Wine O' Clock/ My New, Smelly Housemate

Hiyaaaa!  Have drunk (drunken? Drank? Drenked?  Necked, mate!! ..?) most of a bottle of wine whilst binge watching Channel 4's Secret life of 4, 5 and 6 year olds because...Christmas? Also watching 4, 5 and 6 year olds is fucking funny.  They talk exactly like pissed adults do.  I feel I'm in good company.  I too have attacks of moderate to severe social anxiety whilst in a onesie, cute bespectacled kid.  I feel your pain.  Also, your sheep onesie is way cooler than my penguin one.  Swap?

I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to write about or how my spelling's going to pan out or even if I'm going to publish whatever this is.  Proper edge of your chair, seat of your pants stuff, no?  Normally at this level of "slightly warm and fuzzy" with a hint of "I-want-pizza-NOW-GET-ME-PIZZA-can-we-dance-a-bit-first-though-I-love-you-mate-WHERE-IS-MY-EFFING-PIZZA?!!" tipsy, I start talking at A as an outlet for all my thoughts and feelings.  I have lots of both.  More of one than the other.  I'll let you be the judge.  However...

 

*shrug*

Cat's gone out, so a heart to heart punctuated with long, intense stares of mild disdain is out of the question.  And this one is currently hanging upside down on the sofa in in a creepy, open eyed coma:

  Before the coma.  Would take a picture now of aforementioned coma, but I can see more balls than face (his. Not mine.  Not that I have balls.  I'm unsure why I feel that it's important to underline this fact.  Becky Taunton:  Testicle free since 1988...please put that on my gravestone) in the position he's in.  The internet doesn't need to see this.  Take my word for it, internet.  Am doing you a favour.

What's that, you ask? Who is that hypnotic, severely cute creature (look at the picture again if the mention of balls made you do a little sick in your mouth)?  Just my new dog.

I GOT A DOG!!!! ANDY FINALLY LET ME GET A DOG AND HE'S PERFECT APART FROM THE FACT THAT THE CAT HATES HIM AND HE RAINBOW YAWNS ALL OVER THE CAR ON EVERY TRIP!

.....DOG!!!!! =D

We renamed the little cutie/smelly oaf Jesse in line with the Breaking Bad theme we have on the go with the feline.  We named the cat Walter.  Walter White.  If you have no idea what I'm on about and have never seen Breaking Bad, I'll wait until you have.

 ... Good, isn't it?  Makes meth look like so much more than a drug that makes you repeatedly hoover up all the teeth that keep on dropping out of your head, doesn't it?  I have no idea what the purpose was of that episode with the fly in it either, but I remember it the most clearly for some reason.  Maybe it had a secret meaning that resonated with me?  We are all trying to kill our own flies in the inner lab of the...mind?  Or maybe it was the simplest story arc and all the my brain is capable of actually taking in.

Did they even kill the fly in the end? I think they did.

So.  Yes.  Jesse.  We have had him for a grand total of two days now, which obviously makes us responsible, seasoned canine guardians now.  Obvs.  Here is a list of what I've found to be different in my life since he barfed, snuffled, jumped and napped his way into our lives on Thursday:

1.  It is awesome seeing someone lose their actual mind when you walk in the front door.  I initially felt a little irked that I didn't get this treatment pre-dog, but on reflection, it would have been be weird if upon my arrival home each night, A leaped twice his height in the air and headbutted my legs until I told him enough times that he's a good boy for him to be calm.  Just.. wrong.  

2.  I finally live with a creature who can eat faster than I can.  I'm impressed and have a quiet respect for this.

3.  Been going a bit insane at the fact that even though I like my new job, it involves a heckuvva lot of sitting down.  The days fly by, but I do go home twitching on excess energy.  Dog is answer.  Dog is solution. Dog is the key.  Dog is the secret.  Jesse has taken me on several walkies already.  I look forward to many, many more in the future.  The sooner he learns to throw a frizbee for me, the better.  That's how fetch works, right?  God, I love walkies.

4.  Dog.

5. Dog dog dog dog I HAVE A DOG!!!

Got to go now.  Wine glass is empty and I need another walk.
 
Good talk, guys.  How was my spelling?

Come to the Wrong Side. We Have Cookies.

Oh my lawd.  It's the weekend.  Sort of.  I still have to work a teeny tiny pretend shift on Saturday, but I'm relieved to be seeing a chunk of leisure time on the horizon at least.  It's not been a bad week as such.  Just a never ending merry-go-round of minor, avoidable mishaps.  For about one week in every four, I'll have one of these stints where every boiling hot coffee I make ends up more on my knees than in my mouth, and I turn up to work only to realise that I've got my underwear on backwards.  Not inside out.  Backwards.  I knew I hadn't put a thong on this morning!  

Tomorrow, resident man-boy is going on a night out and I'm excited to have the house to myself.  On a Saturday night, I plan to sit in my PJ's on the sofa, (where am less likely to encounter corners and things that I can trip over) watching 500 Days of Summer despite the fact that I know it back to front.  Much like my pants.  

Realising that the above (500 Days and a night of heavenly hermitude, not wearing underwear wrong) is my idea of a glorious Saturday night surprises me.  Only two or three years ago, I would be necking JagerBombs in panic at even the idea of having to spend a weekend *gasp* indoors(!).  

