Just wanted you to know that by August I will be on the Pro Tour. We can still be friends, I won’t forget you. Well, some of you.

(slightly edited quote)
“hey: weirdest thing happened to me today. a friend (Jessica) had her facebook hacked and while I was on facebook this morning a chat box opened from her and we began to chat. she sounded weird. then she suddenly asked me for money as she is trapped in spain, can’t get home. i told her she was clearly not Jessica – but here is the good part – this hacker answers back saying ‘not joking. really me. SP (my name) is going to announce my problem in church this sunday. please help me.” so awesome. you – the most vocal, evangelistic, atheist i know – are going to Jessica’s church this sunday to get the congregation to help her out. amazing. they skimmed my wall, saw your name first, saw that Jessica is a church girl, and tried to get my $$. i laughed a lot. then i was scared of fb and wrote a scary, all caps post on my wall warning everyone.

see you in church.

Isn’t that great? He knew it was a scam because I would NEVER GO TO CHURCH. My rampant athiesm helped foil some crooks! Well, not really, but sort of. Okay, not at all. But still, hilarious! Tickled pink I tell you. Although the scammers of today man, tell your grandparents, they fall for this shit.

Anyway, y’all can celebrate if youse want to and as my gift to you for just one day I promise not to alarm you with talk of leg hair and the continuing pay disparity between men and women and the THE CHRIS FUCKING COCKSUCKER BROWN ISSUE. Please feel free to send left over chocolate to me for testing, and enjoy these sweet moves.

The true meaning of Valentine's Day...

The Handsome Sleep doctor (handsome doctor = best doctor) gave me a prescription for Clonazepam. Incidentally, this is mostly used for anxiety, panic attacks and mania, conditions in which I only suffer when I know the cheese shop will be closed for a long weekend. It is essentially valium.

It took me 18 months to be brave enough to try the Clonazepam as I am a scaredy cat, but it seemed to work. Well, I took it a handful of nights and on those nights I didn’t wig out. Cured! And then I did. Not in a dramatic way, just in a sitting up and staring around at things in a creepy way, which is both disruptive and and faintly terrifying for GB. So I decided that taking Valium that didn’t work was probably silly. Whilst I love the glamour of needing a Mother’s Little Helper (I envisage a frock and apron with a little mickey of gin tucked into the pocket, leaning against a fridge popping my Clonnies while I bake my husband some sort of meat loaf), it’s not really sustainable if it doesn’t work (and who on earth knows how to make meat loaf?).

Off I toddled to my GP who prescribed Zopiclone, the lowest dose available with instructions to cut the tiny pills in half, to further reduce the effect. Zopiclone is a tranquiliser and hypnotic so amongst the family of drugs you can use to get crazy fucking high when you mix it with booze, and commonly used as roofies to rape girls at bars. Wheee! Thus, as an afore mentioned scaredy cat, I don’t like to take it at all if I’ve been drinking anything, as I’m worried I’ll die. (Obviously most people I know think I’m crazy for NOT chugging the pills with wine and having the most fun ever).

So I had this tool to help me sleep better, to get through the night without getting up to remove the paintings from the wall (OB-viously) or to stop sitting and staring at the clock until GB wakes up and tackles me back to sleep. But I can’t take that pill when I’ve had a glass of wine, and I started to realise there is always a glass of wine. Not in a terrible way, just in a ‘lives of busy people with lots of friends’ sort of way. I had plans after work every night, and all through the weekend, every week, for MONTHS. Wine class on Mondays, trivia on Tuesdays, dinners on Wednesday, drinks and films on Thursday then a weekend whirl of errands and brunches and lunches and dinners and drinks and snacks. And on every one of these nights I would have a glass of wine. Or two. Sometimes three. Mostly not so much on weeknights, but on weekends sometimes more. That meant there was no real window for Zopiclone.

In the world in which I have moved for the last 31 years, I have known and loved several people with alcohol addictions, and know what that looks like. Over the years of having the best! fun! ever! I have examined myself to make sure I’m not entering dangerous territory, and I’ve never felt that I was. The crazy bits of my youth, of drinking all night and sleeping all day and dancing and dancing and dancing, were always finite, I always knew the festival would be over soon, or the tour, or the party and life would go back to sort of normal. For sure I drink too much sometimes, I love wine and would much rather have a glass of champagne than a glass of water, but I don’t feel a compulsion to drink alcohol. So that’s good.

After our recent month long vacation where we drank and ate everything whenever we wanted, I came back 15lbs heavier (for realsies) and needing to reset a little. I think proprietary cleanses are anti-science bunkum so that wasn’t on the cards (but sure, calm down cleanse lover, I understand your feelings about this, I just think the effects are psychosomatic (addict insane) and that the body doesn’t need you to cleanse, it can do it already.)* So I decided to take a month off booze when we got back and knowing March would be filled with parties and anniversaries and so on, and February was all short and stuff, February it was (and is).

Additional impetus along with the desire to not drink booze every single night was reconnecting with my personal trainer (The Italian!) for 7am sessions and needing to save some cash to pay for the luxury of getting up at 5.45am. It all seemed smart.

It has been almost 9 days so far without wine.

I don’t think about it when I’m at home doing normal things, but I sure do miss it when I’m out. Drinking soda water and diet coke at a bar is for assholes AND I AM THAT ASSHOLE (wine is also more delicious, less chemically and better for you than diet coke for sure). However, keeping me from that bottle of champagne is that I think it’s having an effect on my body. I am sleeping TERRIBLY, awful in- and para- somnias and I can’t wake up in the mornings. The irony of sleeping terribly whilst finally being in a position to take my sleeping pills is not lost on me, I just dropped my entire bottle of pills into the toilet last week and had to throw them out. NOW WHO WILL SELL LEFTOVER DRUGS TO THE DATE RAPISTS?

