Weird

Why is it that I cry Every. Single. Time. when watching One Born Every Minute?

I'm strangely in love with this programme at the moment.  Don't ask me why.  Makes no sense, least of all to me.

firefly x

Random thought

Can you be both a cynic and a romantic?

Because I think I am.  For instance, I like the idea of Valentine's day.  A day devoted to love and special people in your life = Romantic, right?  However, I deeply object to the commercial aspect of Valentine's day where every card shop, restaurant and florist whacks up their prices to cash in on this one particular day and peddles the idea that if you DON'T buy your significant other a bunch of extortionately priced flowers that are going to die within a week, then you are a BAD BAD person = Cynic.  But, you have to admit, it's hard to be otherwise when adverts appear on the radio promoting special Valentine's deals for CAR DEALERSHIPS!  I mean, really.

MM and I have worked round this particular obstacle by postponing Valentine's day for a month.  Yup, we're going to go out, have a lovely meal and exchange gifts on March 14th.  And save a bunch of cash in the process.  I say, win win. 

However, my issues with Valentine's day are merely the tip of the iceberg.  My personal dichotomy between romance and cynicism runs much deeper.  (Yup, I said dichotomy.  A tutor once said it in a lecture and I thought he sounded like a pretentious knobhead.  So it's ok if you now think the same about me. I just wanted to sound smart.)  See, I am in love and happy.  And, if I'm honest, that's all I've ever kinda wanted from my life.  I've been in long term relationships pretty much constantly since 16 and I'm now fairly certain that I'm settled.  Yes, I am working extremely hard to set up a successful career for myself and I certainly have a sense of satisfaction as to how well I am getting on so far and I enjoy it.  But I don't dream of being Managing Director or anything.  I am in direct contrast to my sister in this regard, by the way.  She is set to take over the world and simply doesn't have time for relationships.  They hold you back, man.

So I class myself as a romantic.  However, I'm the type of romantic that turns round to MM and says things like, "I can't wait for the day when we get to buy a house and start a proper life together forever" and then in the next breath follows it up with, "I'll look into what kind of paperwork we should put in place so that if things do fall apart, we're both protected."  Seriously, what kind of romantic says that??  Some would say it's wise.  Others, that I'm bitter.  (Yes, I'm a child of divorce.  No, I don't think that's the entire reasoning behind all this, although I'm sure it plays its part). 

It has its down sides, this 'oh so sensible' side of me.  It means that when one of my best friends told me she was engaged and buying a house with a guy she'd been with for six months, I didn't do what I was supposed to, which was give her a massive hug and say how excited I was for her (and possibly squeal a bit).  At least, I didn't do that until after I'd looked at her with panic and concern and said, "Well that's awfully quick.  Do you know what you're doing?  Put EVERYTHING in writing."  Which, apparently, isn't the socially acceptable reaction, according to another mutual friend of ours.  Ooops.  Fortunately my friend didn't hold it against me.  And I didn't hold it against her that she ignored me entirely.  :)

Unfortunately, that tends to be my 'go to' reaction when I hear about a couple moving incredibly quickly.  And its not necessarily the way I would like to approach these things.  I would love to hear about a couple that has moved extremely fast and not think, "that doesn't sound wise".    I would also love not to be right quite as often as I am.   

The irony of all this?  I moved very very quickly with MM.  At least by my standards.  We've only been together a year and a half and he had moved in with me at my mum's within 3-4 months.  But I was more sure that he was the right person for me within 6 months, than I was in the entire 4 and a half years I spent with the ex.  And I have yet to doubt that decision. 

However, I don't think I will ever be able to stop the little voice inside my head that says, 'what if?'.  Some might feel that this indicates that I have not met the right person yet.  I don't agree.  I can see MM and I being happy for the rest of our lives together.  He ticks all the boxes.  And I am definitely aware of how it feels to be with the WRONG person, so I am as certain as I can be.  I just think that you can never know what life is going to throw at you.  I can't predict the future, and I am also not arrogant enough to think that I am right when every other couple who breaks up 15 years down the line just got it wrong.  So I will always plan for the worst case scenario.  Maybe that's just what I need to do so that I can go back and enjoy my rose-tinted romance in the secure knowledge that we are both protected should things go wrong.  Does that makes me sensible or just plain weird?  I leave the debate open for you to consider because, frankly, I don't really know the answer.  :)

firefly xx

I haven't forgotten you...

It's just that MM has a week off and, because I couldn't get any time off work, I'm spending all my free time making pancakes and watching crappy TV with him.  This means that I can't spend my free time playing around on the internet instead.

So I am afraid, little blog, that you will have to do without me for a few more days. 

But I promise I will be back soon.  :)

firefly x

You win some, you lose some

Hmm, so I won the lottery.  Happy days!  But then found out that my phone bill for last month is £103!!  Ouch!