People sometimes casually drop the idea of being "the wrong side of [insert age here]" into conversation, which is stupid, because how can any age be wrong unless you're terrible at counting? However, I'm recently starting to see a noticeable difference between pre and post 25 me.  I wouldn't say I'm on the "wrong" side of 25, but I'm certainly on the comfier one.  I am going to document some differences between pre and post 25 year old me, because post 25 year me likes documenting things and lists.  Excuse me while I push my invisible spectacles up my nose:

Hang Overs

Pre 25: Hits pubs at every available opportunity (i.e "night time"), soldiers on through work four hours after last "sesh" ended with a bit of a headache and maybe a slightly more intense craving for McDonalds chicken nuggets than normal.  Worth it.

Post 25:  Still suffering the after effects of one night out that happened several days ago.  No amount of burgers and milkshakes can appease her.  Hates everyone.  Is never drinking again.  Wants another milkshake.  GET HER A MILKSHAKE!

Sleep

Pre 25:  Can get by on a few hours.  Bit grumpy, but will live.

Post 25:  No one who dares cross her path after less than seven hours' sleep will live.  You have been warned.

Emotions

Pre 25:  "I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS THAT I EVEN HAVE MULTIPLE COMPLEX FEELINGS ABOUT THE FEELINGS!!!!!

.....FEELINGS!!!!!!!!" 

Post 25:  "Something doesn't feel quite right inside.  Must be hungry."

Exercise

Pre 25:  Considers "dancing" (i.e flapping arms higher in the air to music with each drink) enough to burn off excess energy.  Also lifting heavy bricks of cheese to face is excellent weight training.  With this much calcium intake combined with all the lifting, am never going to get osteoperosis.  Hurrah!

Post 26:  Requires daily sweat-fest of some variety in order not to go ferile.  Bit like a dog.  Requires regular walkies and enjoys finding out new stuff that can accomplish with own body all the time.  Still enjoys flappy-arm drunk dancing, but not as solid a staple to exercise routine as once was.  Mostly because has to wedge feet into silly high heels to carry out activity.  Heels are silly. Wants cheese brick.  Mmm, cheese brick.

 

Example of what body can accomplish #1:  Becky prepares to lift the moon.

Self Image

Pre 25:  Is convinced that own body is betraying self by visually screaming its own flaws in poor onlookers' faces.  Spends inordinate amount of time hoping that no one notices how many things are wrong with own appearance and that dying hair a different colour every month will help to achieve this.

Post 25:  More concerned with what body can do (marathon/lift stuff over own head/open  jars to unlock gherkins and chilli peppers) than how it looks.  Occasionally disturbed, but mostly just amused at how funny looking self can be from certain angles, but would feel weird if suddenly had perfectly symmetrical features and/or massive boobies.  Wouldn't be self.  Brain no longer fights with body most of the time.  Too old for that shit.

...I'm so mature and wise now.  If I could only learn how to dress myself and not share my beverages with my lower body, I'd be a fully fledged grown up.

Now, who moved my colouring book?  I've got some serious art to tackle.  Did you know they do colouring books for adults now?!  I didn't until just this week.  Adult colouring books take the title of July's Best Discovery!

A Fun Game

Okay. So. I'm off the Eng-uh-lund for a night out tonight as the tag-along girl on a lad's (haha iPad keeps changing "lad's" to "lady's" ...sassy little tablet!) night out. I was going to do a post about general drunken behaviour or something along those lines, but I'm now thinking I'll opt for something a little more interactive. You can play along!

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce you to...The Pisshead Checklist....Gaaaame!

Fine, I'll never win my millions by thinking of names for board games. It's simple. I'm going to list the typical things I've been known to of a night out, and when I get back, I'll tell you which happened. Whoever guesses the most correctly wins..something. Awesome points. Here goes. Will I....?

1. Accidentally offend someone by mimicking their accent. What? People like that, don't they??

2. Buy rounds of drinks for people I don't/ barely even know because I'm drunk. And drunk me doesn't think money is real. And that shots buy people's love.

3. Fall over in my excitement because "they're playing my song!!!" FYI all of Drunk Becky's songs are her song.

4. Decide that I should be someone's wing man and "help them out" by shoving them into circles of strange women.

5. Make bff's with a woman in the toilets that I've never seen before and will never see again.

6. Attempt to make small talk with the bar staff:

What I think I'm saying: "good evening, sir! I hope your shift is a pleasant one. May I have a Strongbow?"

What bartender hears: "hahaha, hi! Have you seen my shoes? I like your face! Drink! Strongbow!! Dancing, hurry HURRY!" *hurls fistful of coins in bartender's direction and clacks back to dance floor*

7. Dance with my arms getting higher and higher as the night progresses until I am just thrashing with my palms to the ceiling.

8. Promptly have a mental breakdown at 3a.m. Kind of like Cinderella. But instead of my dress turning to rags, my thin veneer of sanity falls away, leaving me gasp-sobbing totally unprovoked. Until I hear MY SONG, immediately cheer up and return to the dance floor.

9. Dance-off.

10. Despite the fact that I shrink away from other people's cameras like that witch from The Wizard of Oz (I'm meeeltiiiiing!!) in my sober state, I leap into other people's photographs like I've been let out on day release.

11. Claim that I'm "channelling" a celebrity. So far, I've been Kesha, Beyonce, Will Smith and Bear Grylls. Whoever could be next?

12. All of the above.



......my bet's on number 12.


EVERYBODY LOOK AT MY DRESS!!!