Call me a Moaning Bitch. I am Fine with it.

At 9.15 pm last night, with my toes slowly turning blue and wrinkly from too long spent doused in soggy socks nestled in to even soggier ‘all weather’ Ugg boots (which will now undoubtedly stink until the end of time) I did wonder for a moment if I had somehow been transported back in to an alternate universe that was still trapped in the 1990s, and if the teenagers wandering past wearing tiny skirts and tank tops, swaying to ‘rhythm as a dancer’ while the rest of us were frozen solid in mattress type attire, were actually mental alien life forces from planet ‘Annoying’ and if potentially, I was the only person in the crowd of over 3000 silhouettes that thought perhaps this whole ‘standing in a field and watching stuff burn- celebration’ was a bit, well a bit, random!

I mean I understand the reason why we do it.

But I just don’t understand the reason why we do it.

Do you know what I mean?

Maybe my disappointment over not being American, and therefore not being able to go over the top with absolutely everything (have you ever been to the cinema in America? They laugh out loud!! It is amazing, and shocking and I love it!) Means that I have always felt why bother? If you cant go the whole hog then seriously, WHY BOTHER?

I am renound for being a miserable cow around this time of year amongst my family and friends and seriously? I am fine with it.

If I had a seasonal smell around the ‘holidays’, that smell would be ‘fusty.’

I am like the human equivalent of a damp squib.

There are many things in this world I love; Show tunes, Britney spears, shoes, sunglasses, handbags, good friends, hot chocolate, Grey’s Anatomy, Ryan Reynolds, Disney World, Square Crisps, things that make you go hmmm and The Irish one’s home made hummus, (and no, that isn’t a synonym for something else, his chick peas are perfectly sized) but this time of year, will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, make it on to that list.

I hate Halloween because I hate dressing up. If I want to wear a witch outfit, or a zombie costume or a pair of plastic fangs, I shall do so at my own leisure you know? I will do so on a random Tuesday in February, and certainly not when everyone else is doing it. Where is the fun in that?

I hate bonfire night because every year I have to listen to my elderly neighbor bleat on relentlessly about how the local kids keep trying to nick off with his shed which then leads him unceremoniously on to how many cars are on the roads in comparison to when he was my age, and eventually on to the price of petrol.

I don’t know how much petrol costs and I don’t get the whole litre to the gallon to the mile thing. All I know is, Starbucks is next to a petrol station, so that’s where I fill up.

I need coffee more than I need petrol; especially with the speed Doodle releases his bowels after each and every bang from the blessed fireworks that will go off from now until Christmas, so how many litres do I get to the gallon? Who cares? I get home don’t I? And in case I don’t, I have one of those spout things in the car.

How many shots do I get to see me through the day? 3. And make them DRY!!! (When I ask for a DRY cappuccino I do not want a latte!!!)

I hate Christmas because its always a big ‘who are you spending it with’ drama and seriously? Turkey? Ergh. I would rather have Pizza. Which I have actually eaten on Christmas day in the past, and no it wasn’t topped with stuffing. (ergh.) Christmas sucks bum. I hate it. Even ketchup is banned.

Also, while I am on this subject, I never understood why we eat chocolate eggs on the day Jesus was re-born and I don’t like summer because my thighs rub together. But those two are by the by I suppose.

I would even say bah humbug. But I don’t like mints.

But you know what?

This year, as Halloween approached I thought sod it, New Year, new me.

I have to make an effort for Addison.

He is nearly two.

Mammy sort your head out and lets sparkle some glitter over the end of 2011.

Lets see if I can apply everything I have learnt in the mental hospital and ‘live in the moment’!!

Yeay! Doesn’t that sound fun???

This is the reason Addison found himself at nursery last Tuesday dressed as Dracula.

I thought he could make an effort on my behalf and to be honest, he did look really cute, and a part of me, as I went to drop him off, if I am completely honest, was a little excited for him!

His first costume party!

The nursery had been advertising a ‘spooky and fun party where all the kids need to be dressed up’ for weeks.

I spent 8 quid on that Halloween costume from Morrison’s, but I am sure the therapy he will no doubt need as a teen to help him understand why his mummy dressed him up as Dracula and sent him to nursery when NO OTHER CHILD IN THE WHOLE BUILDING was dressed up, will cost more.

I got the wrong day.

And I forgot to pack spare clothes.

He will be fine.

I am sure.

Although I have never seen an 18-month-old Dracula look so pissed off.

They should cast him next to Tom Cruise.

He has his smolder down.

