Fuck, I am a slacker. Ok, not dead (obviously – unless this is ghost written). Bwhahaha. You were just waiting for that one, weren’t you. I’m here all week. The dread knee is ticking along – two steps forward, one back and one sideways. Things I have discovered I shouldn’t do are thus:
- Kneel on it. That hurts like fuck. Oh my god.
- Sit on the floor. Because I have to get up off the floor, and doing that without putting my knee on the gound? Nigh fucking impossible.
- Dance like it’s 1987. Or 1983. Or do the Sharpie Dance. Well, because no amount of beer at the time makes dancing feel good in the morning.
Actually, I *am* here all week. I’ve got a week off work because it’s my turn to look after the rapscallions. Chaos isn’t quite old enough to be left Home Alone (I couldn’t afford the internet bill for starters) and Mayhem is much too little. So far, their holidays have been anything but – there have been copious and endless activities every day until today – Chaos has a party this evening, but otherwise has a free day. They’re still in pjs.
So, today we stayed home.
I have been flat out like a dead lizard all day – I had to take the car to not get fixed, collect said car, get money out to not pay for repairs, birthday gifts and lunch, make bolognese sauce for lasagne tomorrow night, do some of the irritating jobs I’ve not been doing for six months (or since I last had leave, whichever was more recent) like cleaning out my make up bag – I tossed stuff that smelled weird, and put aside a heap of neutral/nude lipsticks I’ve never worn because, let’s face it, I’m not a neutral lips kind of girl. I would however like to know why I only have one or two of each of the things I use all the time, and heaps of bits that I rarely if ever use. Do I have them because I don’t use them? Hrrrm. Do I therefore need them? I probably wear eye shadow every couple of months, and I can’t tell you the time before last I wore blush. The last time was on Saturday night.
Yes, I went to a party. An 80’s party. An 80’s dress-up party. I lived through the 80’s. I know all the songs – hence all the dancing and the subsequent slow walking because I certainly busted quite a few moves (including the aforementioned sharpie dance, maybe some disco dancing). I am eternally grateful I did not consume beer like it was 1983. Funny thing was, I dressed myself circa 1985 with clothes from my wardrobe – boxy striped t-shirt, old suit jacket, rolled up jeans and Converse sneakers – I would have worn Volleys back then but the general idea was the same. Can’t beat a classic look.
Today, I’ve attempted to sort out my yarn supplies. And my colouring ins. Because it’s fun and you know you want to. Yes, I’m looking at you. There’s nothing like a new packet of Derwents, and hey, I had to wait FORTY YEARS to get the highly coveted 36 pack. (Of course, now I want the 120 pencils in the wooden box because I might be fifty on the outside, but I’m still a covetous 14 year old girl on the inside!). Anyway, I’ve got 3-4 colouring books, a set of 36 Derwents and a few extra colours because. Red. Derwent Red isn’t red enough.
As a completely unrelated aside, I’ve taken up crochet in a bit of a seriously Big Nana kind of way – I’m undertaking this project at the moment, after finishing a corner to corner baby blanket for a friend’s baby that’s now eight weeks old! I’m also discovering there’s some kind of weird arse hierarchy amongst yarn twirlers. Knitters apparently rule, ok? We have one decent yarn shop in town – BUT I have been looked down upon by this personage when I asked about the possibility of getting giant crochet hooks for my man-hands. You want WHAT? No, I didn’t ask you to remove your brain with said crochet hook, I just want one that’s longer than 15cm long. I’m 179cm tall. My hands are in proportion to the rest of me. Giant. Therefore, give me NOT your midget sized equipment and hand me a tree bough with a hook, before I use said midget hook to eviscerate your tiny little brain. No, I am not still annoyed by that woman. This is my calm voice.
Reading – yes. Must get back to that. I’m reading a Kathy Reichs at the moment. And I got a new e-reader. The other one was a bit laggy and wasn’t updating properly and a few other issues, then I was reading a book where the pages wouldn’t even turn properly – so, time to upgrade. Which I did. And subsequently discovered it was the book, not the reader. For the non-electronic readers among you, it was like reading a book that’d been dropped in the bath, like the pages were sticking together, and I’d think I’d turned the page, but hadn’t or two pages would go together. Turned out it was the book. Ah well. New Kobo is nice.
I’ve read 5-6 books since the last time I posted about them. I’ll catch up, I promise. Eventually. But while I’ve been crocheting like a loon, I’ve been devouring the Netflix. I’ve almost watched two series of Arrow. I DO NOT LIKE IT. I can’t exactly put my finger on it – it’s not that I can’t suspend disbelief – I loved Daredevil, and I <3<3 Doctor Who. There’s something STUPID about Arrow. Something fundamentally inane that I can’t quite put my finger on, to the point that whilst I’d like to at least finish series two because closure, I can’t be bothered. Granted, my knowledge of the American legal system is purely based on watching CSI and Law and Order, but the legal system in Starling City is really fucked up. That bugs me as well. And the flashbacks. And and and… I could go on and on and on. But I won’t. It’s annoying so I’m not watching it any more.
I’m watching Bosch (having read the books), and now I’ve put aside the actor being “all wrong” and treating it as another police procedural, I’m quite liking it (SEE, I can suspend disbelief!); and I’ve just started watching Hinterland. That’s more like it – slow moving British crime n death. There’s a new series of Longmire to look forward to, as well. So yeah, telly, crochet, bit of colouring in, bit of not doing the housework. Tomorrow is going to involve some cooking and probably some housework, and Friday may or may not involve going to Chopped. I’m leaning toward not… purely because can’t be bothered this year.
Bit tired I am.