Sediments of Ganache

Quote of the year so far:

 "It's not just the crumbs of the cake, it's the sediments of ganache."

A was determined to get as much from the cake tin as possible. I just love his use of the word sediments, not something I would normally associate with cake topping but it worked so well. Needless to say he enjoyed the cake and the sediments.

Spelling for the IPhone age:

"How do you spell Minnie Mouse?" Asked the 16 year old to her younger sister, probably around 8. The older sister was on her IPhone.
The little girl replied, "M-I-N-N-I-E-M-O-U-S-E.", spelling it out for her and the older girl typed it into her phone.
Is anyone else thinking, wait a minute? Shouldn't that be the other way around? And also, I'm sure she could have typed any semblance of Minnie and it would still have shown Minnie Mouse on Google. I don't get it!
This actually happened when I was out shopping with my mum. We both couldn't quite believe it and so I had to write it down. A 16 year old asking an 8 year old for spelling tips, whilst 16 year old was holding a technology that can pretty much tell you anything. Wow.

Now to terrifying events of the last week:

A children's friendly ballet production. Dear lord I've never seen quite so many children in one place before. And so many party dresses and twinkly shoes. Argh!

And as for merchandise, the extremely phallic, light up, pink fluffy wands......well, they could have at least put a star on the end of them. Honestly, they would be classic hen do props. It actually scared me a little. I mean who decided light up penis' were the way forward for an afternoon ballet performance?

And finally, the ending. I mean, "And they all lived happily ever after." Are we still sprouting that bullshit to kids? Really? I thought they might have come up with something better by now. No wonder half the kids were like, "Why has it finished?" "What happened?" "I want more."
We all want more little cherubs. Believe me, we all want more.

Continuing with terrifying events:

We went to see Dark Skies at the cinema last night and it was pretty darn good actually. Nice small part from Juno's dad and some pretty creepy stuff. There was quite a bit of sinking down in your seat and hiding and as A rightly said, "They actually made aliens scary."

But even the creepy, non music at the end (just a weird cycle of the sounds they would hear when the aliens were doing stuff to them) wasn't the scariest bit. When we were leaving I turned around to see only one guy left on the back row, the aisle seat, but I couldn't see his face. (They also hadn't put the lights on.) Yes I realise I probably had post film paranoia, but I actually couldn't see his face at all. So I shit myself a bit and then followed A, knowing we would have to pass him on our way out. (Camden Odeon - Screen 5) But as we walked past him and I realised he did have a face, I kept thinking, oh God, he's gonna get up or he's gonna grab me. After we'd passed him there were a few steps down to the exit door and I kept looking behind me, sure he would be hot on our tail. And then as soon as we exited the door, I screamed, pushed A down the rest of the stairs and burst into hysterical laughter.

Scary film + crazy imagination + plus post film paranoia = seeing things that aren't there + shitting yourself up.

Now that's maths!

It wasn't all bad though - despite the soggy Camden walk home - because there was time for a little porn for myself. Yes, yes, yes! Walking past the Irregular Choice shop, knowing you can't afford any of the shoes and dribbling on the window. That's some serious girl porn for you. Oh baby!

And now to sleep patterns and waking up singing that stupid song off the stupid Sony advert:

I seem to have fallen into that weird sleep pattern again, where it takes me around an hour and a half to get to sleep, once I'm in bed. I'm tossing and turning and thinking and annoyingly still waking up at least once in the early hours, sometimes twice. Also, A gets up around 6.30, whereas my alarm is safely set for 8.00 most days, so sleep is alluding me at the moment. Or I'm getting little bits here and there. And I keep dreaming of random people, some of whom I haven't seen in donkey's years. I'm talking sixth form college, uni, occasionally high school. I mean, what the feck? Why is my head dredging up a backlash of crap from years ago? Like that's gonna help me sleep.

And to make matters worse, I keep waking up singing that stupid song off the stupid Sony advert. Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Argh!

Lack of sleep does strange things to us and I don't think it will improve this weekend as A is away two nights at a stag do. Will try not to move bedding to the couch and live there for three days, but I can't guarantee anything.

And finally to chunky thighs:

I'm not talking chicken, I'm talking thighs to rival Beyonce's. Dear lord, whoever thought sitting on your ass at a computer all day instead of running round after 20 kids would leave you slightly chunky and unfit? All of you? Well yeah, me too! And it's happened but luckily I'm on it. Two workouts a week, possibly a jog if the weather's nice enough and an attempt to eat slightly less. This is not just Bridesmaid preparation, this is for me, because when you can barely contain your thighs in your jeans, it's time to shave off a couple of inches.
(Especially as finding jeans for me usually takes around two years, so replacing jeans is a tricky business. Not least of all because the choices are limited to skinny, ridiculously skinny and painted on. I will not wear jeans unless they are flared or wide leg and no, freakin' bootcut won't cut it. They're pathetic and actually have no room for boots. They lie.) Sorry, what was I ranting about?????

Anyhoo, I'm on it. I won't let myself balloon. I won't be the stereotypical writer with a bar of chocolate on hand and an ass that can't get out of the chair. I won't!

I should probably go, I've warbled on enough for one day. Teaching this afternoon. Shame it's so grey and miserable. Ah well. As they say, "Drip, drip, drop little April showers."