Lessons in Meditation required. Along with a cheap caterer!
All things are going crazy at Chez Cath and Subtle at the moment. We have moved house, to a lovely new townhouse with plenty of room for Miss Isabella and our myriad of crap*. The place has boxes aplenty which provides Isabella with hours of amusement - well minutes anyway. I am awash with stress over organising the house and with organising a wedding.
JESUS. I am getting married in less than four months! How did that happen?
*deep breaths*
One would think that having been married before, I could whip up a little marital soiree without blinking an eye. What do you need to do after all... arrange somewhere to get hitched, find somewhere to maybe swill back some booze and snacks after, a frock to where and maybe some way to tell people about it all. But no, it isn't that easy is it. Most of the time, Subtle and I are careful *not* to use the word wedding when talking to venues etc, for fear of the seeming ability of anything related to weddings to be more expensive. This is the time that one calls on favours and finds people who know people who can do things that might help. You know a celebrant? Are they cheap? I heard you bake? Want to do a cake? You know, that sort of thing.
Unfortunately, my usual level-headedness (do *not* laugh) is starting to take a sideways manouevre and the beginnings of a bride-zilla are forming. I know that I have been snappy lately to Subtle, but his usual calm, laidback, relaxed nature, is causing me some grief at the moment. I seem to have a list of things to do that should have been done (according to all the bridal magazines and organisational guides) about six months ago. And strangely he looks at me with nothing to do and his only repeated comment so far has been related to wanting taste tests of wedding cakes! If he isn't careful, I maybe placing a cake somewhere he doesn't want it!
Oh bring on marital bliss......
* Subtle might dispute that the crap is an "our".... apparently it is mostly mine.
Showing posts with label Living Arrangements. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living Arrangements. Show all posts
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Neighbours, Everybody needs good neighbours
I don't think I am what would call a bad neighbour. I am not really bad, in so far as you don't have to worry about me playing the stereo loud at 3am, or for trashing the place. But I don't seem to bond with my neighbours.
In no place I have ever lived in did I become pal-ly with the neighbours. It would be nice to have neighbours that would watch out for you, collect mail if you are away - that sort of thing. The closest I have ever gotten is when my ex-husband absented himself from my life, I decided to go and talk to the one neighbour we had, so she would know not to expect to see him around - and if she did, well, it was a bad thing. We had a lovely chat - really quite a nice lady. But then I moved, and I was back at square one.
Living in big apartment blocks is not necessarily conducive to becoming buddies with ones co-habitators, but I think it is really something to do with me. I try to say hello, or to deliver a welcoming nod in their direction. But rarely does it go well. The two sets of neighbours I did manage to meet and even converse with, quickly ended with them moving out about a month or two after meeting me.
It is only recently with Subtle now living with me that we may have happened upon on a reason that the neighbours don't talk to me.
Sex.
More specifically, noisy sex.
Of course, I am referring to a rather squeaky bed frame that I seem to own. But during an occasion of an intimate nature the other day, there began to be comments outside our bedroom window that may have been aimed at us. Or me. Not sure at this point.
I have often joked about some people who lived upstairs from N and I who had, what we called, "Nazi Sex". Their sexual routine involved the opening and closing of windows and blinds, a lot of "Heil" and then vigorous love-making noises. Oh, we laughed. But now I fear that I am the brunt of many jokes. Oh dear.
To make things a little more awkward, Subtle and I are moving to his parents house to house-sit for the next two weeks whilst they are on holidays. His father has already made some comment about "use the bed as you wish", when giving us the low-down on the house. Perhaps it would not be good for them to return from holidays to traumatised neighbours. His family lives in deepest, darkest Suburbia - perhaps a bit of traumatising them with squeaky bed is needed! Either that or the skinny dipping that Subtle has suggested.
I don't think I am what would call a bad neighbour. I am not really bad, in so far as you don't have to worry about me playing the stereo loud at 3am, or for trashing the place. But I don't seem to bond with my neighbours.
In no place I have ever lived in did I become pal-ly with the neighbours. It would be nice to have neighbours that would watch out for you, collect mail if you are away - that sort of thing. The closest I have ever gotten is when my ex-husband absented himself from my life, I decided to go and talk to the one neighbour we had, so she would know not to expect to see him around - and if she did, well, it was a bad thing. We had a lovely chat - really quite a nice lady. But then I moved, and I was back at square one.
Living in big apartment blocks is not necessarily conducive to becoming buddies with ones co-habitators, but I think it is really something to do with me. I try to say hello, or to deliver a welcoming nod in their direction. But rarely does it go well. The two sets of neighbours I did manage to meet and even converse with, quickly ended with them moving out about a month or two after meeting me.
It is only recently with Subtle now living with me that we may have happened upon on a reason that the neighbours don't talk to me.
Sex.
More specifically, noisy sex.
Of course, I am referring to a rather squeaky bed frame that I seem to own. But during an occasion of an intimate nature the other day, there began to be comments outside our bedroom window that may have been aimed at us. Or me. Not sure at this point.
I have often joked about some people who lived upstairs from N and I who had, what we called, "Nazi Sex". Their sexual routine involved the opening and closing of windows and blinds, a lot of "Heil" and then vigorous love-making noises. Oh, we laughed. But now I fear that I am the brunt of many jokes. Oh dear.
To make things a little more awkward, Subtle and I are moving to his parents house to house-sit for the next two weeks whilst they are on holidays. His father has already made some comment about "use the bed as you wish", when giving us the low-down on the house. Perhaps it would not be good for them to return from holidays to traumatised neighbours. His family lives in deepest, darkest Suburbia - perhaps a bit of traumatising them with squeaky bed is needed! Either that or the skinny dipping that Subtle has suggested.
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