This ‘making an effort’ is also the reason why I found myself stood in a field last night holding the Irish one’s hand and muttering under my breath as Addison slept through the longest fire work display in history and my feet slowly sank in to the mud and dog poop surrounding the bonfire, which actually, now I come to think of it, did look suspiciously like my neighbors shed.

Everybody was saying ‘ooo’ a lot, so you know, I made an effort.

‘Oooo….’ I bleated. ‘Can we go now?’

‘No shut up whinging.’

The Irish one just doesn’t get my misery. He is a strong believer in doing random things with wet feet, in fields, and dressing up as a pumpkin and I hate him for it.

Why bother?? (We have to now we have a son, I understand that but he is only 1!! It can wait a bit!)

I could have been at home, setting my neighbors actual shed on fire, saying Oooo a lot, from the warmth of my living room with a hot chocolate!!

My boots are ruined, the pram is caked in crap and doodle’s bowels have become so loose from the repetitive strain of it all that my back is now buggered too from all the bending over with the poop scoop.

Christmas next.

Can’t wait.

Maybe I will get stuck in the chimney.

That’s something to look forward to I suppose. (It’ll get me out of eating turkey!)

Although, apparently, (*childish mimicy voice* ‘Ra ra raaa- from The Irish one) that is NO laughing matter. (GoD! It’s not like someone getting stuck in a chimney caused the Potato famine, calm down!!!…it didn’t did it??)

Addison will be dressed as Santa on boxing day though, I like the idea of the ‘day behind’ tradition.

It suits my disorganisation. (and yes that is a word, I looked it up.)

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24 Comments on “Call me a Moaning Bitch. I am Fine with it.

  1. I need a new pair of knickes now – thanks!

    Are you sure about wanting to be American – oh God hey can complain and it took me a fair few visits to realise not because they like complaining – its cos they expect something to be bloody well done about it (the Constitution, the right to a Persuit to Happiness and al that!). Not like us whinging Bris who complain and then don’t actually expect anything to be done or even ‘apologise’ for our right to vent in the first place (what is al that about).

    I ‘do’ love America – I do wish we would complain properly and not feel embarrased about telling the miserable staff in most food outlets of the UK that my food is undercooked, overcooked, comes with cutlery full of someone elses dinner and that they are like heel getting a tip – because they don’t actually deserve it!

    But, like Americans – I do love Halloween (especially having spent several holidays in the US at Halloween) and I love Christmas.

    I’m not sure about soggy feet (I wore Timerland boots) and I don’t get involved with family politics (sod anyone who taints my Christmas spirit). I once had Christmas dinner in an Indian restaurant and it was a great curry and I’ve no idea how I’m going to keep the kitty’s from destroying the Christmas tree – but, ‘hey ho’ I will be smiling and wondering why there aren’t any carol singers when the kids don’t mind trick or treating at your door for candy instead!

  2. Love it. Im with you all the way. Im a total bah humbug (even with the adopted grandkids) Hate being wet, cold, and scared to death everytime a BOMB (apparently they were fireworks tho im not convinced considering the volume) goes off down the street along with being screwed of every last penny in my purse and TOLD that I should FEEL happy cos its Christmas (chokes on the word). So cheers to being a moaning bitch… lets start a club 🙂

  3. Nothing worse than soggy wet and cold feet. I’m not a fan of Halloween or Bonfire Night but I do love a bit of Christmas (apart from my MIL that is).

    I hope you took a picture of your 18 month old pissed off Dracula!

  4. I also hated working at the school disco (2 days after Halloween) filled with pre-teens who looked like the Prostitute of Dracula. The dressing up parties never go according to plan. I’m sure A. will be fine. And I’m sorry your Uggs stink.

  5. I’m sure Addison won’t need therapy. Probably! Lol. My son is now 18 yrs old & has managed to avoid therapy despite the fact that I used to paint his toenails pink & put glittery eyeshadow on him!

  6. I was very pleased when the children’s aunt and uncle offered to take them to the fireworks. I got to stay in for a whole fifty minutes without any children and not got an plodge in a muddy field. (Don’t get too excited, this kind of time off only happens once a year.)

  7. People don’t laugh out loud at the movies in England? What kind of a country IS that????

    Seriously, I think all your depression needs is a move to the United States where you can be yourself and fit right in. And I will be right there with you in not participating in any of these end of the year celebrations. We can celebrate with a glass of wine in my hot tub. Without kids.

  8. You should write this stuff for a top magazine. Then you would be rich. And us lot could say airily “Oh, yes, I knew her when she used to blog, just for fun…”

  9. I did that once. Brought 3 of ours to a heritage day. I was sure it said fancy dress. It wasn’t . They just looked like weirdos. They still talk about it. Ah sure, its character building I say.

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