Meow meow meow Missy Missy meow meow!

3 people will get the title joke. I dont care. Its funny to me.

Yes, its that time of the month where I'm pissed off with everything and yell at the TV even more than usual. My lack of cheeriness is not helped by the fact that it has been below 10 degrees (C) for the last week and will continue to be so for the forseeable forever. Its raining so I cant even go outside. Poopy poopersons.

Sidebar: You Northern Hemisphere poopheads can kindly refrain from telling me how much crapper and colder your winters are. I know this. That is why I choose to stay here. Where it is SUPPOSED to be WARM.


This is the view out of my study window.


Wetness. Barrenness. How fitting.

Its my birthday in 22 days (I had to check the ticker) and alls I'll be doing is...hmmm...watching Australian Idol probably. No birthday presents for me since Barren Bitches Clinic will be the recipients of every single cent we have for the rest of my "reproductive" years. No dinner out. Meh. Not that I'm a huge birthday person anyway, but, y'know, it would be nice to do something, um, nice.

My brother arrives in town that day, which my mother announced to me saying "I knew you'd be pleased." Unfortunately, she did not say it with sarcasm dripping from every pore, as was necessary for this to be an accurate statement of my emotional condition at hearing this news.

Said brother is a lot older than me. Said brother is a Born Again Christian. And a cop. As would be apparent from previous posts, I'm not. (A BAC, not cop. Well, I'm not a cop either. I've spent a lot of time trying to avoid them.) Said brother makes it very clear (whether intentionally or not, I've yet to work out) that he thinks I have always been and will always be a failure. Comments like "tarred with the same brush" when talking about me and his 22 year old (also deemed failure) daughter have not helped cement our relationship. Monkey Boy wants to smuck him with The Fish. I want to let him.

Given all the crap that has happened with Daddy-O recently, I'm going to have to go down and see this brother of mine. You know, have the conversation about how to keep the Olds in line, etc. In this same week, The Monkey FINALLY gets to see someone about having an MRI done on his buggered shoulder, we have our first proper IVF appointment, Daddy-O has his first assessment with a Geriatician and Monkey starts 2nd semester at Uni.

Not a lot of time for happy birthdays.

Oh yeh, and last birthday...I conceived.


Just a thought: If a Geriatician is an Old Dudes doctor, would a Geriatrician be a doctor who helps old people die?

Good grief I'm a whiney morose poophead today.

ooooh, look! A pretty thing: