Busy Bee, Radio Gaga, Fart Boy

Sometimes you just wanna let your hair get all jacked up, slash your face with lipstick and then stand on top of your desk or 'stage' of choice and scream the place down like a nutter...or is that just me? I'm also finding that I have Homer Simpson moments where people are speaking to me and it translates to 'Ble, ble, ble, ble...ble...ble, ble, ble, ble, ble...' or 'Mmmmmm....chocolate...'. Let's just say that I'm running around like a blue arsed fly so between work which is like a ghost town, packing, moving, sorting, listening to my ma rant about the 20 year old bro, plus entertaining my friend from Chicago, I am shagged out and that's not in a good sense!

This is how tired I am: apparently the boyf touched my arse a few times this morning which would normally wake me up and I didn't move. And before I start getting weird emails, he touched my arse with his hand....and it was my clothed arse cheeks...and it was just to get my attention...

I had a great time at We Will Rock You with my delightfully innocent friend from Chicago on Friday - it was the cheesiest thing I have ever witnessed and would never win any prizes for the plot, but it was fantastic and I have been doing Radio Gaga moves since Friday. I followed this up by going on an accidental bender and because I had forgotten to have dinner and only had a small lunch, I got extremely inebriated. So much so that the boyf had to force me to leave the club and hold my hair back whilst I thought I was going to throw up at the side of the club... I didn't end up doing anything other than retch (OK and I admit a slightly dodgy Radio Gaga move) but I woke up still drunk the following morning and had to miss a baby shower. Oh dear...

I moved half of my stuff yesterday and followed that up with a trip to Ikea where my brain got overloaded with confusing kitchen information - the boyf is planning to get some decorating done in honour of my arrival. Ikea and the bloody furniture is a test of relationships because I constantly see couples arguing in that place and I know many more that have nearly murdered each other over putting together flat pack furniture! I could feel myself slumping into a boredom, admittedly because much as I love interiors, I can't wear them and Ikea annoys me. The boyf ruffled my hair, told me to stop being a stresshead and gave me a cuddle though and it suddenly seemed so easy. As we stood in one of the show kitchens for the umpteenth time, I bent down to open the cupboard under the sink. 'Oh Jesus, what is the woeful smell of fart????!!!' I screeched. 'Oh...' said the boyf sheepishly. 'That was me sorry' and started to shake with laughter. 'For f*ck's sake you could have warned me! I just bent into that stench! Ugh!' I yelled between giggles whilst fanning the air wildly. 'I'm sorry NML. I had no idea that you would bend down and put your head into it! Come here!' he said and tried to grab me. 'Get off me fart boy!' and I swatted him off me and made a run for the other side of the show kitchen gesticulating dramatically. Can you believe that with my highly sensitive sense of smell and my fear of stinking commuters that the boyf is choking me out with his farts? Jaysus...I just had a flash of the future...