DEAR GOD! I decided to upgrade the software on my iPhone this morning and it’s going to take an hour. A WHOLE HOUR WITHOUT MY iPHONE!? Ce n’est pas possible! Which you’d already know if you were awesome enough to be a follower of my poor abandoned psycho blog. You can read about my secret love affair with technology by clicking HERE. Seriously. Go read that post. It’s probably way better than what’s about to follow.
Anyways, in the absence of my iPhone I had to turn to my MacBook for my techno-fixe (that is French for techno-fix, in case you don’t speak la belle langue… ok, I made that up). Other than MyFace (this is what I call Facebook. I had a very technologically impaired friend who genuinely thought that this is what it’s called and I have been laughing about it ever since), there’s not much for me to do on the computer these days other than blog. I’m pretty sick of MyFace at the moment. No one wants to read about my giant clown feet, how simply climbing the stairs results in me needing to nap for at least the next two hours, or about how rolling over in bed has become an olympic sport in which I never make it to the podium.
The equation for the nuclear fission of uranium-235. Also equal to the amount of energy expelled each time I try to roll over in bed.
So, blog it is. I haven’t been inspired lately, but I’m just going to see what comes out.
I’m a wee bit lonely this week. Peaches’ recent post about being a work widow is striking a chord with me. I’m going completely stir crazy, bored out of my mind half the time stuck at home. I’m enjoying doing what I can to make things feel homey, but when standing for 10 minutes gives me the most ridiculous back pain I realize that getting the stuff done that I’d like to get done on my own isn’t really an option. Yesterday I got it in my head to bake, so I made 5 dozen cookies. I then decided to make a chicken pot pie, since I was promised undying love and affection and perhaps even a marriage proposal if I were to do so (Yeah. Right. But worth a try!). I started cooking so that the pie perfection would emerge from the oven just as J walked in the door, but just as the chicken and veggie mix was about to finish boiling my phone rang with the news that I would be alone all night :( Le sigh. I then proceeded to burn the chicken. Good thing J wasn’t around to eat it.
I got up nice and early this morning to make a lovely big breakfast for J since he’d worked so hard yesterday (left at 5am and got home at midnight! CRAZY!)… well, the phone rang during our pre-breakfast coffee and now he’s at work and I’m alone, again. Le sigh. I mean, it’s ok. I have a bunch of shopping to do, like buy a million pairs of granny panties. I bet you all really wanted to know that.
Granny panties. This is not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life people! I mean, I’m not actually complaining. I’ve always had a split personality. Part of me is the biggest homebody ever born, and the other has itchy feet. I LOVE to travel. In fact, last September I had big plans to move to Germany this past summer. I was going to bust my butt all year to finish my degree and then hop on a plane that would take me across the ocean where my bestie and I would live together and be the most free spirited Eurobitches ever.
I was newly single, sick of relationships, kind of stuck in a rut and just wanted to have fun for once. This seemed like a good way to do it.
I returned from my European vacation in Sept 2011 and promptly applied for my Irish passport. Which promptly arrived via express post… last week. Yeah. It’s the most complicated process EVER. I was missing an info sheet and so at first didn’t have enough photos (you need 4 as a first time applicant instead of 2), then didn’t have the right marriage certificate for my parents (which took 10 weeks to arrive once ordered), then had new photos taken but my doctor ruined them. Seriously, she had to sign and stamp the back. Not hard, right? She executed that task perfectly, but then put them all back in the same envelope so that the ink from the stamp smeared all over the fronts of all four photos! Since it took them until February to get back to me about the marriage certificate, the set of photos I had at that point had expired… which they didn’t tell me until August of this year. Holy shit show. Anyways, finally the darn passport has arrived. And I don’t even need it. J thinks I’m going to use it to kidnap the baby to Europe. I told him not to give me a reason to and that will never happen. Ok, I basically just said, “That will never happen.” Doling out threats is kinda more fun than heartfelt assurances though.
I now have to look like this for the next 10 years:
Oh the horror… Don’t get passport photos taken at 8 months pregnant after a day of moving.
That’s what happens when you’re pissed that you have to get a photo taken for the millionth time. I thought I just wouldn’t bother renewing my Canadian passport because this one was so expensive, but then I realized that travel to the good ol’ US of A would require me to apply online in advance for permission to travel there, and then succumb to finger printing and retina scans each time I were to visit. Um, no thanks America. Canada doesn’t even have that kind of info on me, so screw off.
HOLY RAMBLING! 1000+ words? Sorry kids.
I will conclude by saying that I’m happy and in love and excited to be a mom, but part of me will always wonder what would have been if Eurobitch had been allowed to run free. She was kinda fun to be sometimes.
Eurobitch is mad that she isn’t getting any like the couple sucking face on the couch behind her… seriously. It was audible.
Eurobitch also bites people’s faces in public
Somewhere in a parallel universe Eurobitch is biting faces in a night club not knowing that she could have been nice and happy in a cozy Canadian home with J, la puppie (that’s French for puppy… you should probably stop believing me) and a baby to be. Silly Eurobitch.