It's MM's fault.  If only I didn't acutally want to talk to the guy so damn much.  Grrrr. He makes me go over my minutes. 

I think I need to learn how to stop money slipping through my fingers.  It's a skill I have yet to master. 

Despairingly yours,

firefly x

THAT'S what I'm talking about!

A while ago my mother pointed out to me that spending my hard earned monies on national lottery tickets was foolish. MM and I had resorted to desperate measures to try and put a house deposit together.  I know, I know.  The fund raising plan of the insane. 

Anyway, she suggested to me that perhaps, if I was really going to go down the wishful thinking route, I should enter the local charity lottery instead.  I was unimpressed.  Sure, there was a better chance of winning something, but I was hardly going to become a millionaire overnight.  But after a while I figured I had little to lose and the ticket money was at least going to charity.  So I sent off my cheque for £13 which gained me entry into the draw for 13 weeks.  And promptly forgot about it.

Soooooooooooooooooooo anyway there was a letter waiting for me when I got home today.  I've only won one FRICKING thousand pounds!  Oh HELL yes!!  Happy happy days.

Cheers for the idea ma!

Newly rich-bitch,

firefly xxx

Happy Valentine's Day!

Hope everyone has a lovely valentine's day! 

firefly xxxxxxx

Sunday evenings

I hate Sunday evenings.  It's when MM has to go back to work.  I swear it's getting harder to say goodbye.  I miss him the moment he leaves. 

MM come back.  

Oh.  And pick Kipper up on the way.  I miss our walks!

 

firefly x

Pilates and magic rugs

In addition to weekly yoga, I have also started taking a pilates class to strengthen my core, which is also supposed to be really helpful for me when trying to recover from my hip operation.  Also, it is yet another form of exercise that requires a lot of lying down.  Sensing a theme here? 

Anyway, yesterday I didn't make it to my pilates class.  It starts right after work, which means that on Thursdays I have to be pretty sharp about leaving work on the dot in order to make it on time.  Last night I was held up and didn't make it.  The reason for this hold up?  An apparently 'magic' rug.  Yup.  You heard.

See, I am selling my house.  I bought it a while back to do up and live in but, for various reasons, things didn't quite pan out the way I expected (always annoying when life doesn't play ball) and now I am selling it.  And I am due to exchange contracts today.  Exciting stuff!

Which is why it came as something of a shock to receive a message from my estate agent right at the end of yesterday's working day asking me to confirm that the rug in the living room is included in the sale.  My reply?  "Um, no.  It's not.  Thanks."  The rug belongs to my mum and she lent it to me for the photos and viewings.  I figured that that was that.  Strange request, but now cleared up and I prepared to leave for pilates. 

But wait!  The rug saga continued.  Apparently the woman buying the property rang my agent, insisting she must have the rug.  It was an fabulous rug and, (wait for it!) it was only because of the RUG that they had put an offer in on the house.  WHAT??!  Not the new kitchen, or bathroom I had put in.  Nor the lovely new carpet.  No, no.  It was the rug! And apparently now the whole sale was hanging on whether or not she got the damn rug.  Seriously?

I don't like being blackmailed.  I certainly don't like being blackmailed over a rug.  Who does, I ask you?!  I politely suggested to the agent that she may want to rethink her strategy.  And her attachment to the rug.  Ok, ok, I wasn't that polite.  But the point was made.  In addition I pointed out that, if this rug was indeed so special as to sell houses in an instant, I CERTAINLY wasn't giving it up.  It's clearly a magic rug and I may need its powers in the future!   There aren't many magic rugs out there you know?  I mean, this is the first I have ever come across.

By the time this discussion had taken place, I had missed pilates.  All for a magic rug. 

I will let you know how the fight for the rug pans out today.  :)

firefly x

Update:  Sold the house and kept the rug! :)  Don't mess with me, people.  Seriously, don't mess. lol

Yoga and flat shoes

I went to yoga last night.  I didn't want to.  It's cold and dark (and snowy!) outside and I was super tired after work.  However, I went. This is due to a variety of factors.  One is that MM is a qualified personal trainer.  He works out FOR FUN!!  Now, I know that this isn't that unusual but it is a totally alien mindset to me.  I do NOT work out for fun.  In fact, I do NOT work out at all!  I can barely climb a set of stairs without collapsing.  I'm probably letting the side down.

This state of affairs has suited me just fine however.  I figured that as long as I still fit in my skinny jeans, that was the only thing I needed to know. 

But the jeans are starting to feel a little tight recently. Ooops. I don't tend to worry about my weight.  It's not in my psyche.  But I'm aware that if I don't start some kind of fitness routine in my twenties then by my forties I may be in trouble.  Especially considering just how much I love eating pizza.  I refuse to stop eating pizza. Ever. 

