Old before my time

I've had a bad back since about the age of 16, my dad thinks it's caused by a paper round I had when I was 13, which he accompanied me on one Saturday morning, and then forbade me from doing it again once he found out how heavy the bag was. I think it's from being a waitress, carrying armfuls of heavy plates and huge trays piled high. It happened too long ago now to get compensation from either of these employers! Not that I would ever become that Americanized.

So I have exercises that I do, twice a day, every day, just like brushing my teeth, and I have good days and bad days, and sometimes, bad weeks. I'm having a bad week this week. More than an hour sat at a computer and I'm close to tears. I fact, I'm kneeling as I write this, much more comfortable. It might sound strange, but on bad days, unloading the washing machine is unbearably strenuous, and I struggle to push open fire doors, I just kick them until they open.

I had uni yesterday, then had to go straight into work, and my back was really sore, tender, as though it had been bruised, not been that bad in almost a year. Shortly after I arrived at work, the office slowly empties, as people popped out on various errands. There is only one position I can be in that relives me of almost all the pain when I'm like this: lying flat on my back, on a carpeted floor. Pretending to work away, I became increasingly tempted by the new (ish) fluffy cream carpet in the office......

I'll just have five minutes, I thought to myself.

I carefully lowered my battered body to the forgiving soft but firm floor, and sighed with relief, from the pain, from the quiet office. Oooooh, it was so nice. Peace and quiet, practically pain free...bliss.

Ah. Just though: the door's unlocked. It's dark outside. Two minutes with my over-active imagination and I'm worrying about murderers bursting in and me being unable to get up!! Can I actually get up, I wonder? Yes, I'm sure. Course I can!

Bit worried about that unlocked door though. Not sure how long my colleagues will be either.


*Gggggrrrrrrrrrrr* (noise I heard)


*S!!!T* (me shouting) *CRACK* (my neck)

Oh. Just the fridge kicking into action. And if you were interested, yes I apparently can get up. In a hurry. Not that it did my back any good.

I got up after that. Silly me, eh?

Grown.

Hormonal

The other night, my doting husband, HID, watched me undress for bed with a cheeky grin playing about his lips. At the optimal moment, he beckoned me over, pulled me close and placed a kiss on my bare skin. He thought I looked beautiful, and asked me if I’d lost weight.

How lovely, you might think. However my pre-monstral state, my hormone drenched brain sees this display of love and affection as some kind of attack, and I burst into tears, as I weighed myself that morning to discover I had put on half a stone. Perhaps in my confusion I thought HID was being sarcastic? As if he ever would be about something like that, he knows he’d be castrated.

Possible reason for the comment: due to being so busy in our lives, HID hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing me sans-clothing in a while, and thus any scantily clad body, regardless of lumps and bumps, falls on hungry, appreciative eyes.

Possible reason for the bald-faced lying by the dreaded scales: pre-monstral water retention. Right? Well, I’ve been swimming twice already this week just in case the scales are truthful, god forbid. I hardly ever weigh myself, now I remember why!

Grown.

Update: the scales were in fact LYING. I made the schoolboy error of using the scales at work to weigh myself, whereas at home, I weigh just the same as always. Now I don't feel so guilty about that flake.....

Juvenile Delinquents

At what age does one stop being a "juvenile" delinquent? I'm not talking about me, by the way. This is the "eventful Saturday night" I mentioned in my "Rock Chick" post. While I was rocking out in a village hall with respectable middle aged business men, much to my Nan's dismay (and hilarity) one of her other grandchildren spent the night in the cells. She despairs, and bemoans we should got out together and find some kind of happy medium, instead of the two extremes!

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin at the beginning.

Due to my hot date with a microphone last Saturday, I was unable to attend the last minute night out for my twin cousin's 21st. (know here as J & C). How glad I now am that this was the case. However, those who did accompany them included their sister (V), her betrothed (A), J's long-suffering girlfriend C-B, and an old classmate of mine (K). Warning: the story that follows was heard through the grapevine, and may bear little or no resemblance to actual events. (Especially since some of the above witnesses may have been under the influence of alcohol at the time.) I do not mean to offend anyone!

