Its all gone to rat-shit, my friends.
The last couple of weeks have just been a catalogue of crappiness – interspersed with more crappiness, some misery, some poverty and some more crappiness.
Oh, and we went to annanotbobs's, which was lovely (especially the Caldo Verde!).
As I texted to dear smashthegas this very morning "Cant even be fucking well bothered to update".
However, I am mindful that I havent updated for a while and you might be wondering if Ive died, or moved to Swindon (same thing), so I'll skate over the crappiness v quickly and then try to wring a little humour out of the bits that are left.
BFs ex-wife has turned down the offer that we've had on his house, after taking A MONTH to "carefully consider the proposal". As she gets 70% of the proceeds of the sale, this can only be greed, or spitefulness towards BF, or both.
We are waiting to hear from the purchaser, who has gone back to his solicitor to try to salvage something out of the situation. He is already about �20K down on the deal as he has had plans drawn up, surveys done etc etc so he's almost as desperate as we are.
We appear to have only two options open to us. Foreclose on the mortgage and have the house repossessed - at least we wont have to pay for it any more but we will lose out financially as the bank only need to recoup their losses and aren't interested in getting 'fair market price' or anything like that. Or, we can take the mad bitch to court and try to force a sale. We could lose.
Boooohuhooohooohooo
Ah well.
WE HAD ANOTHER PARTY!
This time, it was Jooj and Wee Treacle hosting as it was their pre-Halloween bash. In true Stepfie style, nothing really quite went as planned. We had invited 10 little guests, plus the two resident beasties and had organised them into teams with two liitle girls and two big girls apiece. Within the last half hour before the party start time I discovered the following: One big girl is vegetarian. One big girl we thought wasn�t coming, now IS coming and she�s Muslim. One little girl we thought WAS coming, now ISNT. Shagnasty phones up to speak to Jooj. She says �come to our party, dad!� and he does.
*sigh*
Still, we ploughed on regardless. BF and I dressed up: him with the green face-paint, Shrek ears, satin evening coat, T-shirt and tie, shorts and sandals. Me with the ghostly white face, Uncle Fester eye makeup, hiking boots and Saloon Girl ruffled skirt.
Jooj�s demon wings made her too wide to fit down the hallway and had to be abandoned and Treacle refused to wear anything on her feet which meant she slipped up a lot and someone stamped on her toe.
We all had coloured hair � BFs was red but it looked a bit odd til I convinced him to let me do his eyebrows and beard too.
So, we start off with the games. The first game has frosted donuts suspended on strings � to be eaten with hands behind backs. The Muslim girl (who is dressed as a rather fetching Dracula), tells me she�s fasting.
I take her turn and get icing all over my face. My lipstick smears everywhere. I look VERY much like Robert Smith. One of the little girls doesn�t want to play at ALL. The complicated scoring system causes some confusion as the decibel level goes into four figures but everyone gets a huge handful of sweets and on to the next game.
Mummies are made by wrapping up team members in toilet paper.(We know this isnt true - mummies are made by drunken shagging and scant regard to contraception). Shagnasty gets to pick the best mummy. Astonishingly, he picks the one team that doesn�t contain a daughter of any description.
Back into the kitchen for apple bobbing (or slices of cucumber for the little ones who didn�t want to get their faces too wet).
Then its a ChocolateFaceRace - tested that one out on BF the night before. He got very chocolatey. If you want to get choclatey at home, lie on the floor and have a helper but a square of chocolate on your forehead. Then, by complicated gurning and twisting of features, attempt to get the chocolate into your mouth. No hands! and if it falls off your face you have to start again. A Handy tip: Start by looking REALLY surprised, then frown, then REALLY surprised etc You can get the chocolate to move down to somewhere near your eye like that and after that its pretty easy. If you dont want to get too chocolatey (like if you are wearing white, or are a bit poofy, or just about to go somewhere important), best to put the chocolate in the fridge for a bit first.
Last game was the touchy feely one with buckets of nasty stuff to put your hands into and fish out little toys. We had the obligatory cold spaghetti and cooking oil (dead worms) and some TOO realistic fake sick made from cold porridge with added carrots and peas. Then once the little darlings had got all slimy and sicky, we had a bucket of Rice Krispies, ensring that they all looked a bit like they were wearing big krispie sick mittens. Heeeeee!
Shagnasty stood in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene. Me and BF whooping, yelling and egging the kids on. He shook his head. "you two are retarded", he said. I dont take that as an insult.
By the time we got to tea time it was dark so the little Muslim girl was able to have some tea with us (Phew for the veggie sausages!) and I made a humungous cake with giant spiders on it (Mini muffins, cut to shape, coated with melted choc and dipped in chocolate vermicelli).
All in all a big fat success (and Jooj's team won the 'Big Prize' which was hairbands with purple hair joined on).
Had a day off work (which is still heinous, thanks fer askin) last Friday as I had TWO hospital appointments. This might sound like a crap day to you, but then, you dont work at Twat Inc.
The second appoitment was the follow up from the colonoscopy I had a couple of weeks ago (you can read all about it if you click back a few entries - I think its the one before the birthday party). Im told all the biopsies were clear and they dont need to see me again for at least a year. Yay me.
The first appointment, was for a colposcopy. Oh joy. If you dont know (like, if you're a man, or something) is where they stick a boot stretcher up your minge, whack on the old Humphrey Davy headpiece, paint your minge first with sulphuric acid (ok, okaaaay, citric acid. whatever. you're so picky) and then with wholegrain mustard and snip a bit off you with the grape scissors to find out whether you had too many shags 'round the back of the Red Lion as a teenager. Or something.
Like all Obs & Gynae procedures, its undignified and a bit of a toe-curler. On the upside though, I had remembered not to be sporting a comedy porn-pube ensemble and had grown back a respectable (if a bit patchy) "normal grown up lady" pube-look. No raised eyebrows there. Id also remembered to absolutely NOT have Crazy Monkey Sex with the pleasantly well-endowed BF the night before, so no tell-tale bruising, strap-marks, gouges or inappropriately placed lovebites either. Yay me. Here's the parting conversation between yours truly and the nursing staff:
Doctor: You'll need to not have sex for three or four days...(looks at my face)...is that a problem?
Me: Oh, Im sorry. Did I look a bit horrified then?
Doc: Umm, well, yes, actually.
Me: Haha! Sorry.
Doc: Oh no. its not a problem. Thats the bit where my ladies usually say "huh, that wont be an issue".
Nurse (ruefully, from the other side of the room): Yeh. But this one's not married.
Happy Days.
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