Waffle cake creator and lover of all things purple

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West Sussex, United Kingdom

Friday, 29 March 2013

Willpower? I "Lent" it out

Oooooph. I am finding it exponentially torturous to not chow down upon the silky brown deliciousness of my forbidden chocolatey life partner. Chocolate and I shall be forever entwined in a firey love/hate emotional tango. I hate to love it and I love to hate it.

The countdown clock to Easter Sunday is at just under 2 days, and they are the shaping up to be the longest days of my life, in no small part down to being a technologically savvy drunkface who bought a massive high sleeper bed online without thinking about how to transport it home or, more crucially, whether it will even fit in my Harry Potteresque living space, under the stairs.

***long sigh*****

This has been my most bountiful Easter, in terms of edible prolate spheroids, since being spoilt by the “vicar's daughter” chocolately cash/egg cow of my childhood. I have had to implement a “Draw of Guilt” where I have hidden the work based donations (each with their accompanying post-it notes of support/torment for holding out on my melty true love for nearly 6 weeks) and a “Car-boot of Wanton Desire” where I have currently encased my larger, more seductive chocolate naughties.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I've done well with giving up chocolate this far.
I just don't focus on it anymore. In fact, I can barely focus on anything anymore, since replacing chocolate with week-day wine and excessive cake consumption. Oooops.

Frustratingly, I just know that, come 00:01 on the Sunday morning, I will be face gap deep in a sick inducing gorgefest. In fact, it's suddenly occurred to me that we are losing an hour this weekend and therefore, perhaps, as I've been such a good girl, that maybe I can start at 11pm on Saturday instead? No? Pfffffft. Spoil sport.

On a completely unrelated note, ahem, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that have, what *some* might consider, a “bit of a problem”.

Work colleagues are even starting to make comment about my completely uncontrollable expression of physical pain and almost tangible distress that emote "all about my baaaaaad self (brap brap)" when I forgo my diabetes kickstart treats for a day. Apparently, I made reference to cake about 20 times during one period of withdrawal. How tedious is that?! Ooooooh the shame. My office is always a hotbed beautifully homemade sugar filth too, which really doesn't help. (Just look at the cake someone made for paddy mcguiness day!)

So I'm taking hold of my "bit of a problem", tightly round it's sugar lumps, and will dominate the calories out of it , right into healthy submission.

My colleague and I are embarking upon the noble(idiotic) quest to completely rebuke and discard cake/chocs/sweets/treats/joy from our lives in the first week of May, just to see if we can.

I know, right? I'm the catalyst of fun.
****another long sigh******
Will power is hard :o(

Thursday, 28 March 2013

Late Night Blog Shift

Oh um, hi, 2am.
Didn't expect to see you here? Er yeah. Been a while huh?
I mean week nights? Really? I thought we were over all this silliness? Yeah I'm sorry we haven't met up in a while too, but you can't just turn up on a school night and expect me to pick up where we left off. I've moved on. Midnight and I are going steady now. I can't even imagine staying out when I could be in bed, by midnight, almost every night! (the saucy little minx).
I know this is a unique scenario, what with it being a leaving do with work colleagues, but in a way that makes this even harder. 7 coronas can't fix this for us, even if my colleagues say it could work out. We just don't get on in that way. You always seem to change into 3 and, in the worst case scenarios, 4am the next day! I can't even recognise you. And you aren't getting the best of me either. You're looking at a girl who impulse bought a 84" high loft bed frame that probably won't fit through the halway, let alone in the flat. Look, even the laziness in my eye comes out when we meet up.

We are a toxic combination.

Drunk me, there. On the late night blog shift.
Thanks for your, er, contribution. Oh. And for the little "gift" of dehydration, remorse, and a rather large (both in terms of physical size and financial commitment) ebay purchase you've left me to sort out today.

Drunk me is a twat.

Tuesday, 26 March 2013

Party like it's 1992.

How did parties even happen in 1992 without facebook invites and twitter hashtags? Anyway, I digress (already. This doesn't bode well)

For those of you not in the know, I decided, as of Tuesday 20th March, to give up on social networking until Easter.

Nearly a week in, and all I want to know is where I can get my methadone equivalent of instant validation? I miss having an open forum for ideas through chatting to old friends and insulting new ones. I miss the passive and dilute accreditation a "like" or "share" imparts. I even miss those ridiculously mundane "greeting card quotes" and that old chap out of original trek space frontier whatsit.

I have enforced a detachment from the succulent bosom of digital social interaction in an attempt to push myself into doing wondrous things with all that time I'll save.


