You horrible bitch…….

Argh, I am so pissed off right now, I don’t often let anyone other than myself piss all over my day but as my lovely Welsh friends would say, “I’m tamping, raging, fuming.”

I am having a fab week, work has been productive, Tuesday was a day off, I received my tax refund yesterday (which went straight to pay for the desert race that I stupidly agreed to run/walk/crawl with Mr C ugh), we met our fab friends last night and had an awesome meal at Tableau Bistro and tomorrow night, we are meeting up with a load of British ex-pats for what is no doubt going to be a very messy night. So after work today I head to my Hip Hop dance class to perfect my moves to Hurricane Chris’s Halle Berry (tbh, I was shit at it, like proper shit but hey it was fun and that’s what counts right). Anyways, I finish and go to get the bus home feeling happy, famished and looking forward to whatever concoction Mr C was knocking up for dinner (okay let’s be clear about this, when I say “knocking up” that doesn’t mean Mr C is nailing (in case I need to also clear this up, when I say “nailing,” I mean fuckin, shaggin, making love etc etc) me dinner, “knocking up” is also a term for throwing something together. )

If you’re still with me after that last paragraph, first of all, well done, I read that back and got proper fuckin lost. Secondly, bear with me, I’m almost at why my blood is boiling a wee (small not urine) bit.

So, I gets on the bus and all is well (that’s not really true, all wasn’t well in the first place. Like a dumb twat, I’d forgotten me sunglasses and was getting right blinded by the sun), I’m excited to get home for me dinner and to watch our new Netflix show Safe and boom, some horror gets on me bus and totally fucks up my smug life is great vibe……..cheers love.

A family gets on, a Mum, Dad, a stroller (buggy), two little people and an even smaller one. Now, I imagine you think I’m going to start banging on about the little people and the even smaller one but no, something happened that might surprise you and for sure surprised me………………

Next stop, some older bird gets on the bus and she, is the horror who pissed all over my week. The family had their stroller in the spot where the fold up chairs are and though there was plenty of other seats this bird said loud enough for the whole bus to hear and sound like a complete bitch “can you move this so at least one person can sit down.” The family of course, shuffled the little people, even smaller one and the stroller to accommodate her request. I sit there all quiet, still being blinded by the bloody sun and thinking about me dinner. Well my inner warrior, decides that now is the time to tear herself from whatever slaying she is doing elsewhere and bless me with her presence.

The even smaller person starts kicking off and though their Dad is doing his best to calm it down, the older bird cannot hide her miserable judgey self. At first, she starts glancing up at the family disapprovingly but then she openly glares at them, starts shaking her head and starts tutting away and that’s, when my inner Warrior (Shelly) puts in an appearance.

Unfortunately Shelly didn’t have to much time to amuse herself with the miserable bird as the next stop was ours and as I mentioned before, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mr C was knocking up for dinner. Obvs we wasn’t going to stay quiet though. I purposely walk to the front even though it wasn’t the closest exit and said to misery “what do you expect, it’s just a baby” to which she replies “mind your own business.” Now I know, the mature thing to do, would have been to shake my head in disappointment and hope that misery would reflect on her behaviour and realize she’s being a bitch. I didn’t do that. I smiled at the family, said thank you to the bus driver and called misery a “judgey cow” as I stepped off the bus.

Do you know what, I don’t even like kids, they make me itch and tbh I don’t care for anyone who can’t buy a round but this miserable woman proper got on my tits (not literally), was a horrible person and was obviously making the Mum and Dad feel uncomfortable and thought she was for some delusional reason, superior.  We taught her eh.

In other news: Mr C continues to hold onto a distinction on his MBA and though it’s not the same as my now amazing hip-hop dance skills, I do have to give credit where it’s due.

 

 

 

 

Might get a boob job……

I went to hip hop dance class last night, I’m trying to diversify my dance skills for when Bèy reaches out and asks me to star in one of her videos (I’m visualizing the fuck out of this, so it will happen soon. All you doubters can fuck right off with ya eye rolls). I must say, I reckon pretty soon I will be ready for the big time. Must remember that it’s all about patterns and that music is a road map. That’s what our instructor said and that little fella can move so I’m going to pay attention to him.

He also said that we should not act like it’s school and not to talk to people we don’t know but get to know each other and high five each other (I did eye roll then, what is it with the fuckin high fiving, you just said we’re not in high school mate). I think me asking some random bird in the changing rooms for a hair tie shows that I am happy to make friends with my fellow dancers (okay potential dancers but you should have heard our stomps, we sounded proper fierce).

If anyone is interested the classes take place at Harbour Dance Centre which is conveniently right next to a bar with a patio.

I was so unprepared that morning that I’d almost forgotten dance class, it was one of those mornings that even Eric couldn’t get me out of bed until the very last safe moment. Yep, I was hungover AF (don’t judge it was Wednesday the day before and we all know what that means). Mr C and I have been doing alright at not drinking through the week (excuse me whilst I polish my halo) so figured I should celebrate my achievement.

Okay so onto the boob thing. Back to dance class, a bird was there and she obviously had fake boobs and she was owning them. Whichever way she moved those things went right with her. Now I’m not judging (you know me, I’m no judgey bitch) on the contrary, I think it was fab that she was owning the awesomeness of her fake boobs. They obviously filled her with confidence as she proper sassed her movements up. This bird was very happy with her reflection. I on the other hand avoided the mirror (unless I knew I was dancing fabulously) and when I did get a glimpse I chastised myself for my terrible posture. My arms looked good though (I’ve been working out).

As I get older (ugh that sounds shit eh but how else do you say it. As I grow, as I mature……..they all sound shit so let’s not try and jazz it up), I do find myself looking in the mirror at those crinkly soft lines that have appeared around my eyes and wonder if a Botox injection is on the cards. Or if me boobs could do with a lift or boost or whatever you call it.  Or if I should get the hairs on me chin zapped before it turns into a full on beard and Mr C and I are fighting over the last blade!!

At the same time, as I spend this last year in my thirties, I can truly say that I am the happiest I have ever been. Life is fuckin awesome and I’m not saying that to put a positive spin on getting older, saggy boobs (okay not yet but inevitably), wrinkles or chin hair. I’m not even saying it to be an irritating positive bitch (haters gonna hate). Life just is awesome. So I’m not going to sweat the small stuff and when I turn forty I will not sink myself into a drunken stupor mourning for my youth. Okay, I will sink into a drunken stupor and I might actually mourn for my youth but I will be having fun!

In other news, he did it Mr C has talked me into signing up for racing the planet desert race . We are going to the Atacama desert in 2019 and are going to cover 250 kms in 7 days. It’s fuckin stupid I know but if you’re going to have a mid life crisis, might as well make it a challenging one!