Crazies Part III

Once upon a time, there were two people who fell in love. They loved spending time with each other, getting to know one another, calling each other for no reason, seeing each other spontaneously, joking, fooling around, seeing a future together.

Then, somewhere along the line, the balance changed. She was doing well in her life, he was not. It had always been like that. It just hadn't mattered before. Until things got serious and he started to see himself as inferior to her. This made her see him like that.

She can't see exactly how it happened but she assumed the position of power - giving him moral support, propping him up, helping him find another job, training him for it, taking him shopping for clothes for the interview. He lapped it all up. Sometimes begrudgingly because he was so down. But he still lapped it all up.

She gave him so much in this respect. She helped him. But their relationship disappeared. It became about him, not about them. She felt neglected and unloved. But he was still down and waiting to hear about the job, so she waited patiently. If he got the job, she told herself, things would surely change.

Miracle of miracles, he got the job. But then that was it. There was no more. The road had ended. Their relationship was too far gone to turn back and retrieve it. She was still the elder, only now they were on even footing. The balance was lost.

The girl had to take all kinds of abuse from him when he blew up and expressed how he'd felt the whole time they'd been together. Treated like a child, talked down to, told what to do. She was devastated. If it hadn't been for her pushing him, he would have got nowhere. Only now he was somewhere, he just didn't need her anymore. And the journey there was forgotten.

Crazies Part II

X has been my downstairs neighbour for a year and a half now. The first time I ran into him, he called me "girlfriend" and kissed me on each cheek. The second time, he called me "girlfriend", kissed me on each cheek and asked me to sign a scrap of paper saying his dog didn't bother me.

Now when I signed my lease, I had to say I didn't have a dog or a cat. X's reasoning for the big dog in his apartment was, "I couldn't leave her behind." No, but you could have looked for a building with thicker walls that allowed animals.

X was sugary sweet for the next few weeks. Inviting me into his apartment to proudly show off his decorating skills. The walls were completely covered with frames of just about anything. And I mean anything. So that was where the incessant hammering was coming from. The landlord would have a heart attack. But hey, I'm a sucker. So I signed his scrap of paper and thought no more of it.

Until people started ringing his doorbell at all hours of the night and the dog went ballistic, barking and running up and down. Drug deliveries I think and young boys visiting. One poor soul insistently rang the doorbell for 15 minutes one night at 3 a.m. Business must have been closed for the night.

And yet, strangely, X thinks he's doing nothing wrong. I remember him opening his door one day when he heard my keys. He managed to coax me into his apartment to regale me with tales of a three-some he'd had with two 14-year-old boys on his holiday away. My look of shock just made him smile smuggly.

What's more if ever he needs something or you do something to annoy him, he won't hesitate in letting you know.

Last summer I had a bbq. X wasn't invited. But at 4 a.m. he knocked on my door to see if I had any beer left. I was asleep.

More recently, he called me at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to bitch about how annoying my bike was on the landing and how he couldn't hang his hammock properly.

And just the other day, he asked me what the wood on wood dragging noise was I was making all the time. Right, that's me once in a blue moon pushing a chair over to the kitchen cupboard to reach for a saucepan. Oh, and he asked me if I could ask my other half to walk around on the balls of his feet.

I think it's time to move.

Crazies Part I

I've been away an awfully long time haven't I. I'd sort of forgotten about my blog to tell the truth. I swang by the other day and saw that a few people had posted comments asking where I'd gone, so here I am.
Here's a little something to get you back in the mood for a day in bed:

The other day I took a taxi home from the airport and feared for my life. The driver was crazy, weaving in and out of traffic, driving at top speed.

My heart was in my mouth, and when he changed lanes three times within five seconds, narrowly missing umpteen other cars, I said something. The following conversation ensued as we continued our race to hell.

ME: "Excuse me, could you perhaps slow down a little please?"

DRIVER: "Slow down? Slow down?! I've been doing this for 21 years! I've got a great track record! I've never crashed before! And I'm not going to start now!"

ME: "Ok."

D: "Ok, you want me to crash?!"

ME: "Ok, keep us safe please."

D: "I know what I'm doing! If I slow down we're going to crash?! Is that what you want?!"

ME: "I was in an accident last year that's all. So I -"

D: "You think you can do better? I know what I'm doing!"

BOYFRIEND: "Cool it mate."

D: "You cool it!"

I shut up. Simply because I thought the driver might crash the car just to spite us. My other half continued.

B: "This feels like a hostage situation."

Now, I failed to mention that the taxi driver was a huge man. Tall and bulky. And nasty looking. Thank god he didn't pull over for a punch up. On the contrary, he got us home in one piece and told us as much.

D: "See, you got home alive."

I had him drop us off on the corner of our street as I didn't want him to know where we lived. And we went to the corner shop at the other end of the street before we went home.

That takes the biscuit

I am ashamed. Yes, there was the roast beef, but if I'm honest with you, in recent times, my consumption of cookies has been astronomical.

So much so that I feel strongly that I should found Cookie Addiction Anonymous. Consider this the first CAA meeting. Don't be shy. No one is here to judge. To put you at ease, let me go first.

Hello. My name is Day in Bed and I'm obsessed with cookies.

Welcome Day in Bed!

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I can't help myself. I can't just have one and forget about the others sitting in the cupboard. No, I have to eat them all, until there's none left.

I'll eat rich tea biscuits, not one or two but 10 at a time, with every cup of tea. And I drink a lot of tea. Luxurious school boy cookies, a whole box at a time. Chips ahoy, as many as I can cram into my mouth simultaneously.