Then last night I caught a fake cold. I was sitting on the couch and felt a wave of allergy take over my body suddenly and I was sniffling and sneezing and congested. I went to bed and it’s still here this morning. WHAT THE FUCK? I’m sure it’s not a real cold as one doesn’t literally catch a cold like that, like a pie in the face and a full body shudder all at once (perhaps it is a clown cold?). So I reckon my body is detoxing. Ugh.

It is also not surprising to me that my body is reacting to its new status quo, it’s just tiresome. I hate that putting delicious things in your mouth so frequently can make you run down and tired, and I am ready for next week when I suspect the physical tiredness will go and everything will be fine again. Then holy fucking macaroni will I be waiting for March 1st. Bring out the marching band and elephants and bring me the motherfucking bottle.

Please.

*I have many friends who love cleanses and think they’re a worthwhile exercise. I do not. We have debated often and I still believe they’re hocus pocus. Eat well. Exercise. Exercise your brain and manage your emotional well being, your lower intestine will be fine.

However I didn’t fall over and I didn’t puke on my fur stole. Hurrah!

Now I am trying to pretend I’m not hungover so my husband doesn’t look at me with those I Told You So eyes. I hate that look. The look that can only truly be mastered by someone who is not a big drinker. Whose friends sing to him on those special occasions where he hits the big 5 mark (to the tune of My Sharona), ‘da da da da da FIVE CORONAS!’

However, I got my one up on him last year. After a morning of giving me the look, he went to have a shower and so I puked in the kitchen sink and never told him.

Joke’s on YOU jerkface.

Puke.

Nap.

A couple of hours of tennis on Saturday and a mountain bike ride with the fellas on Sunday, followed by an enthusiastic spin class this morning (“Hey team! For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Scott! I have two kids! They are my inspiration and the reason I have a smile on my face all day! So let’s try to get a smile on your fac…BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!” Asshole. Monday morning. Fuck. Off.)

Anyway. My stupid back hurts but I’m too lazy to do the stretches I know will help. Instead I will eat sausages.

Also, my sleeping is bad. I promise to tell you about my sleep again next time. Tomorrow say? After tennis…With my achey back… And I think that my new tennis coach doesn’t find me hilarious, which clearly means it’s going to be a lonnnnngggg fucking hour. Like, let me tell you my friends, if you’re gonna spend an hour with me in culottes, you’re gonna wanna find me hilarious.

I shall report.

I can’t imagine a world where I never had a say in my future – Egypt’s ruler has been in place for THIRTY YEARS.

So heads up assholes, you choose not to vote when you have the right? Shame on you, and whilst I’d like to say you don’t deserve to live in a free country and should be immediately sent to a dictatorship to see how you like that (assholes), it’s not true, you do have the right to live in freedom. Everyone does. That’s the point, even assholes who are too lazy to be a part of democracy have the right.

Finally, on a tangent from my first paragraph about taking to the streets, in all the footage I see online or on tv, there are no women on the streets. None, except foreign journalists. Strange, creepy and sort of depressing. Religion and equality, my two favorite casual fireside bees in bonnet. Equality? HA! We are all so far from it that the carelessness with which my generation treats their feminism (‘oh, I’m not a feminist, like I believe in equal pay and stuff but I’m not a feminist…’ ‘it’s just really important to him that I change my last name and you know, I don’t mind…’) enrages me. Fuck that.

Anyway. Good luck people of Egypt, I’m with you.

Update! Not sure if this link will work, but someone has posted a Women of Egypt album on facebook which is heartening, women are there, just not making the newspapers. (no photo credits sorry, just the facebook link)…

The short story of the whole summer is I have been promoted and am now the Manager of Events at the square. Hurrah!

The longer version… I started as a Seasonal Event Coordinator at one of the City squares here about two and a half years ago. Through the power of persuasion (Boobs! Wine! Fantastic competence and appropriate resume!) I convinced them I should be full time and they agreed and made me a permanent position, so for the last two years I have been a full time Event Coordinator.

When the old Manager left in May I took over his position (as the Acting Manager) whilst continuing to do my old job. Still all of my events to shout at and cajole, but now a squillion other things at the same time. It was pretty nuts and I worked my ass off with not enough hours in the day to get things done (except for mastering the margarita, there seemed to be enough hours for practicing that). It was a frantic summer for everyone in the office and everyone worked their butts off to get us through.

Many, many people (like STOP already people!) applied for the job when it was posted a few weeks back so I’m thrilled to have gotten it (and I had to apply and interview for it like everyone else, thanks City regulations, that’s awesome of you). It was a logical step in terms of my career progression and when it looked like the opportunity might arise I grabbed it with both hands and worked like a mother fucker to make sure my skills were shiny and my eyebrows plucked (that is not true, my eyebrows are, uh, Rubenesque?)

But now my weeks are less frantic, my days a little less endless and come January I’ll have a chance to sit back and think about what this all means, what I can do with the extra hours in my day and with a little more routine.

Top of the list for next year:
A trip to Mexico with my lover in the winter, to sit on a beach and drink tequila and read trashy books.
More tennis lessons so I can serve the stupid ball with a little less humiliation.
Weekends away at a cottage in summer with lili and other delightful masters and margaritas (ha!)
Good hair, SURELY it’s my year for good hair.
Have a fan-fucking-tastic 5th wedding anniversary with my sweet ass husband.

I know there’ll be so many more adventures and I look forward to discovering them. It’ll be another busy year (when is it not?) but I’m looking forward to it. Can’t. Fucking. Wait.

Feel the Ruben my friends, believe in the majesty...