Polka dot notebook of doom (TM)

Hello dearest readers, every time I don't post for a while I feel guilty and then I think it is probably a treat for you not having to read my haverings. It's all a bit strange chez auntiegwen, some of us are madly busy (that would be me), some of us are faffing around (that would be him) and some of us are stressed to the max (that would be Beautiful Baby Daughter)
I started a new job at the beginning of July with the same employer but in a different role, me no likey, I may likey later but presently it's all a bit woolly but with lots of stuff about how I am autonomous and strategic and responsible, which is grand until someone decides they are more autonomous and strategic and responsible than me and makes me change and redo stuff I thought I was autonomous and strategic and responsible for. I have bitten holes in my tongue, seethed myself into an ulcer, woken through the night nightly and my eyebrows haven't yet managed to come down from my hairline since July.  My current flexitime is running at 60 hours over and as I can only take 14 hours back, I just have to suck it up, my normal working hours are awake to sleep, Monday to Friday. My life at present is all too work focussed and not enough gin focussed, baah.






And by the law of Sod, mr auntiegwen has finished his contracting work and finished renovating a flat, which is up for sale and until it is sold and he has the cash money in his pocket to buy the next property he has no gainful employment. He has time aplenty, none of your awake to sleep hours for him. This concerns your auntie not one jot, I have eleventy million jobs that need doing round this house. For ease and convenience, I have documented them in a lovely Emma Bridgewater polka dot notebook. Now mr auntiegwen is not enamoured of said polka dot notebook, I would go as far to say he avoids the polka dot notebook, he's not afeared of it more disdainful and refusing to admit it's existence. It exists plenty fine. I fear it may become a source of marital discord.
Beautiful baby daughter is getting ready to leave home for university, she doesn't really want to go but staying here and being a house daughter is not an option, her brother floated the notion of him being a house son circa 2013 before his departure for university and got short shrift for his trouble. I could quote you some of the utterly ludicrous thing she is saying but she might read this and I am still afeared of a major meltdown I shall refrain but it's killing me. September 14th is when she gets her keys for her halls of residence and I am hoping we can co-exist peacefully until then.

Valentine Schmalentine part deux

In my last post, I was setting out my stall as to what I wanted for Valentine's Day. I had no conception that this Valentine malarkey should be a 2 way street. Oh no, your auntie was thinking how very what splendid it would be if SHE got what she wanted, no thought whatsoever that I would actually have to do anything my own self.

So, in my comments, I had lots of lovely sweet wishes from my bloggy loved ones, a special mention to TF who offered to change sex for me, now that's what I call friendship ! some great offers and some sage advice from Soxy, you can read the comments here

So I drag MY sorry ass into town and into the card shop. As I'm there I realise I haven't sent a Valentine's card in over 20 years, I think I was 20 the last time. Well, dear readers, I was horrified, they were all really bleurggh, I, of course have no clue what I actually want because I don't buy them I've never looked at them.

Some I could discount right off the bat, the ones that say to my husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, love of my life, the one I love, someone very special etc etc etc.

Then I discounted the cute ones with teddy bears and fluffy bunnies etc, after barfing of course, I am just so not a teddy bear kinda gal.

I have to discount all the flowery ones, not partial to that.

Then I have to discount the ones that say " I want to shag you senseless" I feel a little decorum is called for.

That leaves me with the funny ones, except they weren't.

I ask the Thorntons lady if she would ice " Fecking Romantic Gesture" on a chocolate heart and she looked at me like I'd kicked a puppy and told me off for my language, suitably chastened, I left shamefacedly.

So I try another card shop and lastly a 3rd and I still couldn't find a card that I would be happy to send or to receive myself, for the love of God, why can't I find a simple, stylish, tasteful card ?

Now I realise why men don't make a fuss over Valentine's Day, it's just fecking hard work, I was an hour, a whole hour trying to get a card, do you know what else I could have been doing in that hour ?

However, I have put the work in and I feel sure that come Saturday, I shall be rewarded most handsomely for all my efforts.

Incidentally should anyone want to take me anywhere on Saturday, I have THE sexiest new little black dress and killer heels...