Birthday Fun Hee Hee!

My ma on Friday morning: Oh my God! If you're 29, I'm almost 49! You're pushing me towards old age.... And I have no grandchildren yet... I can feel it.... I'm not going to get grandchildren for years....No wedding... I bet I'll be in a wheelchair by the time the grandchildren come along... I won't be able to run around and play tennis with them... I'll be an old grandmother... You can't all do this to me!
NML: Ma, zip it! It's my birthday! And stop being so dramatic!

When I woke up on Saturday morning and the boyf recounted my evening for me, I found myself crying with laughter at my lunacy. Despite my stresses and apprehension about my 29th birthday, I had a suprisingly lovely day. I had a 'hot date' with what I used to call the 'vultures' - my bony arsed boss and his partner in crime. I was taken out for a lovely slap up lunch and struggled to stay awake at work after stuffing my face. Later, my team gave me a birthday card with the Michael Jackson character from Bo Selecta that makes 'Hee hee' noises and quotes various lines from the show and some Selfridges vouchers (yay!).

Hours later I was very drunk standing out in the warm haze of London outside one of Soho's pubs. It was great to catch up with the bro and friends I haven't seen for a while although things went very hazy towards the end of the evening. There was me trying to get up on someone's parked motorcycle outside the pub... I had on a denim mini and it seems that I'm not very flexible as they were falling around laughing as I tried to get my leg over...repeatedly...I have vague recollections of taking the piss out of people and trying to dance on the cobbles... There is the boyf trying to get me down to the Tube station as I wobbled around and insisted that I was more than capable of going to a nightclub... Getting to Victoria Station, refusing to eat from Burger King and insisting on McDonalds... Getting on the train and discovering the Michael Jackson birthday card... Opening it repeatedly but only for the 'Hee Hee!' bit and being doubled up with laughter with tears rolling down my face... After about twenty times, discovering that the card quoted other lines and the boyf snatching it off me and hiding it... Staring at the woman across the aisle who was staring at me and what I thought was very quietly asking 'Why is that woman looking at me?' and when the boyf looked at me blankly, snorting to myself and saying 'Ha! Well she has batwings!' and the boyf wanting the ground to open up and swallow him... Missing my face with my fries.... Getting to our station and not recognising the 'batwings' woman who happened to get off at the same stop and was walking behind us rather sketchily... Not so quietly asking the boyf if the 'strange bird' behind us was getting ready to mug us... Waiting outside the station for the taxi and witnessing three girls start a fight with one girl who they were trying to jump ahead of in the queue... That one girl took on all three of them and was socking them with upper cuts! I thought it was brilliant! 'Left hook!';'Right hook!';'Go on girl!';'Oooooh!' and then the boyf's yanking me out of the way... Getting into the taxi and demanding to know if I was going to 'get any'... The boyf cracking up laughing, telling me that maybe I was too drunk in hissed tones and begging me to shut up... Me demanding to know if he was already going off me and catching the taxi driver smirking to himself... Staggering across the grass and dropping my Tropicana juice and throwing a hissy fit... Finally getting up the stairs after making far too much noise... I'll leave the rest to your imagination... I woke up on Saturday morning and it felt like someone was tap dancing all over my head...

The boyf and I went out for a lovely romantic meal at a posh Thai restaurant on the River Thames. We chatted about everything and anything and as we walked out we strolled with our arms wrapped around each other and commented on how happy we were. We walked a few more moments in comfortable silence and then he said "Jesus, I'll definitely need a number two when I get home!" Hilarious!

Happy birthday to me.

I tried to post last night with a whopper of a rant because I've been a pissy mood all week and then blogger refused to post which means that I will be nicer today...thankfully! It helps a little that it's my 29th birthday today. Everytime I think of the number 29 I feel a little shiver go through me. Where has all the fricking time gone?!

I remember when I was 5 in my little red coat ('coatie') and my Paddington Bear suitcase storming off when I didn't get my own way. I remember being 8 getting chicken pox on my 3rd day in Zambia, on my first day at school and having to stay home for 2.5 months because it was so bad. I remember being nine and me and the bro running from the baboons in Zimbabwe and deciding that we would rather wee ourselves than brave the outdoors and those nutcase baboons to get to the toilet from our 'luxury' hut at the hotel. I remember being 10 on my first day at school in Dublin and experiencing my first 'racial abuse' ever by being called a n*gger and a chocolate chip. I remember being 13 and discovering that boys actually fancied me and feeling a sense of relief that I wouldn't be hanging on the sidelines. I remember countless crushes on boys that I probably wouldn't p*ss on if they were on fire now. Every last one of them were Mr Unavailables which is rather alarming... I remember being 17 and losing my virginity and thinking 'Jaysus...it's not what it's cracked up to be...*yawn*' I remember being 18 and dancing on stage with Leroy and Maxim from The Prodigy in front of 10K people. I remember being 19 and going to the US for the first time, spending 3 months solid drunk, wearing thongs for the first time and lusting after my boss who I snogged...eventually...on my 3rd day of work... I remember returning from the US and dropping out of the university course I hated and my mum and I near murdering each other, so I moved out because I was a badass. I remember being in NYC with the bro when I was 21, shopping till we dropped and ripping the p*ss out of people as we people watched and being petrified of being mugged. I remember a lot of happy, drunken, laughing times with my various friends through my twenties and I also remember shedding more tears than I care to think of over stupid boys and my stupid taste. I remember moving to London on the 31st january 2001 and getting robbed within 3 hours! I remember being 24, getting engaged on Valentines day and feeling numb and wondering why Mr Brown-Suit had to act like such a complete twat. I remember being 25, waking up on one day and telling Mr Brown-Suit to beat it. I remember waking up just after turning 26 and not being able to see properly, not knowing that sarcoidosis had arrived in my life. I remember traipsing in and out of the hospital for months and thinking 'F*ck it in a bucket and chuck it'. I remember being 27 and spending a week in Egypt with M and laughing so hard it hurt and then coming back and realising I was sick again. I remember my 28th birthday when I found that stupid lump in my neck. I remember a few months ago when I went on my first date with the boyf and wondering if this was some sort of trap that this guy could be so wonderful, funny, emotionally available and normal.