So...yoga. Path of least resistance towards exercise!  I figured a while back if I have to do something healthy, I may as well pick something that includes lying down at the end of it. 

I have, actually, been going to a yoga class, off and on, for years.  I know it's not going to magically transform me into a toned goddess but it is good for me, not least because I have pretty major problems with my hips (which I was born with) and I imagine maintaining some flexibility is going to keep me going longer than I otherwise would. 

These hips of mine cause me multiple issues.  While I can usually ignore these and carry on with my life, recently I have had to face up to them.  Perhaps a bit more reality that I really wish to deal with. 

See, I was born with DDH.  Also know has Developmental Dysplasia of the Hips (or Hip Dysplasia).  It was overlooked at the hospital when I was born and not picked up until I was two years old.  Obviously I was walking by then (in a fashion) and it became decidedly trickier to fix.  My parents tracked down the best surgeon they could and I spent the next two years in and out of surgery, and in and out of full body plaster casts.

I remember little or nothing of this, thankfully.  Ultimately, it was a success and I ended up with some pretty cool scars to show for it (and yes, I have told people they are as a result of a shark attack in Australia more than once.  Don't judge!). 

Unfortunately, the procedures I had as a child were never going to be a cure and I always knew that one day - in the future - I would need more work done.  However, this always seemed a long way off.  Until 2009.  When I suddenly realised that the pain I had always experienced (and therefore counted as normal) was getting decidedly worse in my left hip.  So I spent some time, tracked down the best surgeon once again, and discovered that actually, apparently, the pain was arthritis and it was only going to get worse.  No-one likes to hear that they have arthritis at 24.  I wasn't thrilled.  Believe me.


Fortunately I was told that I had an option other than a hip replacement.  This being something called a femoral osteotomy.  Rolls off the tongue doesn't it?  (Trust me, the medical jargon only gets worse. Sorry!).  This super fun procedure involved cutting through the bone at the top of my leg and re-jigging everything around so that the hip joint worked better and would last longer without causing me any or as much pain.


I had few choices really.  If I left it much longer, the arthritis was likely to get so bad that the procedure wouldn't actually work and I would be left with a hip replacement as my only option.  If I wasn't over-the-moon about having arthritis at 24, you can appreciate how I felt at the thought of a hip replacement.


So femoral osteotomy it was.  Oh boy, was I naive about the fun that would entail.  I was told I would need to be on crutches for three months, as I couldn't put weight on the operated leg.  "No worries," I thought.  "Plenty I can do on crutches.  Hell, my flat even has a lift.  I might even manage on my own."


Hahahahahahahaha!  No, no, no, no, hell no!  Fortunately my mum persuaded me to move back home, give up my flat and let her look after me.  And even then it was tough! 


The operation was OK, in the scheme of things, but the recovery was harder than I'd thought.  I just wasn't prepared for how tired and 'not myself' I would feel.  If I took a 10 minute shower, I had to take a break half way through because I was so exhausted!
But I bounced back (maybe not literally), got back on my feet (ok, that one's literal) and moved on.  Done and dusted. 

Except.  Apparently I am super rare. Yay!  Only 1 in 1000 people are born with DDH.  And only 20% of them have it in both hips.  See where I'm going with this?  Oh yes.  The time has come to have the other one done.  And I'm terrified!  I know what I'm going into this time.  The operation is slightly different in that this one is a periacetabular osteotomy - PAO -(told you the jargon got worse!) which, for those of you who like the gory details, means they break my pelvis in three places around the hip joint and do that re-jigging thing again that I mentioned above.  Oh the joy. I mean it should stop it hurting as much, postpone the need for a hip replacement and generally leave me in a much better position than I am currently, but still...*gulp*.  It's also making me consider just how much of this sort of thing I am going to have endure over my lifetime, and whether MM really REALLY knows just what he's let himself in for.  He wasn't in my life when I had the last one done and my ex-boyfriend (I believe I may have mentioned him before) simply wasn't equipped to handle the situation.  Or me.  Or the prospect of going through this with me over the many years to come.  It's a fairly major reason as to why I realised he might not be "THE ONE".   So, yeah.  Reality is dishing up some hard doses at the moment.

But all of that is not nearly as devastating as realising that I may have to give up these in the near future: 

And these:

And instead be reduced to wearing these:

They're cute, yes.  But just not the same.  :'(  So my point is: please, PLEASE, someone tell me where I can buy beautiful flat shoes? I'm in desperate need.

firefly x

Sooooooooo coooooooold

STILL no heating in the office.  Brrrrr.


What is it like to have sensation in your toes?  Someone remind me.


I may never be warm again. 


shiveringly yours,


firefly x


P.S. Welcome to February everyone! :)