On Saturday our mates came over. I got shit-faced.
Husband was up in the garage looking for more beer when my friend informed me shed had a message saying Id won the award for Top Blogger on Americymru.net. I am absolutely landed- these are the people running a Welsh festival in L.A, on Hollywood Boulevard no less. My Award West Coast Eistedfodd 2011
Husband comes back in just as Im telling my friend to open another bottle for us to celebrate.
Celebrate what? He asks.
I dont know what came over me at this moment, what was going through my mind, what piss taking little funster possessed me to say it, but I heard myself telling him...
It was going to be a surprise, but I got a job.
Ah for fucks sakes. Why didn't I just say I was pregnant or something? I of course haven't got a job.
Before you get all Jeremy Kyle, I dont sit here and claim benefits while drinking coffee and writing about gluing my Husbands shoes together; I pay council tax and Im not on the dole. I just dont have a job. Its not like Im not applying though, Im even following a recruitment agency on Twitter:
Cloudninerec steve ward
Senior social media strategist 55-65k, London http: #############
crapwife crap wife
@ cloudninerec Is it worth applying with a couple of GCSEs and a certificate in food hygiene that I bought off a Harvester grill chef?
Cloudninerec steve ward
@ crapwife Sadly probably not, and oh - you wasted your money on the food & hygiene certificate...
crapwife crap wife
@ cloudninerec Hi Steve- just to let you know I've swapped my food hygiene for a City and Guilds in reflexology- does this change anything?
He said no, theres just nothing out there for me at the moment.
I was very ill on Sunday. It would seem that sometime during the course of the evening I contracted MRSA. My first clue about this came when I woke to find my tongue had been stuck to my pillow. This is not, as Husband suggested, red wine dehydration. It seems that pillowcases with an above 600 thread count act as a Velcro when in contact with the tongue. I tell Husband to find me the phone number for Egypts cotton Minister so that I can complain.
Being Mothers Day we go visiting. My Grandparents have just returned from Amsterdam and they have bought me presents. I am very pleased with the Delft ashtray and 100 fags, less so with the ball of garlic cheese that spent 18 hours in Nanny's handbag on the return journey.
Having a fag with my Grandparents is one of lifes little pleasures, never before on the planet have two people managed to tangle so much randomness into a ball and call it conversation. They are possibly the funniest people I know. They make me feel like a kid- even at 28 my Nanna tries to dress me and do my hair.
Though careful not to mention it in front of the Husband, they are avidly following the blog. I dont know what my Nanna thinks blog means, but its her new favourite word. She phoned me last week to ask me to blog her over a photo of the garden, and then told me she was going to have a blog on the online bingo before dinner.
My Grandfather has said that Im not allowed to quote anything they say without paying them royalties, but Im hoping theyll be too busy trying to buy a blog Argos to read this.
Also following the blog are my parents, who arrive shortly after we do. Unfortunately, I have to distance myself from my mother today as once again as she looks stunning and next to her I look like a Kosovan Refugee who ate a 4x4.My mother was born in 1961 which is the same year as the Berlin wall was built. She stopped aging in 1989, which iscoincidentallywhen it came down.I dont mind being seen next to my Dad, (or Silver Fox as we call him) next to him my grey hairs are barely noticeable .
After discovering that my Uncle (who lives opposite) is out shopping and moulding the builders sand on his driveway into a large penis, we head home.
Now I think about it, this was definitely a mistake. The Uncle in question is a nightmare- this is a man who once used a forklift truck to put someones mini in a skip because they stuck a key to his Diahatsu and called it a Noddy car. Compared to him Im an amateur. Hes vowed to get me back and I spent the rest of my day drawing up a battle plan just in case he does.
The night-time challenges resumed last night.
If you want to get into bed you have to eat the whole ball of garlic cheese.
We like garlic and we like cheese(we've even been known to like the two together) but this cheese is like nothing Ive encountered- if Id have had the foresight to post it to Edward Cullen, there wouldnt have been a Twilight series.
Husband hasnt gone to work this morning and I feel a little bit guilty. He was up all night throwing up after eating the cheese and he looks like shit today.
He finally managed to sleep around 4am, shattered and feeling very sorry for himself. This is why is hasn't spoken to me since 7.15am, which is when the Postman woke him up to delivery his clothes.
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