Leaving on a Jet Plane

Enough with the fuckin' sunshine. Enough with the spreading of joy and the heralding of all things good. As if having a violent strain of flu that closely resmbles the ebola virus was not enough, I now have to contend with Commander Clean's denim clad sugar mommy being around all the fuckin' time. And Florence Nightingale she is not.

Picture this, if you will:

We open on a bedroom littered with packing detritus - boxes, tape, clothes in piles on the floor. Our heroine is in bed, dying from a previously undiscovered strain of flu that, in the future, will wipe out mankind as we know it.

Choosy (to herself in delirium): Rage, rage against the dying of the light...
Sugar Mommy: not very far in the packing are you, honey?
Choosy (through gritted teeth): yes, well, the flu you see, I-
Sugar Mommy: I remember when I packed my place up...blah blah blah
Choosy: Look you ugly, old lump of uselessness, get the fuck out of my room before I breathe toxic fumes all over your heinous over-teased head.

Ok, so I didnt actually say that but halfway through her rambling I started up a hacking cough to remind her who's boss. She scarpered pretty quickly.

She clearly has designs on moving in with Commander Clean and wants me out ASAP. Trust me lovie, I am trying my damnedest. I have one more night, just one more night of this and then I can close the 'Living with OCD' chapter of my life. You are welcome to it, just don't be surprised when he decides to snuggle up next to his first loves - the mop and bucket - instead of you.

As an aside, I leave for a ten day holiday to London Town tomorrow afternoon - can't bloody wait! I'm gonna stay wif me mates what I worked wif and we're gonna get well pissed innit! I have to sneak out of The Company around 1ish so that I can make my 4PM flight...not really bovvered but a tad worried they'll catch me leopard crawling past reception...

Bring on the London sunshine! (before you die in a fit of laughter, they're apparently having an Indian Summer - read: 'freaky heatwave')

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Take on me

First things first: my weekend. Heaven I tells ya. Pure heaven. It all kicked off at one of my oldest friend's birthday bash. She had organised a Murder Mystery soiree which was actually a lot more fun that it sounds! Everyone dressed up to do justice to their characters (I was cast as ‘the slut next door’ – strange that…) and attacked the sangria and gourmet pizza dinner with a gusto deserving of some kind of health warning.

Having guessed the murderer correctly (being of the paranoid CSI generation) we retired to the upstairs flat and proceeded to murder (pun intended!!) some great 80’s classics with the PlayStation SingStar game. Holy schmoly is that fun or WHAT? Seriously loving C and my rendition of A-ha’s Take on Me. We may have sounded like drowning cats but hey, since when has the ability to actually carry a note been a prerequisite for karaoke?

Stumbled home at 2AM and woke up on Sat with a burning throat and a deep regret for not having paid attention in voice class at varsity…STRAINING!

Spent Saturday being pampered at a beauty parlour – compliments of The Company, who is trying to win us over with gifts and flattery…I’ll take it but I can’t guarantee that I’ll like it…

Got to hang out with New Fella on Saturday evening and spent time just laughing and chatting and having some drinks, which is pretty much perfection for me at the moment. He gets some special props for looking after me when I had ‘lady cramps’ and liking me even though I turned into a whiny, moany monster.

Having that indecisive ‘love’ quarrel with myself in my head. Not sure if it’s appropriate to be saying how I feel yet…may be too soon, but maybe not…aaaaaargh, I don’t know. Had such a wonderful evening with him last night – movies and drinks and really great conversation which just makes me want to ravage him right there on his bar stool. Got home and had a truly amazing evening *blush*. So much so that I felt that familiar girly emotion welling up and bursting to tell him how I feel…

God I just read through that – vomit! I sound like a fucking high schooler. Jesus wept, I’d better fucking toughen up and stop living like a fucking Mills and Boon character in my head!

Excuse the rant.

Oh it must be mentioned that last Wednesday I had the girls from work around for a serious bought of drinking and pizza making. I even rolled the dough with my own fair hands. Commander Clean was away and we went apeshit. Inhaled 5 bottles of wine and started going through his drawers – tallied up a nice total of competely freaky items in his bedside table:
1 x tube of K-Y Jelly (large);
1 x litre container of hair gel (industrial strength);
2 x sets of denture mould thingies (totally freaky);
A veritable schmorgasbord of strange instruments and knick knacks.

WEIRDO!

Movin' on Up

In the immortal words of Arnold Schwarzenneger, "Hasta la vista, baby".

I am leaving Commander Clean to scrub and polish and shine his way into oblivion! Bring on the dirty dishes that stay in the sink for more than 2.5 seconds before being pro-hygenically sand blasted by His Lordship. Bring on the water that drips onto the floor without having to re-wash the entire living room with a bleach / ammonia compound scientifically formulated to cleanse the fun out of any dinner party. Bring on the piles of laundry being left in the washing machine because I NEED to go out and can't wait around for the stupid geriatric machine for two hours.

Woop woop! Oh healthy sense of messiness, envelop me. I am sorry that I beat you into submission while living with the Grime Gestapo, I can only imagine the rank disorder that we will be capable of in our new place...

It is such a pure and unparalleled joy that I feel when I think of stripping naked to shower and actually leaving the clothes lying on the floor! Gasp! Such eccentricities were surely only meant for royalty...surely this cannot be how normal folk live? Oh the deprivation I have endured!!!!

Ok, so enough with the hyperbole. I am psyched because I am leaving the palace of perfection to live in a normal flat with a normal friend who has the normal quota of general psychoses.

Have found a gorgeous little freestanding duplex / simplex? I can never remember the difference. It's in a great complex and our wee house even has its own garden. Neighbours are not too close and we're opposite the pool - yay for summer cocktails in the sunshine! I'm going to view it again tonight - obliged to show the parents, even though nothing they say could quell the love that I have in my heart for this place.

Joy joy joy!

Here, for your perusal is a list of transgressions I have suffered at the hand of Commander Clean:

1. No freezer space. I cannot buy food in advance, even though there are three freezer drawers, as he has stacked them with a year's supply of steak, chicken, pizza and ice cream. Ice cream that he does not share.

2. Sneaky additions to my rent. My rent was meant to be all inclusive but now I am paying extra for the cleaning lady and her taxi fare as he is too cheap to fork out for this.

3. Washing. He actually told me that we should do our washing together because it will save on electricity. As if I'm doing half loads or washing my panties on the three hour cotton setting. So now I'm supposed to put his icky boxers in with my Jo Borkett work shirts? I think not.

4. T.V. I was enjoying a rather humourous episode of Malcolm in the Middle recently when he actually changed the channel to what he wanted to watch. While I was sitting there! Watching my show! And you know what he switched to? Biker Build Off on Discovery!!! Can you say 'white trash???'

5. Misogyny. He doesn't miss an opportunity to lament the idiocy of women and how we're obviously the weaker, dumber sex. It makes me so mad I just want to hit him with my handbag, filled with bricks.

There are many more petty annoyances but I'll put those all behind me and move on to bigger, happier things.

Finally, I can actually look forward to going home, instead of experiencing the mounting dread that looms over me when I leave work.

So long sucker, I won't be back!