Then there's the homemade cookies that my boyfriend has been making on a weekly basis: Ginger bread men, I'll eat six or seven in one sitting, even if they've only got one eye. Butter cookies, they're just alright, but I'll have three or four while I'm at it. And delight of delights, oatmeal (healthy) cookies with butterscotch chips (not so healthy). And the latest cookies of choice, chocolate oatmeal cookies. In the last week we've had two batches of those. Yesterday I ate eight. And they are, or rather were, enormous.

But I don't stop at cookies. I also love cake. And apple crumble and ice cream. And raisin bread. And chocolate. Cote d'or chocolate. And gummi bears. And fantasy belts. For those who think I have veered off on a sexual tangent, this is what I mean:



But enough about me.

Who's next?

Sunday roast

I'm not a big cook. I like to keep it simple. Consequently, my evening meal repertoire consists of: pasta and sauce, hot and sour soup, shrimp and veggies, dumplings and veggies, and steak and baked potatoes in rotation.

But the six weeks I was working a full-time job in the boonies, my diet was reduced to not much through sheer laziness. A brioche loaf got a lot of mileage. As well as canned soup and salmon spread on crackers. And cups of Bovril.

I know, I know, I should be ashamed of myself. Eating healthily fights off colds, gives your skin a warm glow, improves your mood. I skipped all that and then filled up on chocolate bars and cookies in between meals because I was weak with hunger. It's a wonder I'm not the size of a house. Especially because I stopped going to the gym because of my exhausting 1-hour+ extravaganza journey home.

Tonight, however, I excelled myself by becoming a gastronomical wonder. I made a roast beef with roast potatoes, vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. And all from scratch!

I am still in shock. It was absolutely delicious. A proper English roast with all the trimmings. And I made it!

I even did the washing up.

How about that for a Sunday evening?

As free as a bird

It's not always an easy decision to make. Should I do what I'm supposed to do? Or break away and do my own thing?

I recently took on a full-time job. As regular readers will know, this involved a 1-hour+ extravaganza journey that sometimes included the walk of death in -30 temperatures.

I was seduced by money, benefits and stability. There, I admit it. But almost immediately my spirit started to wither.

I've done the office thing long enough in the past to know that I am not and never will be an office girl. I can't deal with it. Having to fit the mould. Having to be at the office all day, even when you've finished your work. Having your copy pulled apart and re-written. After all, anyone can write, right?

Such is a copywriter's lot. Yes, you have to take criticism, that's all part of the job. But hell, at the end of the day, it's all so subjective. Everyone's got their own ideas. And that's when egos get in the way.

So I did a month and gave in my notice. Some people think I'm crazy. Some people think I made a decision too fast. But what I know is this - I felt like I was suffocating, like I was being contained. This was probably all in my head, but nonetheless it was there. I had to get out.

So I'm back to freelancing. No financial stability, no benefits, no knowing how much money will be coming in and when. But my spirit can breathe again. It feels good. It feels liberating. I have a smile on my face.

I don't think I could do anything else. This writing lark is the only thing I know how to do. But it has to be on my terms. And those terms are at my pace and when I'm inspired. It's not necessarily between 9 and 5, sometimes it's not necessarily on a week day. It just happens. And when it does, it feels great.

Someday I'll fly away

It's inevitable that at some point you're going to leave your fly open by mistake. Because let's face it, we pull our fly up and down (or rather down and up) so many times in one day that it's bound to happen sooner or later. We're only human after all.

This has happened quite a few times to me. But also because I left it down on purpose and forgot to pull it back up when social circumstances called for it.

Incident 1-100
Cause: Tardiness
I hit snooze too many times and overlooked my fly in my hurry to get dressed and dash out the door for my 1-hour+ extravaganza journey to work/brunch with a friend/trip to the gym/etc. When this happens, I finish dressing in the metro or bus without a care for who's watching because I still have sleep in my eyes. I've also been known to take my inside-out T-shirt off and put it back on the right way upon arriving at the office.

Incident 101
Cause: Bloatedness
I'd undone my fly on a transatlantic flight because I always get bloated on such a long flight. When I stood on my chair to get my bag out of the overhead locker upon landing, I completely forgot my fly was still open. My jumper rose, revealing my open fly to anyone watching.

Incident 102
Cause: Overeating
I'd gone over to a friend's house for a dinner party and gorged myself as per usual on a scrumptious feast. When I got up from the table post-dinner, I completely forgot I'd opened my fly to ease my full tummy, revealing my open fly to luckily just the host, who was a little inebriated and high anyway.

Incident 103
Cause: Shenanigans
My boyfriend and I had been sneekily canoodling in the bathroom at a thanksgiving dinner. I came out of the bathroom first with a silly grin on my face and my fly proudly open to just one person who happened to be looking - a guy who'd asked me out on a date a couple of years ago and who I'd spinelessly turned down with the excuse, "I'm busy but I'll call you next week" and who I'd not called next week or indeed ever again.

Incident 104
Cause: Forgetfulness
I had a debrief with someone at work (which involved her sitting at her desk and me standing up, ie, my fly not far from her eye level). It wasn't until afterwards that I realized I must have forgotten to pull my fly up after my visit to the ladies' room. How unprofessional of me.

Tip of the day:
If you are prone to any of these causes, throw away all those grey overwashed knickers and instead wear a lovely pair of knickers every single day, don a cheeky smile, and you can get away with almost anything.