Well hello there...

Welcome to my blog. Brb... I'm making memories (read as: Wine. I'm going to get some wine...)


Routine… *slams face onto desk* I am so tired of routine I can just poo in my damn pants! (Which would actually yank me right out of my little rant to be honest cause that’s just gross.  And yet very very warm?)

Anyhoo we all have our little routines in the mornings and evenings and mine is starting to suck the joy outta me a little! Same old crap everrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry day!

Wake up with bastard alarm.

Lie in bed and flail arms and legs while throwing a bit of a vloermoer about having to get out of bed.

Stand up – Yell at Zeus to stop scratching the *%^&%^$$ bed!

Feel bad.  Lean down, scratch his head. (He looks smug)

Walks to the loo wiping sleep outta my eyes while scratching my bum. *yawn*

Have a wee (elbows on knees)

Go to kitchen, put on kettle, feed Zeus because he’s starting to look a bit creepy hanging his fangs out like that and making that fffft fffft noise at me.

Put Sky news on. Listen for any potential Meteorite smooshing me warning.

Make bed.  Complain about the fucking amount of work it is to make a bed in winter when you have 5,500 thousand blankets on your bed.  Contemplate getting back in to it.

Put Zeus’s cushion on bed to make the already soft cushy bed even softer for his delicate bum.  What the hell?

Walk to cupboard. Looks at undies and socks.  Am I going to wear matching today? Orrrrrrr am I going to be a little devil and mix it up a little, you know… red cotton broeks with lacey black bra. (P.S. yes guys, women only wear matching underwear all the time if they’re acting in a porn movie, hoping to get laid or thinking today is the day when the bank gets robbed and the tsotsis make us take off all our clothes, and what if someone sees me in mismatched undies! Now I bet you, some chick is going to comment on this post saying “I ALWAYS wear matching underwear”… please see comments above about hoping to get laid… go on I dare ya…) Us normal chicks… green cotton broeks, purple bra, one red sock, one blue sock. Get over it.

(Off topic  but talking about matching undies. Why in Gods name do women usually tell you “I wear matching underwear so I can feel sexy and confident.  It’s for me and me alone.” Yes.  They usually say it in a breathless voice aswell.  Ummm what the fuck? You are not in a tampon ad oozing confidence while you climb a mountain or swim under a fountain.  I don’t even remember what freaking undies I have on until I take them off at the end of the day)

Now where was I.

Gets out clothes. Ponders how big my bum is going to look in the outfit.  Thinks “fuck it” and puts it on anyway (Pear is still a nice shape!).

Washes face. Puts cream on face.  Wiggles eyebrows at myself in the mirror.

Select coffee cup that matches my mood for the day.  Shall I use the Sex kitten cup, or the Christmas cup or the black cup with the chip in it. Make coffee. Leave the cup behind.

Go slap on some make-up.  Remind myself to pluck my eyebrows (I never do). Wiggles eyebrows at myself in the mirror.

Go into kitchen and contemplate breakfast. Toast, porridge or cereal. What’s easiest. Looks at left over Ginger bread on counter.  Slaps hand and makes toast with peanut butter.

Watch news and eat breakfast.

Brush teeth. Stick toothbrush too far down throat.  Nearly vomey my peanut butter toast all over. Keep brushing.

Puts lip gloss on.

Brush hair. Complain that I have funny hair.  Brush hair again. And again.

Stand at the door looking at car keys.

Look at Zeus snuggled on bed.  Look at car keys.

Have a little cry.

Go to work.



AARTO Shmarto %$#%#@@

Say Cheeeeese