Sadly, the quality communication I was striving to rekindle as part of this initiative, has encountered a *couple* of hiccups. In the supermarket last week, I was interrupted mid cake quandary by "is this the naughty isle then?" from a gent who was, as it was later pointed out by my more astute friendshapes, probably wanting my assistance with an entirely different kind of "what's for desert?" Dilemma. Awkward.

Even the simple act of paying at the checkout was a bit of a farce. You know that glazed look of boredom and impatience you reserve for overly talkative shop assistants and the X-factor? Well I ended up on the painful end of that look after a conversation a kin to:
"Ooooh I'm really looking forward to this bottle of wine. It's a bit more expensive than the ones I'd usually go for, but I saw it there, with all it's awards and shiny labels and thought what the hey. I struggled picking a desert too. [This content has been removed to prevent catatonic boredom].... which is why I bought them both. Oh!.... Erm.....I'm sorry for going on, it's been a really quiet day at the office."
Yep. I apologised to sales assistant for rogering my brain tedium right up her. New low, right there. Well, it was, until I accidentally elbowed a pregnant woman right in the foetus at the weekend. But that's another story.

By Thursday, I was sleep by 10 as the airless vacuum of time that faced me was a bit too much to digest in one oppressive turdlump of empty.

Thankfully, Friday arrived and I finally remembered I have wine, er... friends! Proper 3D ones with houses, and movies and corkscrews and everything. I would like to say that I recalled the rest of the evening but I ended up filling my wine bottle with air in less than 2 hours and then "celebrated" by sending text based head dribble via blogger and SMS at god-earsnoseandthoat o'clock on Saturday morning. Oooops

Looks like the "wondrous things" I'd planned to achieve sans Facebook is going on hold for now.

Friday, 22 March 2013

Friday! all up in your George Forman! innit though, A RhD positive!

I have made what can, in all honesty, be labelled in the most broadest of terms as a fox pase:

(Ok. This works better in person as you would (as an astute, erudite and witty {[oh ok you got me, middle class] friend of mine} notice that a) I have polished off an entire bottle of 2001 Rioja Reserve to myself in less that 2 hours {mainly due to the glassware detritus I have left for you to recycle [because I can't be bollocked to] in your house} and b) this is a skit I do about "faux pas" allllllll the chocolateloving damned time)

Have not only forgotten how the hell grammar works, but I have also decided to leave my car at my friend's house so I can have a bit of a drinkipoo.

This plan (or flan, as you might accidentally type as a mildly intoxicated and carb addicted individual) is floored in ever so many ways.

Firstly, the metal death machine is now at least 3 miles walk away. Now this route is brightened by the presence of at least 12 licensed premises:

({alcohol licensed, not fishing rod licences or something. Although I'm pretty sure you're running late on those guys, so, you know. Renew at your local post office . http://www.postoffice.co.uk/rod-fishing-licence
[just check out those super duper air drowning benefits]}.
Well, I didn't count them exactly, but I certainly took a fairly accurate estimate of how many of these establishments *may* have screw-top wine bottles. This was after I decided, a few weeks back, my jog that way *might* be slightly easier if I took my trusty corkscrew out of my bag. {Only about 7 of the 12 do screw tops, just incase you're interested})

Which also lines the beautiful sussex countryside. Yet, last time I did the walk (alone and at night, I might add) I was haunted by two white clad hooded youths, clearly looking for ghoulish trouble in their ghostly realm, who stared errirly out from a 1st floor window, and some teenage rapscallions who seemed to brandish half drunk litre bottles of strong spirits, in brain mashing glass vessels, which terrorised the most dangerous level crossing, *engage clarkson* in....this....gaaaaaalaxy. I was a bit scared/old.

Yet, the main bastard of this narrative resides in the fact that I have to overtime at work tomorrow and I have (at the very least) got a 45 min excruciatingly hungover walk/stagger required to collect my leg saving husk of dinosaur guzzling mayhem during tomorrow's A to the M

Who the frickidy frick thought that would be a good idea? Oh yeah. The super snazzy "multi award winning" shiny label of lovely red stuff. I remember. Bastard.

Man. That's a long winded way of saying, "fuck! I need my car in the morning and I'm going to have the most horrific, self induced and lonely hangover.

I should probably get it *oooooon* (is that what people say now PJ and Duncan are no longer rap god heroes?) with some cool as ice bit of H2"motherrespecting"0 about my Godfearing bad self.




I forgot to disengage Clarkson!!

Quick! Everyone say something about equal pay for females. That ought to sort it!