As the night out progressed, at one particular venue, J & C nagged bar staff to be served at a non-service part of the bar, (I've never understood non-service areas. What is the point?!) which was assumed to be aggressive behavior by the power-tripping bouncers. J, being blessed/cursed with the gift of the gab, managed to talk himself and many of his party into getting a good kicking by said bouncers, not a fight, you understand, as the only punch thrown by "our" side was by K, the shy, girly classmate of mine. Brother in law to be, A, received a lovely black eye, and J simply had lots of random bruising.

Out on the street by now, V spotted my sister walking by the venue, and shouted hello, to be greeted with a hurried goodbye and retreat by my sister, ever practical, not wanting to involve herself! Police arrived, and bundled J into a van after he pushed poor C-B to the floor in his flurry of actions.

Copper: (to C-B) "Do you want to press charges?"
C-B: "Damn right I do!"

*passage of time in which to think...*

C-B: "I've changed my mind, will he be ok? What is going to happen to him?"
Copper: "Don't worry, luv, we'll probably just let him out round the corner and caution him...."

*Van starts violently rocking from side to side*

Copper: "Sorry, luv, looks like he'll be in for the night now."



Talk about bad timing WRT sticking to the man.

Poor J got some real stick for it on Sunday afternoon at the family buffet we had. He was the butt of every joke! Luckily, he had quite the sense of humor. As irony would have it, his mother had recently started volunteering to go round the cells in the mornings to ear-bash the young juveys. Can you imagine the look on his hungover face if his mum had greeted him the morning after the night before???

Grown.

Rock Chick

I had a particularly eventful Saturday night. (As did many of my FAF*, but that deserves a post of it's own, to follow)

I accompanied HID* to a small village hall to see his bosses band play. Sounds tame right? That's what I thought too. I invited my sister along, but she refused point blank on account of the band's name alone (which although will not be mentioned, had relatively strong sexual connotations!) It was a strange name for a band whose youngest member looked to be over 40. Who was also wearing leather trousers (women's, apparently. For a tighter fit [!]). His boss was the lead singer, and also on guitar, and put on an excellent show. He was even quite the comedian, teasing another of HID's co-workers who played guitar that he would be dragged up on stage to perform! Tee Hee. (Last laugh to follow). All classic soft rock songs, I tapped my foot so much I pulled a muscle behind my knee! (How rock and roll is that? I'm getting old.)

Being a casual do for the band's nearest and dearest, they had take away curry delivered in the interval. I wasn't hungry, but HID went up to get his, and came back with a plate full, and a sheepish grin.

"You know they've been teasing X? Well, the bosses wife remembered how well you sang at our wedding and she thinks she ought to have asked you to sing tonight......."

The song she had heard me sing was a soppy ballad. Norah Jones. Not exactly a rock chick is she? Before I had time to panic, the boss was over at our table, thrusting a set list under my nose, enquiring over my preference, no two ways about it. Feeling my hands becoming clammy, but seeing no way out (plus loving the flattery ever so slightly...), I glanced down the list, and saw the timeless classic, cross genre: Mustang Sally.

Last time I heard it was at a jazz bar in Paris on HID's and my honeymoon. It stuck out on the page, and I agreed to sing the female backing vocals: the "ride, Sally, ri-ide!" bit. The boss agreed with my choice, and said I should stay up on stage for the track after that, one I had never heard of! I told him so, and he started singing it. Still drawing blanks, I shook my head, but he insisted I'd know it as soon as I heard it! Just nod and smile, Grown.

The band began to play again, my heart quickened with the end of every song...my moment finally came! I was announced on stage as "a person who can actually sing!", and stumbled my way up in a blur of lights and applause.

What a fantastic experience! The band's cover was excellent, and the cut the music for a few seconds each chorus for the audience to hear my lyric, really laying it on thick! I bopped away while I was not singing, glad I had made the effort with what I was wearing that night....

The song drew to a close and the boss said
"Stay where you are! You're doing the next track too!"
I mumbled incoherent, but hopefully polite declines, and bolted back to my seat with a simple-looking grin plastered across my cheeks in response to the applause. The next song began to play...he was right, I did know it, but that didn't mean I wanted to sing it! HID whispered in my ear how sexy I looked on stage....is this a way of not having to tell me I can't sing?! He said he preferred this genre to my usual ballad. Lucky for me, I can actually do rock and ballads! Oh, and X never did get called up....lucky thing.

What a great night! I will definitely be going to the next gig. Might be worth my while getting a set list beforehand, so I can get the practice in......

Grown.

Almost mortified

***All family members of a nervous disposition please be warned. The following post contains very mild, but very funny, references to my sex life. Read on at your peril/amusement.

In bed the other night with HID*, chatting. We talked about the following topics, in the following order:

• my mum had called for me, I wasn't in.
• how busy we both are (how much we miss spending time together).
• how happy and satisfied we both are with our sex-life. (We're a new-age couple, not afraid to talk about that kind of thing)
• how it is such a shame that when we are busy, our sex-life has to take a bit of a back seat, not having time/being tired and all.

HID then said, and I kid you not: "I was talking to you mum about it before...."

Followed by me in a high pitched screech: "What?"

Is it just me, or would you also have assumed, bleaders, from the above comment by HID that he has been jovially discussing our sex life over the phone with my mother? Mortified doesn't even cover it. Fortunately, he was in fact discussing our current busy-ness with his MIL*. Thank goodness.

Grown.

*HID=him indoors

*MIL=mother in law

Hippy

My dad has always called me a hippy due to the way I dress (I'm not sure he knows how hippies actually dress. I think you'll find it's more emo/Kelly Osborne dad.) However, I do have very strong, hippy-ish views about eco-issues like recycling, carbon emissions (http://www.targetneutral.com/TONIC/index.jsp), endangered animals(http://www.takesomeaction.co.uk/), natural foods (http://www.organix.com/) and products (http://www.lush.com, http://www.ecover.com, http://www.realnappycampaign.com/) ect.

But I want to do a post about recycling this time. Innocent smoothies were on offer this week at my local supermarket, and I bought bucket loads as I love the stuff, even though it's a bit expensive. I usually get a little bottle as part of a boots meal deal, as it's well cheap then! I got to reading the side of the carton, as you do....well I do anyway, having a love of the written word and all that, and it had a website for info on recycling the carton (tetrapak, who make most of our household juice, soup and milk cartons), as my local council don't provide this service!!! (To see if yours does, click here http://www.innocentdrinks.co.uk/us/District_Area_List.doc)

I HATE throwing away things that could be recycled, and constantly find myself picking him indoors' and MIL's (mother in law) hastily chucked cardboard/pop bottle/junk mail out of the bin. Gross I know, but to me it even more disgusting to actually throw away recycable rubbish. If we don't start pulling our socks up now, our planet will be one massive landfill site for our kids, our grandkids, and probably won't even be able to sustain or great-grandkids. So I decided to write to my rubbishy council, and convince them to offer MORE recycling services. Why don't you join me? Innocent has done most of the work, all you have to do is add you own name. http://www.innocentdrinks.co.uk/us/council.htm.

You can look up you council's address below. And if like me, you don't do snail mail, they even have some email addresses you can use!
http://www.direct.gov.uk/Dl1/Directories/LocalCouncils/fs/en

And if you're just curious about the issue, as I was, have a look as innocent's site, it's quite nice. Just like their funny little TV ads.
http://www.innocentdrinks.co.uk/us/?Page=recycling#cartons

yours ecologically,

Grown.

Names For Hubby

I am still in the process of choosing a suitable "character" name for my other half. I emailed the old FAF*, and although I'm still unsure, though I would post some of the more amusing "pet" names they came up with. The prize for laugh-out-loud name goes to the guy who calls the missus: "My current wife; to keep her on her toes" (!!!!)

Another suggestion, and a name she often uses for her hub (in public) "love of my- lust of my- ", let's assume the blanks are 'life' and 'loins', although it becomes quite the passionate comment if you mix up the words: love of my loins, lust of my life!!! Tee hee.

