author websites, mostly to steal ideas for my website. It's nearly there incidentally - http://www.caitlynnicholas.com. Anyhoo, I digress. There seems to be a growing number of people who like to fill up slow days on their blogs/sites with pointless lists of their most favourite things. My Eleven most favourite songs, My eleven most favourite motivational quotes, my eleven most favourite low fat high fibre snacks.

Snoooore.

I mean, who cares. Who really cares whether or not they like Huey Lewis and the News. Not me.

But, in the spirit of following the throng I decided this blog would be vastly improved if I popped in a list. I don't think I've got the attention span to think of eleven things I like, however, when it comes to things I dont like, it's hard to stop at eleven.

1. Gardening shows - pointless, boring and pointless


2. Travel shows - boring, pointless and contain Katriona Rowntree, possibly the most pointless, vapid person on the fact of the planet.


3. Drivers who are enamored of thier Mazda 3 and like to go REALLY fast. To facilitate this they slow down to 30kms until the road ahead is clear and then FLOOR it. Get A Life.


4. Moths - gnashing their gnarly teeth, just waiting for a chance to sink them in.


5. Wind - in every form


6. Capsicums (see 5 above).


7. Pizza people who ignore instructions and slather 6 above all over supreme pizza. NO Capsicum, means Do Not Put Capsicum On The Pizza.


8. Annoying patronising men in hardware shops. "Does Madam know what Madam Wants?" Oh yes indeed, Madam wants you to bugger off and be facetious somewhere else.


9. The washing, the hoovering, the cooking, the cleaning, the nappy changing... Lets call it MY LIFE.


10. People who record the Top Gun soundtrack onto CD and put it in the car's DVD player Every Single Time I am going to get in the car. Thanks honey.

AND

11. Lightbulbs - yes, lightbulbs. If they're going to explode or do something spectacular then they wait until I turn them on. I hate them, but only cos they're all out to get me.

Sigh.

And that is just my list for this evening.

Shuddering to my very marrow.

Am beavering away on my next lot of edits. Have been banished to the shed. Hubby is sick and tired of having me planted on the couch, myopically staring at a laptop. So, now I am perched outside, laptop plugged into the power in the shed, sat on my office chair with my little table, next to the very green pool. It'd been quite nice if it wasn't for the mozzies, today they are targetting my upper arms.

Sigh.

I hope it doesn't rain. Actually that thought is blasphemy round here, what with the drought and all. I hope it does rain, but not on me.

I know I've mentioned the sexy bits in Running Scared before. Editing them makes me shudder to my very core. Don't ask me why, its just awkward dissecting such intense scenes. The worst today was having to deal with a typo that made musky read as musty. And no, I'm not going to put it in context!!

I've also just dealt with my most embarrassing grammatical error. My sentence originally read -
He almost laughed; there he was, in the middle of Laos, standing on a landmine with an erection.
With the cheery comment "This would read better if he stood with an erection on a landmine."

I mean really, how's a girl supposed to know that you have erections before you stand on landmines and not after!

Sigh!

Men in Tights

Now I'm not really a culture vulture (Opera, meh! I can take it or leave it) Symphony (paint dry, grass grow, you get the idea). But Ballet, oh how I love the ballet. It either comes from some deep seated desire to twirl around in a tutu (and those of you that have seen me in the flesh will know how utterly hysterical that idea is), or I have mania for looking at fellows very fit bodies in painted on tights. Last night my darling Aunt and I pottered off to see Giselle, and, mylordy, were the tights painted on. I have to say that never before in my life have I seen a pair of tights go so far up a bottom crack. It was like the grand canyon. Good grief, I spent half the ballet wondering how he was going to get them out again.

Giselle is a lovely ballet, but as these things go it really doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. In the second act everyone is dead (all of broken hearts) and so are wafting about being willies, yes that’s what they are called in the program, not ghosts, but willies. (I giggled, several times, actually am still giggling). Anyway, so where was I, ah yes, wafting about. So then, everyone decides its time they did a jig and they all start flinging themselves about like demented irish folk dancers, and then just as suddenly they remember they are willies and start wafting again. When I am a willie (tho am unlikely to die of a broken heart, more like a surfeit of peanut butter cookies – Jackie why oh why did you send me that recipe), I am looking forward to the jigging bits, am really not a wafter. All I have to say to the heartbroken lover is that IF you are stupid enough to be hanging about your dead girlfriend’s grave in a forest at midnight on a night with a full moon then there is going to be trouble. Why the surprise?

Now I have a fairly short attention span (lets just say nits and I are on the same level) so I tend to get distracted by my fellow patrons. I would just like to say to the overweight and elderly lady sitting next to me to
a) lose weight (then you might be able to fit in the chair and not spill out onto mine)
b) WHEN YOU GO TO THE BALLET YOU DO NOT, I REPEAT NOT SIT THERE LOUDLY UNWRAPPING YOUR BARLEY SUGERS AND THEN EVEN MORE LOUDLY CRUNCHING THEM
c) When it is time to leave, LEAVE, don’t just stand there discussing how the head ballerina was ‘lighter than air’. She wasn’t, by the way, she was landing on that stage like a ton of bricks. Waft, waft, thunk. Waft, waft, thunk.
Pass me the popcorn and the jaffas.

Sigh.

My Life

Here is a list of all the things I have done today...

Woke up.
Begged husband not to leave house, contemplated lying on floor howling with 2yr old when he did.
Fed 4 month old.
Shared breakfast with Miss 2, her third for the day after eating her own and her father's.
Realised it was raining and thought yay rain.
Realised that rain means that if Miss 2 goes outside she will get 1. cold, 2. wet, 3. cranky.
Realise day will be spent inside with unreasonable toddler.
Ring husband to tell him I hate him.
Shower, supervised by dog, Miss 2 and Miss 4 months.
Rescue Miss 4 months from Miss 2's attempts to smother.
Finish washing hair.
Realise all clothes in dirty clothes basket.
Put load washing on.
Watch with tired resignation as Miss 2 begins to trash house.
Resolve to use firm Supernanny discipline techniques and enlist Miss 2 to tidy up mess.
Fail, decide to ignore state of house.
Decide to find healthy biscuits to cook so as to distract Miss 2.
Cook healthy no fat biscuits, ignore amount of sugar.
Miss 2 covered in batter.
Kitchen covered in batter.
Cook biscuits.
Cook spaghetti bolognese for dinner .
Cook lamb casserole for Thursday after work.
Offer healthy biscuits to Miss 2.
Pick biscuits up off floor.
Decide its time for Baby Einstein - thank god for Baby Einstein.
Feed Miss 4 months.
Feed Miss 2 lunch.
Pick lunch up off floor.
Ring husband to tell him I still hate him.
Direct nice debt-collection man to next door.
Wipe milk vomit off shirt.
Decide its time everyone had a nap.
Sit brain-fried in front of computer deciding that current wip is a complete waste of time that Mills&Boon will never want.
Try to organise life via email, fail miserably.
Miss 2 wakes from nap, crankier than ever and only placated by the thought that Boobah is on telly.
Boobah not on telly.
Try to bribe with biscuit.
Pick biscuit up off floor (even the Dog didn't want it).
Ring husband again. Berate.
Walk around block with dog, and children, sing Old MacDonald.
Feed spaghetti bolognese to Miss 2.
Wonder why dog will eat spaghetti and bolognese but not peas.
Start counting minutes until hubby arrives home.
Feed Miss 4 months.
Bath everyone.
Congratulate husband on arriving home just as everyone goes to bed.
Look forward to evening of viewing Big Brother.
Remember tomorrow is wedding anniversary.
Blame husband for current state of life.