Happy Barfday to me

Bad, bad blogger. Not only am I stretched to near-breaking point time wise lately and therefore don't blog as much as I should, I have the distinct and unsettling feeling that I'm doing it wrong.

I have no blog ettiquette (bloggiquette?) and seeing as I don't know the rules, I shall do as I please until someone is kind enough to point out that I'm retarded and the internet is laughing at me. What's the rule of thumb on re-posting an email when you're too blue-assed-fly busy to write another version?

Oh bollocks, don't answer that.
On with the circus, I haven't got all day.

(Comments in red kindly provided by Cathsarseis....cause she's helpful like that!)

Friday: Leave work 9:20pm – feelin iffy in a very odd way.

I've read this whole email already and i just have to say you sure thats not a foetus? *ducks as you lob a stapler*

Saturday: Lots to do. Hey ho, let’s go. Shelve that funny feeling and clean a toilet or two. Get awful haircut. Take mother and sister shopping. Think vomity feeling may just be from sibling proximity and cake you had for breakfast.

yes. blame those we are related to. please. if its not their fault, its mine. and i know its not mine

Sunday: No mojo. Cook for surprise guest with very little in cupboard/fridge. Explain why not only Hippy Americans eat tofu and force it on someone. More cleaning.

bloody surprise guests should.bring.dinner.

Monday a.m: Happy birthday to me! Had forethought to fight for day off. Woo – my birthday present to moi. For me? You shouldn’t have! Spend day feeling old/vomity/grouchy and fidgety because I was coerced into seeing a movie (am NOT a movie theatre person!) Think vomity feeling may be because I was forced to watch 465 hours of self-absorbed women trying on shoes and bemoaning their man troubles and some (man in a suit) slapped a title on it and Sex and the City: The Mooooovie was born. Wolf down lunch.

sex and the city? sex and the shitty. nuff said.

Monday p.m: Happy Barfday to me! Spend Happy Happy Dinner Evening wrapped alternately around mom’s and then own toilet bowl. “Hi, lunch! Wait….I ate that last week.” Apparently husband made sure there were no leftovers while I was doing so. Thoughtful. Hear dessert was good. Chirpy Happy Birthday messages make you want to put your head in and flush. Those assholes should be suffering TOO! WHY ARE’NT THEY SUFFERING!? WHY IS MY PHONE SO LOUD!?

oh holy mother of god i am so glad you blog

Tuesday: Henceforth referred to as The Day You Spend Throwing Up Things You Are Only Going To Eat NEXT Week. Was that my spleen? Do I even need a spleen? Who cares. Sweet Baby Jesus, take me now. Please.

just to clarify, are you sure you are not bulimic and/or harbouring a fetus *ducks as you throw the desk*

Wednesday: Walking to bathroom is a new and dangerous challenge as you attempt to retain consciousness and dodge furry obstacles that would rather like to be fed. Now. Taking actual bath requires a four hour power nap to prepare for and is so exhausting you would rather expire in your own filth next time. Husband makes you feel better with ‘What’s for dinner?” and son looks accusingly on as he reminds you yet again that he will probably be needing something IN his lunchbox tomorrow. Thanks Husband. Will dispense with reminding/pleading with you next time and just hand the poor kid my credit card. The mountain of washing everyone is ignoring like a big, be-socked elephant in the middle of the room begins to make ominous noises.

Its your spleen. and it wants lunch.

Thursday: Can ignore work calls no longer. Dispense with all make-up and niceties and take up post behind desk. Late. Only to leave again midway through day to attend funeral of someone you barely knew or gave a poo about. Get called callous, cold, unfeeling, heathen and any other manner of equally accurate terms. Consider projectile vomiting on name-caller. Settle for smoking in their near vicinity. You haven’t eaten since Monday, so cigarettes provide a lovely head rush and you once again prove yourself to be a very cheap date. End up babysitting four kids under 7. Come away pretty sure the bodily fluids you’re covered in aren’t actually yours, this time.

makes for a nice change tho.

Friday: What just happened here? Goddammit I want my week back! Head down…go, gopher, go! Woo. Headrush. Go go go!
“Please provide the management with a Doctor’s note.”
“I don’t go to doctors – I see a homeopath.”
“We need a doctor’s note.”
“Are you discriminating against me based on my choice of medical care?”
“Um….we’ll accept a note from the homeopath.”
“I wasn’t off longer than two days. And Monday was annual leave.”
“The policy is that you provide a note if you’re off for longer than ONE, *smuggitysmug*….OR on a Monday or Friday!*smuggitysmug*”
“You mean THIS (pulls out transcript of handout from staff meeting circa 2006) policy? The one that says TWO days or longer?*blinkblinkdoe-eyes*”
“muttermutterOKnevermindmuttermutterfume……”

oh sod right the fuck off you lot.

That? That was the highlight of my week. Hey, you asked. Told you it was boring….

Result? It’s a virus, not a foetus. I kept telling everyone. God, that one gets old fast. Um, hi? I know that feeling.