Furthermore, one FAF emailed a long list of possibilities, such as kikiriki, which is eveidentley the noise a cockrel makes (her hub is foriegn)(although why a cockrel, I'm unsure. Let your immagination run wild) and "my problem" (to do with getting him into the country, quite sweet). She also suggested using a french word, since we honeymooned there.

Others include him in doors, perhapsps shortened to HID? He wants to be called Scooby Doo, (just because he likes him) but was put off by the realisation that if we ever had a baby, it would have to be called Scrappy Doo. Nightmare. What are you thoughts, bleaders*/husband? Post your comments below.

Grown.

*FAF=Friends and family
*Bleaders=blog readers.

Causing a ruckus....

Libraries are generally not the place to make much noise. And I didn't mean to......

Being the morning person that I am, an early morning trip to the campus library is the norm, lots of free computers, near silence, bliss. Although I am said morning person, actual sleep deprivation is another kettle of fish, and upon standing up from the wooden computer desk (in the silent area of the library, no less) I give my delicate knee and almighty crack against the wood. Cue the...

*muffled, nearly swear words*

as fellow morning people around merrily smirk at my misfortune. We're all sadists at heart.

Managed to pull myself together, grab my books and take them out using the machines*, off to enjoy my lecture. Upon my timely return to check the availability of more books, since the help desk only opens at the leisurely hour of 10am, alas, no luck, time to tootle on home. Through the alarmed gate. With my fully and legally checked out books (from that morning) under my arm. Need I go on?

Needless to say, I was extremely indignant to find alarms blaring all around me, the rule abiding student that I am, and was of course, rather pi***d off at being held up.

"I think you'll find I checked these out earlier this morning" I barked at the attendant/security guard, glaring in an irritated manner. (Perhaps the phrase "morning person" is an overstatement)
"In fact, I have the receipt in my bag," I continued smugly.....

Or did I? My glare quickly softened to a sheepish grin the longer I searched for the seemingly non-existent receipt.....
Many people looking....face burning....thinking of the £5 fine charged for gate alarms.....
Ah Hah! Found the little bugger! In your face, you power-tripping security man!!!
However, I will endeavorsur to be much quieter in the library in future....

*Self service library machines which enable you to take out/bring back books, without bothering the nice people at the helpdesk. They issue receiptsts. Luckily.

Grown.

Suicidal Fish

Someone at work got a fish tank with two goldfish for the office today. However, while he was out, there was an attempted suicide! There were three girls in the office at the time, sat around on the comfy chairs, chatting away, as you do at work.....when I heard a noise from the corner of the room, where the tank was situated. Having fish myself, small splashes are nothing to worry about, as fish often splash a bit at the surface. However, the two other girls, being slightly more skeptical/curious wandered over to the tank, peered over the table it was on......

*loud, piercing girly screams*

The fish had jumped out of a tiny gap in the lid, and was flopping limply on the table. Now, being of the school of girly screams myself, the usual drill in such situations would be to join said screaming, and call over my significant other in a wheedling voice. However, such luxuries were not available, no men in the vicinity!

*gasp* I hear you say.

The other screamy girls were not up to the challenge, so I took a deep breath, netted the fish with minimal contact, and plopped him back to his new home. Not that he seems to like it much. Anyone know why fish like doing this so much?!

Grown.

P.S. the fish didn't make it in the end. Met his maker down the loo to fishy heaven. Have a click on the link below, speaking of comical fishes, if you haven't already seen it, enjoy!

http://www.robrob8.com/games/goldfish.htm

Introducing....

Just a little introduction to get my creative juices flowing!
I'm All Grown Up (but you can call me Grown). I live in a small town in the UK with my hubby (character name still in the process of being made up, any suggestions wecome) and his mum (yes a risky strategy, I'm aware, but we have our reasons!). I commute to a small city university at which I study Psychology (no, I don't analyse people...) and have two part time jobs. I'm still young, and hope for more! (Take That moment).
A proper post will follow in a few days, right now I have a presentation to deliver at uni, which counts for 40% of that module!!! Eeeek. Better get my thinking cap on.....
Grown.