Yes, my muse is male, and I wouldn't mind at all if he looked like the boy from Ipanema up there (his name is Cassio, if you must know). Or rather, I would mind very much if he looked like that and split on me, like mine has done. With all the tiredness and scattering of the last few days, he's sulking and refusing to play ball, and I'm growing increasingly exasperated with him.
So here's something that will (hopefully) shake him out of his funk: a no-holds-barred epic bit out of Blind Guardian's brand new and entirely kick-ass album, At the Edge of Time.
Every home with a teenager is one. Homes with more than one teenager are usually called war zones.
Anyway... when I posted on Monday night, Monster was still out celebrating her latest squeeze's birthday. They turned up shortly afterwards, as the plan was that Squeeze would bunk out with us overnight, so that the next morning they could both be driven over to get Monster's GCSE results.
Grumpy has declared elsewhere that he was Not Impressed by Squeeze's maturity levels, as he apparently had needed several reminders to buckle his seatbelt already! My impression was not much better. The birthday he had just celebrated was the 20th, but he had the social aptitude of a 15-year-old, at least with grown-ups. I'm not sure what horror/satire/black comedy stories about Grumpy and me he's heard, but we're hardly intimidating by default. He seemed to get along well enough with Spawn, in the morning, though, and Spawn's intuition is solid. It's just... heck, I don't remember 20-year-olds being that dorky in my time.
I was careful to be noncommittal towards Monster. Observations that she's not a paragon of maturity herself and like attracts like (she's been involved with - and dumped by - three dolts over the last two years) would have been entirely counterproductive, even in keeping up with my moniker.
Off they went to see the results... and they were not as expected. Nothing abysmal, I take it (I'm still not entirely familiar with the grading system here), but enough for her to have to change some of her plans for her A-levels. I had other work while she had another long talk with her father, and just as well. I have little patience for either her cavalier attitude towards study or her tendency to give up at the first difficulty. When the going gets tough, Monster strops away - tears optional, but recommended - saying she doesn't care. There's only so much silent eyerolling I can do.
You're probably thinking, 'What is this, middle school?' I'm thinking, 'She's a teenager, and there's no known cure.' Just as well that she'll be way past the phase when Spawn hits it.
I was promoted to moderator on my primary roleplaying forum today. Well, the offer (and its corresponding acceptance) came a few days ago, and I'm not officially on duty until the end of the month, but I now have stealth access to the staff boards in order to familiarise myself with the material there. And let me tell you, there's a lot of material there. Steep learning curve ahead, and all that jazz. I'm grateful for the sneakiness, otherwise I'd end up having to deal with some situation without knowing how.
But, but, but... there's always a but, and I'm not being ungrateful, honestly.
Of all the days until the end of the month, why did it have to be today? I'm trying to get back to writing. I owe story posts since July. And just as I was really getting into the swing of things and the replies were about to start flying (I've already done six out of the seven I owe on the secondary gig), I get head-anvilled by this influx of info, which naturally takes precedence. Between moar boards and Spawn being extra mischievous and watchworthy, when am I going to find enough time to write for real creativity to jog in?
It seems a girl just can't make a proper comeback.
Disclaimer: This song has nothing to do with my family situation, and was picked up as the week's theme at (almost) random. And the fact that I would say the same even if the situation were different does not invalidate the above claim.
(See shrewd wording there? I say such things and then look at myself suspiciously in the mirror, to see what I'm hiding from me!)
Cheap meat is for the dogs, Mama would say. We were very happy with our brand new half-price blender, Grumpy anticipating endless freddoccinos (well, until our supply of freddoccino mix runs out, that is). Until we actually tried to make some, today.
One jiggle, to get the jug out and shake it, to make sure the ice cubes got crushed with something resembling uniformity, and the mix within started leaking everywhere without. Cue WTF? moment, then the dawning of realisation - realisation of the reason for the slashed price tag.
Grumpy and his uni pal, who's visiting for a couple of days, drank their freddoccinos, although I can't vouch for how much they enjoyed them. Me, on the other hand, I took the whole thing as it was, chucked it in the dumpster, and got down to mopping up the mess. The whole incident doesn't qualify as epic fail, since it didn't explode or anything, but the fail factor is going strong.
We'll get another blender, a reliable one, but as far as freddoccinos are concerned, I'm breaking out the meat tenderising mallet and the shaker.
In all my old blogs, since 2007 or thereabouts, I've had the habit of dedicating Friday to a single bit of music. I don't know if I'm going to keep up the habit here, but it's been a long day, I've dealt with six loads of laundry and a whole pile of magazines that needed sorting out, and... yeah, this is pretty accurate.
Note to self: Don't book health appointments (or any other kind of appointment, just to be on the safe side, now that I think about it) for the day after returning from a trip. Incomplete decompression can lead to monumental gaffes, like turning up at the wrong hospital.
Yepyep. We not only were late, but also went all the way to the General, while the dermatology nurse scheduled to see Spawn was at the County. Which is less than half the distance from home. So we ended up even later, doubling back to get to the right place, where we could have been on time, even with our late start from home. Epic fail much?
At least Spawn did get seen (I suspect faster than if we'd gone to the right place to start with), we have a new prescription, and the wasted visit even allowed him to see the ducks in the General pond, while we waited for Grumpy to get back from the totally unnecessary parking procedure. Parking at the County was on the street, so free, and allowed us a short bimble into town as well. The weather, as we walked back, reminded me of this time of year in home country: bright but cool. I wonder if I'm ever going back. Ah well.
The big question is: Now that I've been there and done that, do I get the totally cool tee shirt as well?
First post on the day of the return from holidays, just because I'm contrary like that.
Despite the hectic start of the day, when we had to be reminded a second time that the cab was waiting outside, and I still hadn't managed to get as much as a sip of my coffee (cardinal sin), the journey back wasn't that bad. Mama opened the floodgates, naturally, and Grumpy was, well, grumpy, but Spawn, after his brutally early wake-up call, crashed hard and was asleep before the plane even took off. I even had time to read almost 200 pages while he snoozed. Oh, the wonder that is a child in his own seat!
We reached London through thick layers of cloud, drove to the Fort in drizzle, and as we were wolfing down our first proper meal of the day, around 4-ish, the buckets came out. Yup, this is England all right. From smothering heat to full-blown rain in four hours. Can I have some proper summer weather, without extreme weather phenomena, for a few days, plzkthx?
No unpacking yet, naturally. There's a lot to move around, and we need a good night's sleep, eventually, without the a/c on and without Mama's crippling mattress. But before then, some internet with decent speed, and after that, and Spawn's hospital appointment tomorrow morning, a few days of vacation for me to unwind from this vacation. If you're told that mama rests on trips away, don't believe it.
