Tuesday, February 10, 2015

The Mother of All Updates*

*brace yourselves, it's 1500 words. Imagine all the productive things I could've done with those.  That's like 150 curt emails where you don't even bother with a salutation because you're so mad at the other person, but in a business way, so instead of 'Hi Anthony' or 'Good morning, Anthony,' it's just plain 'Anthony.'  And if you're really mad, you can put a dash, so they know you're serious, like this:

Readers - 

This morning Delightful Colleague sent me a screenshot of Very Serious Colleague's Spotify playlist and it was just the same Enrique Iglesias song over and over and now there's a whole department I can't go into without getting the giggles.  I hope your day as been  as entertainingly fruitful as mine.  

I realised halfway through this post that it's dramatically long (no wait don't go there are pictures) so I have put it into three helpful sections, not unlike 50 Shades of Grey, but better and quite possibly more sexy (as I said, there are pictures).  

Section One: Developments

Like a busy photo lab in the week after Christmas, life has been full of developments; the Chief Development (all of the other developments report to him) is HB's recent departure for Ireland, on matters both personal and professional.  By recent I mean about a month ago, but getting round to blogging is hard when you don't have the Internet at home and also sometimes you are drunk.  I shall leave HB's departure to the imagination, but in short his reasons were sound and there is no need to note in the comments what a terrible cad he is, although you are still welcome to do that and I shall let him know. 

The upside to the ridiculous emotional bludgeoning of HB's departure is, of course, that I get the car, which I love.  The car and I bonded over our shared devastation at HB leaving; while I played computer games for 10 hours straight and consumed half a bottle of whiskey (also straight), it broke down dramatically on the way home from the airport.  

Feel free to call it a cad in the comments as much as you like.

"Oh," said the car, "I see that your boyfriend has left, and you're moving house this weekend.  This seems like a stressful time for you.  Would it help if I needed a completely new transmission?"  And then the car made a noise of the kind that you hope not to hear from the stall next to you in a public toilet and suddenly we were stationary at a stop sign, not in the Hurrah, I'm Safety Conscious way, more in the Thank You Strangers for Pushing Me Round the Corner way.  

I learned three things from the car incident:
1.  How to steer a car when it is being pushed (apparently you do not have the handbrake on)
2.  How much it costs to replace a transmission (it costs man-at-garage-says-'are-you-sitting-down' amount, and the exact number works out at somewhere between 'shit' and 'fucking cunting fuck')
3.  That when the engine light comes on, and HB says "Just book it in for a service on Monday", you do not listen to him.


Section Two:  My New House

I have a new flat, and there is no-one else in it!  Taking nothing away from how much I miss HB and would very much like to be still living with him, this is ridiculously fucking delightful.

Note the lack of other people.  I'm not sure who left that whisky there.

I love it.  I love that I can come home and know that there won't be anyone else there and everything will be where I left it and if I want to get into pyjamas at 6pm and watch Masterchef in bed for four hours then BY GOD I CAN.  

I love that nobody has broken my good paring knife by using it to unjam the paper shredder and I can put art** up on the walls without anyone saying THAT IS SHIT ART TAKE IT AWAY and the internet won't suddenly disappear because paying bills is apparently for chumps and no-one has drunk all the milk whilst simultaneously pouring grape juice under the fridge as a surprise for another day and the couch hasn't been taken outside for airing in the rain and there aren't any hungover strangers on the couch and holy shit, you guys, living by yourself is the best.

NO SIR PERHAPS IT'S YOU WHO IS THE SHIT ART

Living by oneself has many, many exhilarating highs, like when you find the PERFECT place for your toothbrush cup, and goodness me it looks delightful this is practically a show home and I wonder when Home & Garden magazine are going to call perhaps I should realign the bathmat-

- and it also has many devastating lows, like when you realise that actually you haven't found the perfect place for your toothbrush cup after all, and also, your toothbrush has fallen out the window.

Part Three: Learning Things

Living by yourself also poses a new, unique set of Things To Learn.  Being in a relationship for years and then suddenly not-being in a relationship is a weird transition, especially when the person you used to ask important questions of  - questions like "is it better, from a safety angle, to use the four-plug with the bent prong or the four-plug that I spilt the whisky on?" - is suddenly Not There, and you have to assess the risk of electrocution all by yourself.