Fortunately my 28th year has been bloody brilliant in a lot of respects - I'm healthy (almost), happy personally, happy in a relationship and even though my job winds me up sometimes, I do work with the most brilliant lunatics ever. Who can say that they work in the real life 'The Office', eh? My life has accelerated rapidly over the last few months and I wouldn't change a thing. I've been blogging for over 2 years now and I've made some brilliant friends and also had the opportunity to splash my idosyncrasies across the web for the entertainment of others.

Who knows what my 29th year holds in store for me but I look forward to it. I got out of the shower after rising early to get into work early due to the power cuts which are bringing a lot of companies to a halt in central London. When I went to check the time on my phone, I found two birthday cards from the boyf with 'NML' written on the envelopes and howled with laughter whilst looking at the boyf lying on his tummy like a baby in the bed. I remember the first time he called me 'NML' and freezing in shock in the bed because I thought he was a secret blogger or something, but it turns out he was just calling me by my intitials... I did pinch myself to make sure that i'm not dreaming my lovely life...

The only thing I won't be doing this time next year is organising a birthday - arranging anything is a pain in the arse and next year I will do something very quiet with a few friends. I mean it! Organising these things makes you find out things that are better left alone. I'm too old for all this birthday celebration mallarky anyway!

Have great weekends whatever or whoever you're doing.... I shall be back in the land of the living next week and posting as normal. The flat is like a building site at the moment and as you can imagine, it's hissy fits galore!

Tug Of War/Happy Campers

Today I imagined myself in a tug of war with me standing haplessly in the middle. No bum boss on one side yanking my chain for numbers and on the other side, the boyf yanking my chain for my opinion on the frickin guy who we need to come in and do the work on the flat. In my imagination, I finally plomped myself on the ground, folded my arms in a mega strop and put my hands over my ears saying 'La, La, La...' I know the boyf is just consulting on my opinion but I don't know anything about handymen other than the fact that 1) They often show their bumcracks, 2) They seem to take an eternity to come back to you about anything, 3)It's London rip off prices and 4)I am already wincing at the thought of cleaning up after them. He wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing so I did give it to him (and meant it) but I did wonder if it could wait till this evening as the sky seemed to close in around my desk and I wondered how I could pull some miracle pages out of my ass...

Living together is entertaining and full of organisational things. Before I could fly by the seat of my pants and do whatever the hell I felt like doing and it's not to say that I can't now, but I have a million and one things to be doing and I may throw all of my toys out of the pram if anything DIY or house related is mentioned to me. Both of us made the mistake of going to Ikea on Saturday 1) hungry and 2) me -time of the month - and it was almost handbags at dawn. Finding that they had moved every last thing we needed out of the warehouse to different locations induced much hissy fits but after food and Ikea behind us we were laughing our heads off.

I thought I would be irritable when he leaves the toilet seat up but it doesn't actually use up that much energy to put it back down and he never leaves anything on the rim anyway... He thinks that I dig into the tub of butter instead of scraping the butter up - Have you ever heard anything so frickin ridiculous?! I examined the butter and it looks fine to me but I am thinking of spelling his name out in deep letters...He makes big production out of using the bathroom for a #2 by checking if I want to use it and then turning it into a covert operation. The next time he leaves the wet towel on the bed, I'm going to whack him hard across his bare arse! I find wet towels in clean laundry too and if he keeps it up, he'll have to airdry himself on the balcony! Apparently I'm quite grumpy in the mornings but I have pointed out that babbling incoherant tales that popped into your head whilst showering may only induce a grunt.

It's great though and I love that I have all of these experiences. He just called and I answered the phone with 'Lady of the house speaking!' in a very shrill voice like Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. He was still laughing when we hung up.

Oh and we've established that the name of the blog should stay the same so thanks to those who commented and emailed. As it happens anyway, I'm feeling rather weary anyway...

In 4 days time I'll be 29...jaysus!

Am I Still Tired of Men?

Do you think I should change the name of this blog? Not the URL, but the title.... Quite a few people have mentioned it and I don't quite know what to do. I'll always be fed up with something, but am I really that tired of men?

I write about dating and relationships a lot between the various blogs and the odd guest post here and there, and men are still a pain in the arse, including the beloved boyf, but does that mean I should keep the title?

When I first started this blog I was single, pining for a guy that was never actually gonna get his sh*t together which was about right because I was a secret commitment-phobe and constantly meeting men that provided entertaining fodder for the blog. I juggled my bad taste in men with my bad taste in diseases (the 'ole sarcoidosis) and I seemed to live on a merry go round of emotionally unavailable men. I was asked about my dating past pre 'the boyf' and explained

'Well, let me see...I fell for a guy with a boyfriend that worked in the same company as me...then I got sense and started seeing a guy that had an ex-girlfriend who he still owned a home with...5 months of not actually knowing what the hell was going on with The Contender and I told him to beat it...and met a seemingly nice guy a couple of months later who it turned out also had an ex girlfriend that he shared a home with but we didn't last long because he wasn't actually shy and had a rogue willy...then I dated The F*ckwit which was a long distance relationship with the man with the worst BO in the world, a serious case of verbal diarrhea and crackhead relatives that bored me and tried to dictate to me how to manage my disease....'

