Thursday, June 30, 2005

I never was any good at Thursdays

As the Other Half is used to hearing me say on the endless trudge home from the pub on a Friday night, I'm tired (this is usually closely followed by "it's miles" in a whiny voice as I ricochet off someone's garden fence for the fourteenth time). I know, it's my own fault - school night and all that, but I'm a grownup and I like being able to make really dumb decisions that I can regret later even as I'm trying to think of a way to make it someone else's fault. Today was just plain horrible. The data I spent all day collating for the MD is fucked up and I really don't care enough to find out where the problem is and put it right. I was more engrossed this afternoon in idly dreaming of bizarre, exotic, painful deaths that might one day befall my boss, who I hate more than anything in the world (except the Da Vinci Code, of course. And Paul Daniels). He is driving me slowly and relentlessly mental and I want it to stop. I'm suggesting a whip-round - everyone sends me some money and I'll buy a piano and some rope and a counterweight and some very big scissors (or maybe a saw? Ooh, no, hang on, a machete. I've always wanted a machete) and I'll make a piano fall on him and the world will be a happier place. I'm sure even his wife wouldn't mind - he's got a stupid beard and went through a phase of wearing braces on his trousers last year which, as he's so short, made him look like a toddler with reins on. I could rant for hours about what a wanker he is but it wouldn't make any difference as he'll still be a wanker when I'm done. Grrrr.

Small Person went off on a school trip to the beach yesterday - they went on a train and had a fabulous time and it made me ponder the logistics and sanity of taking forty-odd five-year-old children on a day trip. What if they all needed a wee at the same time? What if you lost one? What if three of them decided to hide for three hours and give the teachers a heart attack at the thought that they'd been abducted (this happened on a school trip to Switzerland when I was twelve and was very funny indeed. Although presumably less amusing if you were one of the teachers and your career and personal liberty was on the line.)? Not for me thanks - entertaining one five-year-old child is more than enough for me most of the time. I had to pick her up from the childminder's last night as the Ex was stuck at work. He came to collect her and I had to suffer another fifteen minutes of excruciating boredom as he talked at me about things I have no interest in. The only thing that prevents me from sticking a fork in his eye and setting him on fire is the gleeful jump-up-and-down knowledge that I'm not actually living with him any more and that at some point I get to close the front door and flick him the v's from my kitchen window as he drives off in his shitty car with his shitty music playing. Musical differences are often cited as the reason for a band splitting up, and I believe it can be a fundamental dealbreaker in a relationship too. When the Ex and I first got together I spent a day in his house while he was out at work. After I'd done all the obvious stuff (looked through all his cupboards, read some personal correspondence, checked his bank statements etc) I went through his record collection. The twelve inch picture disc of Samantha Fox's "Touch Me" should have alerted me to the fact that some point he and I would be dividing kitchen equipment and arguing over who got to keep the baby photos. But like a fool I ignored the evidence and we spent the next eight years becoming increasingly bitchy about each other's taste in music. On one memorable evening towards the end of our relationship he locked me out of the bedroom for the night on the basis that I had denounced his Pink Floyd dvd of The Wall as "shit" in front of our friends and put Motorhead on instead. If we went on a long car journey there were three neutral cd's we could listen to, or it was the radio all the way. For eight years. Sweet. So, be warned - if you ever meet someone with Jean Michel Jarre's (I'm ashamed that I even know how to spell that) entire back catalogue on cd please for the love of god don't marry him - he'll turn out to be a dull, possessive, unpleasant human being with a lack of personal hygiene and a persistent nose whistle. And a Land Rover. And some deeply horrible shoes. And a rubbish beard. And skinny chicken legs. And a padlock on his wallet. Probably.

Right, that's enough of that. I'm going to have a competition with myself to see if I can stay awake til Big Brother starts. I bet I win.

6 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous chimed in with...

Superb!! Although can I say that I knew it was all over with my Ex when she bought me a Kylie cd for my 28th birthday (amongst other things of course!). Whilst attempting to look pleased and decide how I was going to extricate myself from the relationship I had something I really wanted to say but never did.......

so here it goes........

I liked Kylie not for her musical prowess but for the fact that I thought that physically the ex and Kylie shared certain assets and that each time the mood caught us and we ended up in bed I imagined that it wasn't her it was Kylie. Thus everytime I watched a Kylie video intently it wasn't appreciating the music it was getting a better mental image for when I ended up in bed later and shut my eyes!

There I've said it and I feel much better. These blogs really are theraputic, must get one for myself one day instead of spraying mental graffiti over someone elses!!!

30 June, 2005 22:18  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

Okaaaay.....on the one hand, I'm glad I was able to help you externalise that. On the other hand, eeeuuww.

Thanks for sharing.

01 July, 2005 08:54  
Blogger Donna chimed in with...

I was actually sad enough to vote last night. Saskia was such a witch that I'd voted before my brain had engaged. D'Oh! what am I doing? surely I don't care enough to actually vote? don't I just think about who I would vote for if I did that kind of thing. Damn ... they got me.

PS. You have to tell us what the 3 neutral CDs were.

01 July, 2005 09:45  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

I voted for her too - firstly because as you say she's a complete witch, and secondly because I want her to have to sit at home and watch Maxwell shagging Orlaith instead. And yes, I hate that I care too.

Alanis Morrisette - Jagged Little Pill, Different Class by Pulp and that boring one by the Verve with the drugs don't work on it. Any attempt at introducing other music was met with bristly sighing and eye-rolling (on both parts) until the offending article was removed.

That's eight years of my life I'm not getting back, isn't it?!

01 July, 2005 09:54  
Anonymous Other Half chimed in with...

Damn, I don't have those 3 CD's in my collection. Does that mean our future life plans are thwarted before we've really got started ?

01 July, 2005 10:22  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

No. The fact that we have such similar music tastes (you'll get past the wincing-when-Rolf-Harris-is-on in time, I promise) means that we are far more likely to be sickeningly happy for ooh, ever.

Plus your beard is not stupid.

01 July, 2005 10:24  

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