Go home four-plug you are drunk

Luckily I am good at learning things.  So far, I have learned the below things:

-  How to put up bookshelf
-  How to put up clothes rail, poorly
-  How to connect washing machine
-  How to deal with flood
-  How to connect washing machine properly
-  How to deal with additional flood
-  How to tell 'tap fully on' from 'tap fully off'
-  How to perfectly position bucket behind washing machine
-  How to amass enormous washing pile because scared of floods
-  How to create interesting, work-appropriate outfits out of bizarre clothing items
-  How to visit launderette down the road.

I have also learnt that when you're selecting a flat you gotta look at how much storage it has.  This flat, while delightful, has exactly no storage.  This is problematic because if I were a video game character I would have spent my life so far ignoring gaining skills and levelling up in favour of wandering around the map collecting random items and putting them in my backpack.

But what if I need it for a future quest?

I don't really have an answer for that issue.  I'm just letting you know.

The final thing I've learned is about scales.  Weirdly, I've never had a set of scales in any of the houses I've lived in.  We bought some so HB could weigh his suitcases and therefore not get kicked out of the airport, or whatever happens when your suitcases are too heavy, and now I have them!  

I like having scales.  You can do all sorts of interesting things with scales.  You can weigh yourself, and then take your shoes off and weigh yourself again, and then you know exactly how much your shoes weigh.  And then you can eat a lasagne, and weigh yourself again, and you know exactly how much the lasagne weighs.  And you can weigh yourself, and then go to the bathroom, and then you- 

Anyway.  That's fun with scales.

430 grams.

I think that's all - apologies for the long, rambling post but there was a lot to get through and I think now we're all up to date with the Life Events shit and can go back to Turkey Tales and Bullshit Work Stories*** and all the other things you know and love.

Here's a picture of me from today because you haven't seen one in a while, and it's nice to imagine what I look like when I am telling the story.

Imagine this, but with less enthusiasm, and also much prettier.


*I deleted the original footnote but it was about bucket lists.

I know why it's called a bucket list but I still think it's a ridiculous term.  Also, imagine the impact on people who work in hardware stores and bucket manufacturing centres. 
"Rupert, have you seen Sarah's bucket list?"
"Yes, she shared some of it, she's always really wanted to travel to Europe but never really found the ti-"
"RUPERT WE NEED TO ORDER MARCH STOCK I REALLY DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS"

**the watercolours are by Aimee van Essen. 

***the other day I was perhaps a little bored and was sitting at my desk with no shoes on and a pair of chopsticks in my mouth like tusks, waving my feet around and generally being a walrus, when Button walked past and looked at me and said, "Ally.  You are a manager" and I felt a little embarrassed, but then sometimes when one is being a walrus it is difficult to remember that one is also being a manager. 

9 comments:

Stephen Stratford said...

Welcome back. Your best blogpost ever. EVER!

alhmarx said...

This is fantastic. Miss your face- but enjoy your hilarious words immensely

Anonymous said...

Thanks guys! Also your words are too kind, expect no posts for 6 months due to pressure to live up to previous post. - Ally

Anonymous said...

(I reply as anonymous because can't be arsed logging in on my ipad. Such is life.) - still Ally

Yandie, Goddess of Pickles. said...

There is so much to be said for solitude.

Di said...

I have to fight my hoarding tendencies in real life and this comic pretty much sums up my problem with video games. http://www.penny-arcade.com/comic/2011/11/14

bekkitae said...

Large wooden box-chesty-thingeroos can be used to replace amazing amounts of furniture and hold shit at the same time. In our old sans storage house we used one for our coffee table, for example. Oh and one that had a crappy lid we turned sideways and used the top 'shelf' to sit my printer and art stuff on and the open inside held folded blankets and the bean bag.

Also if you get the nice big ones they make great hiding places for hide and go seek, even if you are actually playing hide-and-have-a-drink in an effort to avoid the cleaning.

Aly M said...

Pick me! I will be your Backstreet Boys date.

Julia Mallett said...

yay! more posts! just caught up on the back catalogue. More posts pleeeeease