I was clearly very desirable to men that had a girlfriend or significant ex in their life. They seemed to sniff that I was too petrified of commitment to actually expect too much out of them. I really was tired of men.

Now don't get me wrong - men are still annoying and tiring. I love the boyf but he can be a pain in the arse and oddly it's part of his charm, plus I have many male friends and acquaintances plus the general public to contend with. Trust me, I didn't expect to find love or now be living with exactly the guy that I have wanted to be with and I am frequently being reminded by people that know about this blog that my lifestyle has moved on from cynical, sarcastic single twenty-something with a penchant for taking the piss out of men and I am not sure what to do so I'm seeking guidance from readers.

If I keep the title, am I defining myself by this, rendering myself to be forever driven around the twist by men, or should I go with a more 'positive' title? Ah feck! Who knows?! But suggestions or feedback is more than welcome.

Musings On Living Together

It's starting to sink in now that I live with my boyfriend and so far, I haven't managed to balls it up although it has only been a few days! We're used to spending a lot of time with each other but that was like having pyjama parties....without the pyjamas...but plenty of nudity....

This morning as the boyf ran around like a blue arsed fly in a panic before he dashed off to get a flight to Denmark, he asked 'NML, have you seen my aftershave?' 'Yeah, it's here' and I rooted it out from one of my organisational piles and handed it to him. 'Wow, I feel like we're definitely living together now!' he wisecracked.

As usual the brain has been working overtime, making lots of mental notes and quietly worrying about ridiculous things. Now I know that I'm like the Queen and I don't go for number two's...however if that circumstance were to occur for some freak reason...is it possible for it to happen without the boyf ever finding out? I have got used to going for a wee knowing that it's possible that he can hear the tinkle though - for some reason I think it's weird going for a wee when someone can hear you hence I try to wee quietly....

If I ever see flatpack furniture from Ikea again, I will weep (the boyf had better brace himself for tears then...) but the two enormous chests of draws have now been erected and are waiting for a lot of my clothes. Have I mentioned how shocked I am at the sheer volume of clothes, shoes and bags that I own? I will never go near a shop again...for a while. Now that I have responsibilities (Oh beejaysus, I feel myself going all fluttery!) I have to think about the practicalities instead of whether my boobs or bum look good in something...

The boyf I've discovered has a habit of trying to talk to me when he's in the bedroom and I'm in the kitchen. I NEVER understand what he says and invariably I end up going 'Huh?';'What?';'Pardon?!' After this happened about twenty times (he clearly missed me while he was playing Bob The Builder with the draws), I felt compelled to point out that his voice is not very loud and that he either needs to speak up or call me...I think I understand my own name...

I'm also a country girl AND a south Londoner now which is a departure from living within walking distance of Oxford Street and my beloved Selfridges. I was brought up in the leafy burbs when I lived in Dublin so it's like a return to my roots living in the burbs of London, however it also means that I actually have to get out of the bed at 7am and move with speed as opposed to putting it on snooze and staying in bed until as late as 7.54 (Declan is normally finishing up on BBC news at this point). I decided to get the bus to the station (sacred heart - I can't believe I need to do that) and patted myself on the back for being a country girl with normal people on the bus. I should have waited a moment because next thing this weird guy in need of some exfoliator starts effing and blighing at the bus driver and the traffic. I gave him such a look of distaste - doesn't he realise that we're not in the city?!

I made the overground train with seconds to spare and must have looked like a bootfaced miserable bitch as I muttered about Tubes arriving in 1,2 and 3 minute intervals and having to race for the train so I don't wait 7 minutes (that's a long time in London commuting time)....

Oh and after more than 3 freakin' weeks, I am finally able to announce that I have been promoted. Before I could blab mine and other peoples news to my hearts content but now that an alarming number of people in my building read my blog, when bony bum boss says 'Don't say anything until it's announced formally', I actually have to do as I'm told. I did take the opportunity to throw hissy fits and demand to know why it hadn't been announced and someone else's had been . 'Is it coz I is black?' I said Ali G style a few days back. The boss has made the P45 'joke' about 20 times over the last few weeks... When I was actually promoted (I'm now a Major Client and Agency Manager - what the f*ck is that I'm sure some of you are thinking...), the big boss said 'I'll trust you're happy with that' and I replied 'Well...you know an extra grand wouldn't go astray....' and they both cracked up laughing. 'You're funny!' the big boss said. 'No seriously!' and they laughed harder. Oh dear...

Live In Girlfriend

As I waited for the boyf in the car outside my flat today, I looked back at my apartment building and the traffic along Maida Vale and thought 'Oh my f*ck! I'm going to live with my boyfriend!' As a mixture of excitement and fear swept over me, my phone rang and it was the boyf making sure I hadn't fallen to pieces inside the car.

It's hard to believe that I'm living with a boy. Right now he is sitting on the coffe table wrapped in a towel post shower watching the news on Sky Sports...for what feels like the ten billionth time today...How have I become so oblivious?!

Last night as I looked around at the monstrous amount of unpacking I felt a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of clothes and shoes I need to sort out depsite several bags going to a charity shop and the rest to my step-sister. The boyf has been taking the piss out of me for being so anal retentive, something that I have only really noticed over the last few months. Like yesterday as we went around the shops and I wrinkled up my nose and commented on bum, breath and armpit odour - I know it's hot but is that an excuse to smell like poo? Anyway...

