The stoopid laptop is still only working when it really really feels like it but at least I am able to read some diaries and fill you in on all the fascinating things you have been missing from my Life of Wonder.
Ooo, where to begin? Let�s start where we left off � with the state of my Foo. It all seems to be OK at the mo, although I haven�t actually had the results through yet so I could be completely wrong and there�s people in white coats stood around Petri dishes and speaking in awed hushed tones in a �I�ve never seen anything like it in all my years of doctoring� type way. Actually, that might be truer than you think as my Foo is pretty awesome, even in wafer thin slices.
A week and a half into the �healing process�, the No Sex thing is starting to become less of a burden. Less of a burden and more of A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!!!! Actually, that�s not strictly true as I am attempting to treat it more as a �development exercise� (can you tell I�m studying at the mo?) and have been experimenting with ever more inventive ways to convince L�s cock that it is getting a shag, utilising a variety of hand grips/lubricatory devices/varying levels of suction etc. Of course, the rest of L knows that it is getting a handjob/soapy tit wank/blowjob/whatever but his cock is dumb and, in the right light, is easily fooled.
I feel compelled to insert (!) some kind of �can�t see what�s happening, only got one eye� type gag here. Restrain me. Thank you.
Of course, L is doing his bit to try to administer to my womanly needs � no, he hasn�t bought me any new shoes � but, to be honest, its all a bit like picking the icing off but not actually getting a bite of the cake. The icing�s supposed to be an add-on, not the whole dessert. *sulks*
I had a bit of a moan We had a bit of a chat about the whole sorry business yesterday. One of my main peeves is that I know he could/can feel the end of the vile sanitary duvets if he fondles my bum and I find that a bit distasteful. It�s like sitting astride a diving board � I fully expect someone to step up and go TWwwwANgggggg on the end of it. Also, I can�t feel anything through them (and neither, I suspect, can he), so him touching me �outside� my knickers is kind of rubbish for both of us. What are those damn things made from? Kevlar?
Oooh, just to reply to a couple of my commenters:
There�s also another problem. I shall tempt to explain in a �Process Map� type way (did I mention I�m studying at the mo?):
Enforced use of Sanitary Hammocks = Something to attach them to = wearing of proper grown up knickers = PERMANENT VPL!*
Its shocking. I�ve never been subjected to so many indignities in one go. I�ve take to wearing flarey skirts as much as possible. And very long tops. This makes me look a bit like as if Daphne from Scooby Doo borrowed some clothes off Velma from Scooby Doo. As a person normally attired in snug, bottom-wiggly pencil skirts and who is generally still svelte enough to wear a blouse tucked in, I�m finding the shock to my fashion sense almost harder to bear than my rediscovered chastity. I�m shuddering, dear readers, shuddering.
In other news, I went to the dentists yesterday. This would not be noteworthy were it not for the fact that I have not been to the dentist (except for a check up at Christmas) for about 6 years. (I told you that somewhen already, I think). I have a new dentist � not even the one I saw last month. His name is Evgeny and he is Russian. He�s also about 8 foot wide and has shaven black hair. His heavy accent and general demeanour makes him look like a villain from a Cold War thriller, particularly when he�s wearing a mask over part of his face and is brandishing a variety of pointy sharp scary metally instrument thingies with which to experiment on me poke about in my mouth. As luck would have it he is sweet natured and very kind and patted my hand in a reassuring way, which was very welcomed as I was absolutely bricking it a little nervous. His assistant is also Russian and joked about �Thee Syeck-see Gl-yasses� when she put some freaky wraparound black eye shield specs on me (presumably to stop splishes of water/bits of tooth/blood/spit going in my eyes). I asked, �Do I look like Bono now?� and she squeaked �YjESSSS!!� in a delighted way. I think she thought looking like Bono is a good thing. I�m not so sure.
I had two fillings and, if I�m totally honest, it wasn�t too bad. I�m even OK with going back in a couple of weeks to have a bit more work done.
There was one slightly unnerving moment when Evgeny had clamped a whole load of metal pointy things to various molars and premolars and they were all sticking out of my mouth like Id made a poor job of eating Edward Scissorhands, and he suddenly disappeared behind me with Nurse Nadia and they had a bit of a chat in Russian. When I told Slaveboy about this, he said it was probably part of a game � �see how many tools you can leave hanging out of the mouth of the mad old lady with the U2 fixation�. Like a kind of dentistry Buckaroo. He said Nurse Nadia was probably saying �Go on! You can get another one in there!�
Ooh! Note to Jack Dee: You know that �pink drink� they have at your dentists? The one you always look forward to? Ours was ORANGE! It still tasted like pink drink, tho. That was a relief. I thought of you the whole time I was drooling orange spit and bits of amalgam into the teeny tiny sink.
The added advantage to going to the dentist was that I didn�t have to go to work for a couple of hours.
I�m not sure what I can say about my job at the moment which hasn�t already been said. I made a remark (albeit a somewhat tetchy remark, I�ll grant you) to the MD in a meeting on Thursday which earned me a carpeting from my new boss on Friday morning, when I was accused of being �unprofessional, aggressive and inappropriate�. As far as I am aware, the MD hadn�t actually complained about what I said so when newbie had finished with the carpeting (or �recognising development issues� as she put it) and the lecture on how to get on in business, I did counter with a complaint about the MD, as he�d implied to a client over lunch at our meeting on Monday that I am a violent alcoholic.
My new boss is horrible. Really really horrible. If you know the Harry Potter stories at all, then she is Dolores Umbrage.
I have cried all the way home on two occasions over the last week and that�s two too many in my book.
I�m now at the stage of reading the �Situations Vacant� section of the newspaper, not with a �I could do that job and it�s a bit more than I earn� attitude, but more with a �I can do that job and could probably absorb that paycut if I walk to work/stop eating/kill both children and my husband�. Desperate, my friends, I am desperate.
Anyone reading this who lives within commutable distance of the south coast and who has friends in HR, please let me know where I can send my resum�!
In case I didn�t mention it, I�m studying at the mo. I�m studying for an NVQ4 in Business Administration. I cannot tell if that is a proper qualification or not. As far as I can work out, the main crux of it seems to be �what do you do for your job and can you do it properly?�. There�s a fair bit of the writing of interminable essays on such fascinating topics as �celebrating diversity� (ironic in a company that employs 99.9% white, Christian, straight, 30 somethings), �minimising waste in the working environment� and�..*snooooooore* Oh, sorry! I nodded off. You get the picture anyway. My assessor thinks my essays are �perfect�, which must mean �I have seen some crap in my time but at least these are legible� as I tend to dash them off the night before they have to be handed in. I�m seeing her tomorrow where we will discuss �accountability for my own work�. Hmm. Think I need to go write an essay.
Later
S
X
* Yes, I know that�s not a proper process map. I don�t have Visio on this wee baby laptop and, if I did I am not sure I would know how to make a process map show up on Diaryland. I did say �I�m studying�, not �I know everything�, y�know!
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