It's been a weekend of the parents as my father (birth one) and my 16 year old step-sister Mo came up for an inpromptu visit on Friday and tonight I had dinner with the boyfs dad who is visiting from South Africa and the boyf's mum and bro. I had a nice time on both evenings and it's good to spending time with each other's families. Both of our parents haven't been together since we were very young and his familiy is keen on piss-taking like mine. His dad was describing in a rather dramatic fashion flying a plane many years back and the boyf's bro joked that 'Any minute now you'll
be telling us about flying into the stratosphere!' How boys do love to exaggerate?! It was nice to spend time with the little sis Mo and I couldn't resist being my usual cheeky self and telling her that her hair is falling out. She has hair most black women would kill for - long and doesn't need much chemicals put on it.

Living with a boy so far is about moving and unpacking. I'm sure he must think I'm watching him like a speciman under the microspope as I wonder if there will be this big shift in our relationship. So far he hasn't turned into an assclown or the dark destroyer! He's made everything so easy and even when I get anal and stressed about moving, he was unfazed and took the piss out of me. Like today when we went to return something to that bloody Ikea. We got ticket 220 and it was 206 when we arrived so we went to get some food. I can't help myself - I was slightly worried that we'd miss our number being called and he thought it was hilarious. When we got back it was 214 but within seconds it called all numbers to 219 making me feel very self-righteous. When the dufus customer service guy insisted that the piece of wood was fine, I wanted to get meideval on his ass. 'Let me do the talking!' the boyf said firmly. 'If I don't get anywhere, THEN you can go nuts! Jeez, you're so funny!' I giggled and said 'Yes, I'll let YOU be the man in this situation....'

Right I'm gonna get ready for bed...should I be concerned that the boyf seems to have an unhealthy adoration of Stargate SG1?

PS- I shall be back to normal this week and respond to comments!

That Anxious Feeling, Breaking Up Vs Prostitution

One of the beauties of having this blog is that it is like cheap therapy and today I am in definite need of lying on the couch and having a heart-to-heart. Actually, do people actually lie on a couch when they go and see their shrink? Maybe I have it mixed up with a casting couch....

Whilst talking to the boyf earlier, we started a discussion about council tax (a complete waste of money and daylight robbery) and as he explained the potential change when we're living together and I thought about the limbo situation in my flat, I suddenly felt sick with anxiety. The poor guy had done nothing wrong, but the discussion triggered my own worries. As most of you know, I offered for my mum to live in my flat after the house she was buying fell through but it hasn't been plain sailing on either side (I had an enormous row just before I went on holiday over the rent and bills) and my poor mum is being pissed about by her solicitor and her moving over has been delayed by almost 2 weeks so far. Naturally I have been in limbo, but sometimes daily phonecalls about every other thing that is going wrong in Dublin is starting to be a little draining. My mum has pushed out 4 kids and raised us well, but sometimes I feel like there is a role reversal!

Like a lot of women I know, some of them other bloggers, my relationship with my mother can be fraught at times although we actually get on really well now compared to how we used to. I love and adore her, but she's high maintenance and I am still adjusting to the adult version of our relationship. Recently we had one of our most honest conversations where I told her that whilst she was and is a great mum, it's no wonder things became strained between us when I felt constantly criticised by her, especially as a teenager. I felt like I couldn't do a thing right and whilst my mum only wanted the best for me (far more than what she had), as a 'child' it just felt bloody horrible and things can become a little skewed from that perspective. If it wasn't my hair, it was my face. If it wasn't my shoes, it was my clothes. If it wasn't my grades, it was my friends. I'm not one of these people who thinks that everything that's wrong with my life is down to my parents because despite my fraught relationship with my mum, she is a great mum. I'm just not used to us getting on well in close proximity and whilst the overriding feeling is excitement about her moving over, I'm also naturally anxious and to be fair, I know she is too.

For 4 years I have battled with my mystery disease and I am now on the road to recovery, but I have to be careful about how I manage emotional stress. It's not anyone else though - it's me. If I don't want to feel like sh*t, I should be more objective about stuff and stop worrying so much. It's a bit like when I had sh*t taste in men - If I really wanted someone better for myself I had to start bloody well acting like it!

I'm used to flying solo when it comes to my family. Don't get me wrong - I adore my ma and the bro's but I have in some respects separated myself off and now we're all joining back up together. They aren't the Brady Bunch and I wouldn't have them any other way. I'm just scared - scared of what will be expected of me and scared that I'll disappoint or that I'll be stressed out. I know I'm having a bad few days but I think because I have beared the brunt of stuff recently, what with the bro trying to cope with his new job, I need to get a handle on things and re-establish solid ground. The boyf has been great but I don't want to be anxious wreck all the bleedin' time! I'm lucky to have this wonderful guy who just isn't phased by anything. When all hell broke loose a couple of weeks ago with a family row, I expected the gauntlet to drop and for him to be scared off. He wouldn't have been the first.... Instead he said, 'Honey, why the hell would any of that matter? That's what families are...nuts! It will be fine. We will be fine.'

I have to pinch myself sometimes because he surprises me every day - I know what I have is solid and sure, but there is a teensy, tiny part of me that despite knowing this, has the NML of old in there that doesn't know quite what to do now that she's not being messed around by an emotionally unavailable assclown! NYM said to me ages ago that it's shocking that as women, we feel out of our comfort zone if there isn't a load of drama and we're not being treated like sh*t. Fortunately I know my past and even though there this teensy, tiny part of me that I need to nurture and that will disappear as time goes by, I know when I'm on to a good thing and I wouldn't balls it up.

As always when I'm stressed, I'm tired, moody, irritable and clumsy. I tried to adjust my shirt from the strap of my bag yesterday and little did I realise as I pulled the shirt down, the buttons had opened to the navel to reveal my purple bra to a load of people walking towards me on Oxford Street. Oh the shame! I also tried to swat some tiny little bugs off me on a station platform today and tripped over my feet and fell sprawled onto the bench....whilst a schoolboy pissed himself laughing...

Last night blogging slipped into the real world when whilst talking to the boyf on Skype (he's away with work at the moment) he demanded to know why I was reading a book about breaking up and dating again. 'I was actually going to go into the bedroom and wake you up and ask you, but I figured you wouldn't be impressed..... So?' he demanded laughingly. I howled with laughter. 'That's my blogger friend Breakup Babe's book which I was sent a copy of you lunatic! I'm reading Diary of a Manhattan Callgirl at the moment...does this mean you think I'm learning how to be a prostitute?!'

Hmmm...I feel better already!

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...

Innocence Vs Cynicism

A good friend is visiting from Chicago at the moment and tomorrow night we're supposed to be going to a musical courtesy of a guy who she met when we were at university together, who she barely knows and who clearly fancies her. She insisted that we were going to see Lord of The Rings, but couldn't find anything in Time Out about it and the boyf and I feeling suspicious checked online and discovered that it doesn't open till May 2007! The boyf and I were cracking up laughing and I felt certain that it was some ploy to get into her knickers. This morning I poked my head in before I left for work and told her. Post jet lag she lay there rubbing her eyes and looking very, very confused. She then says in her strong NYC accent 'But I don't understand! Like...he knows I'm in London this week! Why has he invited me to this play?' As I walked up to the Tube station I tried not to look like a loon as I giggled to myself at her naivete.

As we ate dinner tonight in the Indian tapas restaurant in Soho she remarked 'I trust everybody' totally straight faced and just as I was about to read her the riot act she said 'You must think I'm nuts! You're so cynical though!'

'Darling, you are officially the most innocent person I know!' I wisecracked.
'I'm not innocent...I'm just naive'
'Whatever....remember these things forever more....' and then in response to a number of things we discussed I advised 'There is no such thing as free dinner...this guy probably wants to screw you...You've spoken three times and he has stayed in touch with you for five years...He wants to screw you...It is very possible that he may have made up this musical thing just to get you out...People are sometimes dishonest for sex...And no...just because you ask two people if they're shagging each other it doesn't actually mean that they'll tell you that they are...People lie about sex and to get sex all the time...Oh my God please don't tell me that you believe every guy that says he'll call?...And you needn't think I'm shagging him for a flipping musical ticket...I've lived in London for 5.5 years and if this musical ACTUALLY exists, it'll be my first...I can't believe you think I'm cynical...OK maybe a bit...But remember that an erect penis clouds judgement and has a mind of it's own...'

As it turns out, she got the name of the musical wrong! We are actually going to We Will Rock You. She mentioned that this guy says he has a 'room' at the theatre for us (she probably meant box). The boyf was spluttering away on the phone and exclaimed 'Oh he wants to rock her alright!' See, it's not just me who's cynical!

Here Comes The Bride, Farewell MBF, Fear & Excitement Over The Move

I promised a pic from the holiday and I felt that me blind drunk at the hen night MJ dancing in a veil was the most appropriate....

I got out of the shower yesterday and roared the place down in shock when I looked at myself in the mirror and discovered that a much darker patch of tan had mysteriously appeared in my cleavage. I'm turning into a reverse Michael Jackson.... I either have to pray it disappears or find somewhere in London that I can lie out topless and scorch myself to even it up....oh dear...watch out Soho ;-)

It's like I never went on holiday now that I'm back at work. I keep daydreaming about being on the beach in my bikini and then my thoughts keep getting rudely interrupted by colleagues in work clothes.

There has been more change afoot in my life with the departure of MBF (Male Best Friend) who left the company last week. I've been meaning to mention that he was leaving but there has been a lot going on over the past month... I'm sure people think I took the week off last week so that I could cope better with his departure... Whilst we remain friends, we haven't been particularly close over the past few months and I've been busy falling in love. There was an awkward moment when the boyf came out a couple of weeks ago and he was there, but I didn't let that upset the evening. 'That's him isn't it?' said the ever perceptive boyf shortly after he had arrived. I hadn't even had a chance to say that he would be there so it was rather funny. The boyf was amused and unbothered which was a relief because if it had been any of my exes they would have thrown a wobbler and made a holy show of me. It's the end of an era though but admittedly a welcome one. It will be nice for both of us not to be the subject of speculation in the office and I think his exit puts the final curtain on things.

My flat is full of bags and boxes of stuff that I have packed up for my imminent move which I will be starting this weekend. I am excited....and I'm sh*tting a brick... I have lived on my own for three years and it's scarily exciting to be saying bon voyage to my bachelorette pad. I'm embarking on a new adventure but it does mean that I'll be thinking about someone other than myself in all of my plans. I'm really excited about sharing my life with the boyf and waking up to him every day and I know that me being me, moving in is going to be entertaining...brace yourselves! Fortunately the boyf knows that I'm a bit of a handful and is used to my antics so I don't think he is going to be in for a shocker. I'm not under any illusions about moving in together and we both recognise that we have to work at the relationship and not expect it to just happen. Relationships are made and worked at; you don't just leave them to chance.

If someone had said to me a year ago that I would have met someone and that we'd be moving in together I'd have rolled around laughing as I was sure that I had a few more years service as the Bad Date Clown...

Oh my GOD! I'm going to living with a boy! *starts wailing like Monica in Friends*
Oh my GOD! What if I happen to be putting on a wash and discover he has a skid in his undies?!!! *swoons melodramatically and breaks out in a cold sweat*

Happy July 4th my American friends! Have a fab day :-) I'm off to acupuncture.

Sunstoke, Proud Mary, The Bulge, Twosomes and Baggage Fiasco

I can't believe it's been a week since I last updated. I'm back from Ibiza, sans luggage, quite dark, over tired but ultimately very relaxed. After my last update, I headed off to the beach for a few hours and then returned to the hotel room and sunned myself on the balcony for a couple of hours. I should have been concerned when my body seemed to be emanating far too much sweat and lo and behold, a few hours later I was crying my eyes out due to sunstroke! I'd left the Irish bar where several of them were getting hammered and walked down the beach feeling as if my head had split open. I thought it was a lack of dinner and water so I stopped en route for a steak, however after just about eating it, I hurriedly left as my head kept falling towards the table. I staggered down the now dark beach delirious and panicked thinking that I may not make it and bumped into the Irish aunties and mammies, who immediately said I looked pale and sun stroked, got me paracetomal and sent me to bed. Let's just say that it took a couple of days before I dared to lie out in the sun and even then, I hid underneath the shade. Mostly... And of course topless...

The wedding was fantastic. I watched the stunning, very radiant FiFi walk down the aisle in the beautiful hillside Spanish church and tried not to giggle as Cass sobbed like a baby beside me. Later the reception was held in this hilltop restaurant and everyone got thoroughly drunk and danced to seventies music. Cass, Beaver and I did ourselves proud when Tina Turners 'Proud Mary' came on and unbeknownst to each other, we all knew the moves. Next thing you know there are three wannable Tina Turner's breaking out the moves with all the guests in stitches laughing and we joined the bride on the dancefloor to finish off as it turns out she'd watched the I Tina movie far too many times too.

Whilst lying in the shade all week, my eyes were on stalks for The Bulge. Oh my holy God! This man was wearing a skimpy thong and I don't know how it kept happening, but somehow my spider senses would sense him in the vicinity and my eyes would be drawn to The Bulge. The Bulge became a much talked about phenomenon amongst us and the Irish Aunties and Mammies as we tried to identify what made up the bulge. I thought he had a bag of monkey nuts in there. Cass reckons he has his balls pulled to the front. Someone else thought he had marbles in there. Ping pong balls. A penis with lots of lumps on it. Socks. Satsumas. Euro coins. 'I reckon he needs a stick to roll it out so he can go to the toilet!';'Yeah like a concertina!';'Do you think it has a room of it's own?'

I had a great week away and there was lots of raucous laughing, story telling and drinks. I didn't go wild as my body is only able to cope with so much and the last thing I needed was to come back with my sarcoidosis raging through my body. This was probably the hard part of the holiday as I couldn't do all nighters and get completely obliterated every night and at times I must admit to feeling a bit left out with Cass and Beaver as in jokes about their shared wild nights became prolific and they often paired off. It was my choice to get myself in bed normally by 2 or 3am whilst they stayed out till 6, 7 and 8am, but at times I must admit to that three's a crowd feeling. I did shake off the feeling and got on with enjoying myself and relaxing, but if we have to do a week away again, I'll make sure that there is a more of a balance of people.

We had a great last night in Ibiza town, stuffing ourselves with local seafood and toasting the week. Cass took bit of a funny turn at dinner and was very unwell all night and we had to get our flight at 4.25am. In a series of bad comedy moments, we stood in line until 4.10am, were made to leave our bags at the desk, tagged but not on the machine that takes them to the plane. Tiredness had taken me over so I was having one of my hissy fits of frustration and Cass' stomach was struggling to hold up. We arrived in London and lo and behold there were no bags. Thomson, the most crap airline in the world had decided that they would rather not miss their slot so they put almost 50 people on the plane without their bags. Oh and a guy farted in the baggage hall and nearly made us puke with the shock. The air was blue yesterday in the airport as we all lost our patience with Thomson's incompetent staff who basically wouldn't tell us what was going on and we had to find out via rumour and whisper. I left Cass in the airport who had to wait for her bags and head back to Dublin and after 40 mins realised that I had got a train in the wrong direction. It should have taken me just over an hour to get home, and I got home in 2.5 hours.

The tube was hideously hot and a homeless guy in an immaculate beige trenchcoat, sockless in battered Adidas trainers with a beret and a straw hat on his head and a scarf covering all of his face bar his eyes got on the carriage with his guitar. I watched as he took off the trenchcoat to reveal a sarong and a used to be white anorak. He turned to the open window between carriages and the anorak billowed out and I swear he looked like the marshmallow man in Ghostbusters. Gosh I love London!

I've been at the boyfriends since yesterday afternoon. He sent me to bed as soon as I arrived as I was cranky and mouthy. I woke up a few hours later just in time for extra time and the penalties for England's World Cup exit. The boyf and the the couple of guys who were watching in the sitting room looked close to tears and even I felt quite upset by the defeat. Don't worry though, I made it up to the the boyf last night and he's checked me for lines on my body and I think he's forgotten all about the football now and I've passed inspection... ;-)

Enjoy your weekends. I've a whole lotta blogs to catch up on this week!

Understanding Uveitis

"Uveitis is the general name given to an inflammation of part of the uveal tract of the eye. The uveal tract is a group of connected structures inside the eye, made up of the iris (coloured part of the eye), the ciliary body (ring of muscle behind the iris) and the choroid (layer of tissue that supports the retina).

There are different types of uveitis, depending on which part of the eye is affected:

• Anterior uveitis - inflammation of the iris (iritis) or inflammation of the iris and the ciliary body (iridocyclitis). This is the most common type of uveitis, accounting for 75% of cases (1).


• Intermediate uveitis - this affects the area behind the ciliary body, as well as the retina and the most forward edge of the retina.


• Posterior uveitis - this affects the area at the back of the eye, the choroids, and the retina.


• Panuveitis uveitis - the entire uveal tract is affected.

Uveitis can be acute and short-lived, or chronic and recurrent. Uveitis is a serious condition. If it is not treated, eyesight can be seriously damaged." Source NHS website

When I returned to London in January 2004 after spending a rather misty eyed Christmas with my family in Dublin, I really didn't know what uveitis was. I sort of assumed that if it was something serious they would have explained it to me, but when I left the hospital just before Christmas they gave me no indicator. When I met with various relatives and friends over the Christmas in Dublin and London they all expressed shock at my appearance and concern about the appearance of my eyes. They all had stories to tell about people they knew that had had eye conditions (that's JUST what I needed to hear!) which doctors had failed to acknowledge that had led to more serious problems. I vowed to ask my doctors questions but I noticed that the steroids I was taking seemed to be settling my eyes so I assumed I was 'cured'.

When I returned to hospital a few weeks into January, I was expecting to be told that I was fine, but was told instead that I now had uveitis in both eyes! There were a crowd of doctors and student doctors looking at my eye under the microscope thing that they use and making a lot of oohs and ahhs and 'Do you see what I mean?' and I heard the word 'attack' several times.

'Attack? Er, I thought I had an eye infection? Do you mind explaining what is going on here?' I demanded.

'Your immune system is attacking your eyes because it thinks that they are foreign bodies. For some reason your immune system is not doing what it is supposed to do, hence your uveitis' the doctor explained.

The room spun around me and I felt like I wanted to throw up everywhere as I imagined my eyes being killed off. It explained why my eye sight had deteriorated so rapidly.

'Can you fix this? Is there a cure?' I asked.

And then they explained that uveitis is normally triggered by something else going on in the body and I felt myself stiffen in alarm and the slow realisation that my whole life was about to change irrevocably. Seemingly uveitus is normally triggered by diseases like arthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, Crohn's disease, and others including sarcoidosis. They sent me for a blood test and told me not to feel nervous. 'Ha!' I thought. 'You've obviously never been told stuff like this before!'.

I went home and typed 'uveitis' into Google and I cried for hours afterwards, inconsolable with the shock of what was going on wih my eyes. I read about how this eye disease, left unattended could severely reduce my vision or in the worst case scenario blind me and I said every frickin swear word under the sun that day. Disease....and there was me thinking I had an eye infection that would go away?

As I wrung my hands in frustration, I felt that small little bobbly lump in the little finger on my left hand that I had noticed several months back and pushed it to the back of my mind.

My Sarcoidosis Symptoms Past and Present

This is a list of symptoms and effects of sarcoidosis that have personally happened to me. As I remember them, I update.

• There is scar tissue in my lungs and around my heart.
• Reduced lung capacity.
• There are concerns about pulmonary heart failure much further down the line.
• My chest has a lot of shadows in it which is caused by lymph nodes
• My left knee swells up periodically
• I have had a cold for 11 months
• My body used to be riddled with lumps or granulomas. I have had them in my neck, face, back, bum cheeks, things, legs, arms, fingers, and I think I had at the back of my head. These lumps have sometimes caused problems with walking or sleeping.
• A reappearing and disappearing cough
• Joint pain in fingers and feet
• I got a moon face from the steroids, my whole body seemed to bloat with water retention so at the time I was on steroids I put on almost 2 stone
• Before I went on steroids I dropped to 6.5 stone but looked skinnier than that
• Since finishing steroids my weight leveledlled at just under 7.5 stone
• I had uveitus (this was how they discovered I had the disease) and my vision was significantly reduced for a number of months. I had to take steroid eye drops for almost 6 months and my sight has never been the same again.
• I have red marks on my face (quite small and look like bruises) which I've had for almost 3 years
• My skin goes through periods of immense dryness but has settled down since I started acupuncture and kinesiology and stopped steroids
• Used to be very short of breath and still am slightly short of breath
• My spleen became grossly enlarged which was one of the main triggers of the doctors saying that I had to go on steroids
• I have become intolerant to some foods such as white bread, chicken and pork. I became intolerant to nuts for a while and had a violent reaction to them in June 2005
• Had a couple of bad panic attacks in 2004
• Had to stop putting chemicals on my hair as my hair became weak whilst on steroids
• Teeth became deficient
• Kidneys and bladder play up occasionally
• Can't touch my face near my ears as there are subtle sores
• Fingers are still puffy and swollen despite being off steroids for almost a year
• I get flutters in my chest
• Temporary coughs
• Had a tickly cough for several months which had me clearing my throat constantly
• Lethargy
• Malaise
• Night sweats
• Sudden stomach aches
• Migraines
• Headaches
• A sudden aversion to the contraceptive pill
• Tightness in my chest
• Anxiety
• Mood swings
• Eye pain
• Rash all over torso and thighs (think it's called pruritus rosa)
• Sluggishness
• Memory loss with particular respect to short term
• Kept waking up as it felt like I was stopping breathing
• Lightness in bones due to steroid use so balance went to pot
• Purple skin patches
• Raised bubbled lumps below knee and on face
• Persistent sore throat

Last update July 6th 2006

Getting Diagnosed With Sarcoidosis

After the discovery that I may have a disease that had triggered my uveitis, I had a blood test done and had to wait a week for the results. The world and its dog told me that the test would be fine and there would be nothing to worry about. Deep inside I had this suspiscion that there was something seriously wrong with me because I'm the one who lives in my own body and I just didn't feel RIGHT. For eighteen months including my time with my ex, I had started to think that my body's inability to be well was all in my head. My ex seemed convinced that I just wanted to be ill and he was bewildered by my sudden funny turns that would have me taking to my bed. Still, I listened to everyone's rationalisations and I believed.

When they explained what uveitis was, they also explained that it may have been triggered by sarcoidosis, Crohn's disease, rheumatoid arthritis amongst other autoimmune diseases. All rather scary words that I was shocked to hear being associated with me.

When the blood tests came back they indicated that there was a high level of an enzyme in my blood that indicated the possible presence of sarcoidosis in my body. 'But don't get worried and don't go trying to read up on the internet!' my doctor advised me sternly. This particular enzyme is considered to be an indicator of there being a problem when the level is 52 and above. At the time of my first blood test the enzyme level was over 100.

I was sent for a chest xray and told to come back in a week. In the meantime I was putting steroids in my eyes once an hour because the uveitis was so bad. I had to set the alarm on my phone which no doubt drove my colleagues insane. I hate putting stuff anywhere near my eyes never mind in them, but I became a pro at using drops. It just became the norm.

I restrained myself and only looked on the internet once and to be honest, the shock at reading what sarcoidosis was all about was enough to stop me reading.

I went back to hospital the following week, and friends and family had once again convinced me that this time it would be good news. It was bad news. I had sarcoidosis and was referred to the chest clinic at North Middlesex Hospital (where I was already seen for my eyes) and advised repeatedly not to panic and that at least they had found it. The xray of my chest didn't seem to mean much to me, but they said that my chest was full of shadows where the sarcoidosis had showed itself around my heart and lungs.

I went numb from the shock of the diagnosis. I was asked whether I had found any lumps in recent months. I mentioned the finger (I had found a lump in my finger a few months before and pushed it to the back of my mind) and they asked if I had found any elsewhere. A quick check of my left arm revealed more and I decided that I'd leave further discoveries for when I was alone. He listed other possible symptoms such as night sweats, the malaise, tummy aches, etc and I nodded through blurred eyes. He explained that my body's immune system was back to front and pretty much attacking different areas. The chest xray revealed a chest full of shadows from my lymph nodes and the mention of my chest being full of shadows was rather scary.

I have never felt so scared in all my life and I've had some scary moments. I went home and cried my eyes out but somehow forced myself to go to work as normal so that I could pretend that I was still normal. When I explored my body I found lumps in my neck, my back, my thighs, my groin, my face and even suspected that I may have some in my head as I'd had a persistent twitch at the back of my skull for months. Every day I found a diferent lump until I eventually stopped looking. I was 26 years old and suddenly life didn't seem so simple and I couldn't take it for granted that I would be a normal twenty-something. As I soaked up everything I could read online, I realised that if I didn't get a grip on this disease, my quality of life, my ability to do basic things would be seriously compromised.

The Prelude to Sarcoidosis

Due to frequent requests for information about my disease and how I deal with it, I am starting to put together posts about the whole saga. I will list them in the sidebar as and when I update them...

Almost four years ago, I woke up and found a weird, bubbly blister on my arm and within days my chest, back and thighs were covered in an itchy red rash which was explained by my doctor as my body's strange reaction to what may have been something as normal as catching the common cold. Three months of itching and it finally went away. The year that followed was filled with strange stomach aches, a sudden aversion to my contraceptive pill, migraines, headaches, night sweats, dizziness, constant tiredness, and a general feeling of being unwell. In the meantime, the problems in my then relationship with Mr Brown-Suit culminated in a break up which coincided with me graduating, finishing one job, job hunting, starting a new job, moving in with a relative for a month, flat hunting and then moving into a new place. Yes, I was very busy!

In the meantime, I secretly fell for someone who was attached and within days I woke up with a really red right eye and an inability to take sunlight in my eye without my head snapping back in pain and my eyes weeping. The doctor told me it was a mild eye infection.

My weight over the next few months dropped to just under 6.5 stone and whilst I had always been very slight and small, I looked bony and gaunt now as if I had stopped eating properly.

Between August 2003 with the first flare up in my eye and December of that year , I had more than 15 flare ups and 3 doctors at the same surgery told me I was making a big deal out of nothing and they were just mild eye infections. Even though I could barely read a road sign or a Tube map, never mind any text on a television, AND an optrician had demanded I go back to my doctor and tell them I had a serious problem with my eye, I was dismissed by my doctors as being dramatic, with one of them laughing at me scornfully.

I felt so tired all the time and every thing felt like a drain on my body.

On December 22nd 2003, following an argument with the secret guy I was in love with, I had such a bad flare up, my eye seemed to turn back in my head, it was an angry red and it seemed to gush water. The 4th doctor at the surgery agreed that something was seriously wrong and sent me to hospital where I was told that I had uveitis and packed off to the pharmacy for steroids and anti-histammines. I assumed it was just an eye infection and little did I know that my whole life was about to turn upside down.